Machinations of Magazines Pt. 2 or That's Some Crazy Shit

In the not so distant past Jen and I spent an afternoon with Gavin Babstock at Magazines Canada.  We learned about distribution. Exciting? Perhaps not but relevant to our task of completing the best, most creative and informative protege program ever! (With the sun shining a little less, it being a little damper and more chilly than temperant I figured Conan could use the pick me up.)

Ahem.  But it was on this unassuming Friday afternoon that I discovered one of the craziest things I had ever seen.

As I sat listening to Jen and Gavin discuss magazine sell through rates I noticed something on the top shelf of a white bookcase behind Gavin.  I mean I was paying attention, sort of, but I was thoroughly engaged with all that was around me.  I tilted my head the right, squinted, raised an eyebrow and slowly let my head pass through centre and ended with it tilted to the left.  What the hell is that?  It couldn't be.   I loved Pee-wee Herman.

"Excuse me, umm, is that a elastic ball?" I interrupted all intrigue and reverance.

"What?" Gavin responded, I suppose I caught him off guard.

I pointed again, "That, is that an elastic ball, can I touch it?"

It was indeed an elastic ball.  I held it and turned it over in my hand, it was majestic in a cheap coloured plastic kind of way.  It was beautiful. It felt like the world, it felt like a brain, I couldn't help but ponder its existence, its tiny origin, as I continued to paw it.  I thought if I tried to bounce it might shatter as if it were liquid nitrogen.  It was heavy and I loved it.