No longer in print
Maybe it's our fault. We're just not a very talkative bunch. So for months we've been reading all these great stories about what Egg is about. We're a cooking magazine ("It's gotta be. The editor's that guy who writes those food pieces with all those movie references"), a menswear magazine ("You know all men love eating eggs for breakfast," said a "competing" menswear ad rep. Not unless they're in a pie crust), a downtown magazine (Jeez! Anything but that), a workbook for intellectually gifted children, a hop biological journal, a women's trade publication (how vulvic), and a technological quarterly about whatever it is that E-G-G stands for ("It's some computer langauge, isn't it?" asked a prominent women's magazine editor. "You whiz kids are certainly members of your generation").
Sorry. We don't want to disappoint all of those who hoped for close-ups of Fabergˇ eggs ("Well, that's what it's named after!") and the few of you, like Mr. Benedict out there in the Rockies (whose grandfather evidently did like to chow down the little orbs at sunup because he supposedly invented guess what?), who had definite ideas about what this magazine should focus on (his family tree).
But we think we have a good idea of our own. Egg is about fun. That's it. Fun. Ah, but what do they mean by that? We always thought it meant having a good time. Doing whatever it is that interests you because it makes you happy. It means remembering that life's pleasures and sidetracks are not afterthoughts to be saved for once you get the day over with. If wonder and discovery are part of that day, why would you want it to end? If each morning you knew you'd be introduced to someone fascinating you've never heard of before, like Charmaine Neville or Matt Heckert, or a talent you've heard praised but still don't know much about, like Chris Isaak, would that relax your shoulders just a little? If you knew not to waste your time at one club because the coat-check link was slower than the video sales of Ironweed, or were informed of where on Surf Avenue that super bumper-card ride you've been trying to locate since last summer was, or finally found out who has the all-purpose voodoo doll you keep searching all over Miami for, wouldn't you have more time to do the things you really want, like eat in an Upper East Side place that ain't too grand to serve mashed potatoes, or brush up on exactly what to say at intermission during the next interminable Lincoln Center gala? Is there anyone who wouldn't think it a real treat getting cozy with greatness like Etta James or find fast relief in knowing you're not the only one who gets junk mail? Don't you ever imagine people you like in unexpected combinations? Don't you imagine people you don't know in lascivious fantasy situations? Ever stop dead and fall down at how silly life is? This what Egg is about.
And why the hell is it called Egg? 'Cause my sister pulled the word out of nowhere one day, and we thought it was funny. And when you're trying to have fun, something funny usually helps. Our criterion is that something, someone, or somewhere gets us excited. Our goal is to get you to share our enthusiasms, steal our curiousity, use the book as a guide to what you may not have the time to find out for yourself. Don't hate us because we're beautiful. Spill things on Egg, drag it around, pull pages from it. You can pay us no greater compliment than by letting Egg be the catalyst to get you out there and doing something.
The following H.L.Mencken quote (he may have been a bigot, but he sure had a way with words) has been chronicled several different ways, but the version that sounds best claims that "God is a comedian with an audience afraid to laugh." We at Egg think you should stir up some courage. It's not like you have much choice.
Joy, Hal Rubenstein
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