One of the chores I got done this afternoon, after a much needed nap, was to go through the mail that accumulated during our long absence. Part of that job is sorting out the pile of magazines that I did not subscribe to, but that some people out there think they can sign me up for and annoy me — but which, since I did not authorize any payment, and which are usually sent to me under some sloppy permutation of my name, I simply never pay for, and eventually the publisher gets tired of sending me without recompense and the subscription fades away.
It’s a weird mix: lots of conservative political rags which get tossed into the recycling bin with barely a glance, and the rest is a mishmash of odd stuff that the sender seems to think says something about me. Out magazine I sort of understand — they want to imply that I’m gay, which they think I’d take as an insult because they do — but the yummy cover photo of Neil Patrick Harris and the nice interview inside just made me think there would be some perks to being gay. American Rider, though, is a strange choice. Am I supposed to be a leather-wearing Harley rider, too? It’s a very Tom of Finland combination, but sorry, ultimately uninteresting to me. Body+Soul is a better choice for something that would irritate, but it’s so dang silly that I can only laugh.
So I hate to say it since I am getting a giggle out of these random piles of glossy paper in my mailbox, but could you please stop wasting your time? The only people being hurt by this action are the mail carriers who have enough of a burden to haul every day, and possibly the publishers who might lose a little money on the printing (but might gain a little more ad revenue from the temporary addition to their subscriber rolls).
And planet Earth. Think of the Earth, man.