There is a letter sitting on my desk at home, a letter that arrived late last week. I hesitate to open it because I know what it is. Although big bold letters on the front of the envelope proclaim "open immediately" and "2nd Notice", it's contents are not bad news per se. But the large colorful graphic in the space reserved for the return address notifies me that it is indeed a letter from an old friend.
An old friend I'm not entirely certain I want to keep corresponding with.
That friend, of course, is GQ Magazine, and the letter is a bill for a subscription I have not yet paid for, even though I am receiving issue after issue after glorious issue. I'm giving serious consideration to the thought of paying the invoice, if only so I can receive the next issue they send me guilt free, but first there are several issues I have to navigate past, and I'm not certain I can do so.
I'm sorry GQ, but our long standing relationship? The one that has lasted 4 years? Yeah. It might be toast.
Anyone who has had the misfortune of being subscribed to a magazine knows that the publisher (in this case Conde Naste) starts begging you to re-up for another year (or three) shortly after you receive your second issue. "Dear faithful reader, unless you re-subscribe now, we cannot guarantee continued delivery of the hard hitting articles and restaurant reviews you have grown so accustomed to" the letter might read, though you know full well that you are getting at the very least, eight more issues.
As the months pass by (and the unread issues have begun to bury the toilet in your guest bedroom), the publisher grows ever more desperate. The letters start to read"
"For the low, low price of $1.00 per issue".
And then...
"For the low, low price of $0.78 per issue".
And then...
"For the low, low price of $0.23 per issue".
And so on.
If you happened to pay for your initial subscription with a credit card and you happen to actually let your subscription run out (even at the hard to resist price of just $.015 an issue!) The publisher will at this point, as a "courtesy" continue your subscription (usually at the highest offered price) by swiping your card for you. So, GQ magazine, or whichever magazine you choose to read, gets you for another year unless you actally write them a letter explainng that while the price is unavoidably attractive, you just don't have any more room in your house for additional issues.
When it comes to GQ, because our relationship has been good (sex, so-so. long late-night talks, out of this world!), I have never actually requested a re-subscription. I allow the good people at Conde Naste to charge my card each year with little fuss. I don't particularly agree with this practice, but let it slide knowing that Megan Fox or Rachel Bilson might just grace next month's cover.
This year however, the money didn't come as easy for those sneaky hamsters over at Conde Naste. My credit card company recently issued me a new card (as I may or may not have lost mine) and the number and expiration date have since changed. So the issues have kept on coming to my mailbox (even though my paid subscription ended months ago) even though the card number they had on file was declined.
Letters then began rolling in sharing of the trouble they recently experience swiping a credit card I never really gave them permission to swipe, when it was declined. Letters like the one I sit staring at now, trying to decide if I really should write a check to keep this relationship out of divorce court.
The last two issues, the ones I have essentially received for free, have left me wondering, GQ, if even counselling will save this troubled arrangement. I know that the publishing industry is struggling in the internet age and therefore has to appeal to wider demographics. I do. In the same way that you occasionally toss Jenifer Aniston or Jessica Beal on a cover that was once reserved only for men, I understand that there might be the occasional need to throw a Tween icon up as well.
But two months in a row, GQ?!?!
Look, I let it slide when last month's coverboy was Robert Pattinson, the dreamy star of Twilight who GQ readers could care less about. I get the Twilight was the surprise hit of 2008, and that it outsold every other DVD release in 2009 at breakneck speed. But until you make a movie that anyone other than 14 year old girls and their moms care about, you do not deserve to be on the cover of GQ. And guess what Robert? We GQ readers are saavy enough to know that you have also made this:
How to be what, exactly, Robert?
I actually like Robert Pattinson, at least a little. When I finally saw Twilight a few weeks ago (which I hated), I thought he was the best part. Much better than Kristen Bell, anyway. So I could tolerate his pressence on the cover of GQ for a month so long as the editors went back to putting manly, accomplished, successful men on the cover for the May issue. I thought, Jay Leno is retiring from the Tonight Show this month. He would be a good start. Or maybe Christian Bale, who's Terminator Salvation should rock the box office this month.
So who do we get?
None other than Mr. High School Musical himself, Zac Effron.
Tweeners rejoice, for you have commandeered my magazine!
Behold!
Upon seeing Zac smiling at me, I knew what must be done. So I picked up the phone and did what any good man would do: I called Conde Naste to cancel my subscription.
After making my way through the automated menu a nice operator named Nancy politely reminded me that my payment had not yet been received, and that Zac and Robert had made their handsome way to me free of charge. For my "convenience" howver, she would be happy to take my credit card number over the phone to guarantee uninterupted service and many more months of the quality GQ articles I'd come to admire.
Secretly though I wondered what I'd truly be missing? Up to date info on the Jonas Brothers? Daniel Radcliff? Those twin Zack and Cdy brothers that run a hotel on the Disney channel? Was I actually receiving Tiger Beat by mistake?
As I was searching my wallet for my credit card I think I must have walked into a cell-phone dead zone, for sadly, my conversation with dear Nancy was lost. Maybe I'll get around to calling her back. She was, after all, so nice.
And then, perhaps, maybe I'll get around to opening this letter too.
Maybe.
After making my way through the automated menu a nice operator named Nancy politely reminded me that my payment had not yet been received, and that Zac and Robert had made their handsome way to me free of charge. For my "convenience" howver, she would be happy to take my credit card number over the phone to guarantee uninterupted service and many more months of the quality GQ articles I'd come to admire.
Secretly though I wondered what I'd truly be missing? Up to date info on the Jonas Brothers? Daniel Radcliff? Those twin Zack and Cdy brothers that run a hotel on the Disney channel? Was I actually receiving Tiger Beat by mistake?
As I was searching my wallet for my credit card I think I must have walked into a cell-phone dead zone, for sadly, my conversation with dear Nancy was lost. Maybe I'll get around to calling her back. She was, after all, so nice.
And then, perhaps, maybe I'll get around to opening this letter too.
Maybe.
(In the mean time, why don't you open this lovely video!)
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