Enjoying life's little Guilty Pleasures

What's life without a few little tokens to pamper yourself?

Those might come in the form of something respectably hedonistic — like a really nice pair of earrings. Or it might come in the form of something, shall we say, a bit more esoteric.

From teen detective books to digital diversions, we've compiled a list of small pleasures that help keep us amused through the day.

Maxim on airplanes
I am scared of flying. There, I admit it. But last year, for four months I flew most every weekend. Sunday’s routine was to board the plane for home with the New York Times and a tall decaf with soy milk. But on Thursdays, as I headed out, instead of biting my nails, it was Maxim. I’m not even going to try to convince you that I read it for the articles — even though that’s true. I mean, you’ve seen one topless-from-the-back shot of Eva Longoria, you’ve seen ‘em all, right? Maybe.

Maxim

The fart-joke-quality captions and authoritative articles on “How to score with the female cop trying to write you a ticket,” or “How to score with your friend’s sister,” or “How to score with a female suicide bomber” took my mind off the fact that I was miles above the earth in an aluminum tube maintained by someone who likely just got his pay cut in half and his pension thrown away. I don’t know why it helps. I never read it otherwise. In fact, I sort of silently tsk-tsk others when I see them reading it in other circumstances. But on board, it’s cheaper than another two tiny bottles from the flight attendant. -Rob Neill

Nancy Drew

Grosset & Dunlap

She’s rich, she’s painfully popular, and she’s often a total witch with a capital B. No, not Paris Hilton. It’s Nancy Drew, and though she is 75 years old she can still captivate as she races around River Heights in her roadster. You don’t need the last name Freud to figure out Nancy’s raw attraction. Just try to tear your eyes from Rudy Nappi’s cover art to “The Mystery of the Tolling Bell”: dishevelled Nancy casts her best come-hither look, a hooded figure looms over the threatening rowboat gliding into a dark passage and in the center of it all, the tolling bell glows. Indeed! Sure, she turned Ned Nickerson into the literary equivalent of a blubbering Ken doll, but as you get older you learn to appreciate that skill. Wait, you ask: Shouldn’t guys read “male” adventure fiction like The Hardy Boys? Bah! Frank and Joe are ham-fisted buffoons who couldn’t solve a mystery in 178 pages unless the solution slugged them in the head on page 175. (Sadly, it always did.) No, if you need me this summer I’ll be curled up in the hammock, roaring down country lanes with my Titian-haired sleuthing goddess. Swarthy ne’er-do-wells beware! -Ian Ferrell

Denise Richards’ divorce declaration

Chris Pizzello / AP file

This summer’s absolute must beach read isn’t on the New York Times Bestsellers list — it’s The Smoking Gun’s “Charlie Sheen Divorce Bombshell.” The public records Web site, which promises “Paper to the People,” totally delivers with 17 pages of possibly the juiciest scandal in the history of ill-advised celebrity unions. (And if you print it at work, it’s free!) In a sworn April declaration filed in Los Angeles Superior Court, Denise Richards details all matter of perversions by estranged husband Charlie Sheen. Alleged physical abuse aside, the mind reels at the description of Sheen taking a chainsaw to the couple’s 4-by-6-foot wedding portrait, or his online “dating” profile which Richards says included a photo of the Sheen family jewels. Also featured: prostitutes, drugs, and porn and gambling addictions (all Sheen’s, allegedly). Six expletive-filled phone transcripts showcase Sheen’s improv abilities, recording epithets and paranoid accusations so incomprehensibly bizarre that I for one had to put my head between my knees. The epilogue? Don’t marry Charlie Sheen. Ever. –Helen A.S. Popkin