portal to america’s mind

What is

a. A place where goods are stored, especially a building in a fort or a storeroom on a warship where ammunition is kept.
b. The contents of a storehouse, especially a stock of ammunition.
4.

a. A compartment in some types of firearms, often a small detachable box, in which cartridges are held to be fed into the firing chamber.
b. A compartment in a camera in which rolls or cartridges of film are held for feeding through the exposure mechanism.
c. Any of various compartments attached to machines, used for storing or supplying necessary material
?
Did you guess the clue?

I skipped 1 and 2 for a reason, as this will give away the main definitions and thus the word. But as I was at the supermarket cashier lane, I had another revelation (not epiphany:) ) about why America is what it is.

At least for those of us who have not wanted to switch to self-pay aisles.

The answer is “magazines”, Alex.

It’s the magazines that you can’t help but notice. Even if you don’t want to know what’s trending, but you pretty much can’t avoid it. I love the one called “In Touch”. In touch with what reality, exactly?

Pandering to the masses’ need to know everything about their kings and queens and all other levels of royalty? We must have our Versailles.

But if this is what draws our attention because we are a captive audience, then this is what we will see and it evolves into a very insidiously vicious circle of pandering. So we don’t know what our congressmen think, or even who they are. So we don’t know what is going on in the rest of the world (although maybe that isn’t so bad) and we continue getting our news through our emotional ties to things and places.

Maybe it’s not enough to have a candy and magazine-free aisle. Maybe it is time for a special aisle in the market for real reading.

Maybe Kierkegaard?

Just for fun?

(You can start at 9:20, if you want to skip ahead…the beginning is a bit typically raunchy Craig, so the end is such a delightful juxtaposition.)

And then there’s this item that was being sold in my market.

Oh we’re just a happy bunch of elephants, aren’t we?
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