What it feels like to cancel a magazine subscription

I think Esquire and I are about to come to a parting of the ways.

I've been a subscriber of the men's magazine since 2000, but after eight years, I'm not planning to renew the next time I get the little notice in the mail.

It's going to be tough facing all those panic cards and "Final Warning" envelopes, but I just don't have the heart for it any more.

I first fell in love with the magazine in December 1999, for the cover story of "175 Things Every Man Should Do Before He Dies," with an accompanying cover shot of Sharon Stone.

Curiosity compelled me to pick up the issue, expecting to be disappointed by a bunch of lewd suggestions, but I was pleasantly surprised and charmed to find such entries as "Catch a fish" and "Read Moby Dick," "Date an older woman" and "Have your young and tender heart carved into bite-sized pieces, lightly salted and chewed by an older woman" amongst the entries.

The next few issues proved to be just as thoughtful, poignant and thought-provoking, so I wound up adding my name to their list of subscribers.

Over the years, I read and enjoyed many of Esquire's offerings, like a short story about Nelson Mandela's parole officer, stirring interviews with Alyssa Milano and Carmen Electra, a photo assignment pairing people with their heroes and stunning features like their annual "What It Feels Like" feature, where the magazine interviewed people who have been attacked by swarms of bees, walked on the moon or swallowed a sword.

Plus, every other month, there would usually be an attractive lady on the cover. Being a full-blooded American heterosexual male, I find it good to support those whenever possible, especially when treated with the amount of respect the magazine provided.

In fact, for the longest time, whenever anyone asked me about my career aspirations, "Esquire writer-at-large" was right up there with "soap opera writer," "novelist" and "limo driver/lion tamer."

Actually, I still think it would be awfully cool to be able to hand over a business card which reads "Writer-At-Large." The "at large" part gives off the impression both that nothing is off the table for the writer holding such a title, and he still remains several steps ahead of whatever authorities would have him not be at large.

But the past few years, I don't know. Esquire just hasn't done it for me in a while. I flip through the articles, and nothing really stands out as life-affirming, respectful or even potentially interesting for me. I don't know if their interests shifted, or mine did.

Now, I'm not one to cut and run from a relationship, be it romantical, familial or periodical. I"ll tough it out for a while, check my read of the lay of the land and see if my suspicions have been confirmed. It really is ridiculous. I was a nervous wreck the day I made a conscious choice to stop receiving Soap Opera Weekly.

Don't laugh. I say as a proud graduate of Washington State University's Edward R. Murrow School of Communication that I learned a lot of my best writing tricks from Mimi Torchin and Marlena Delacroix from their time at Soap Opera Weekly.

When I last renewed my Esquire subscription, it was with the idea in the back of my mind that if Esquire hadn't won me over by the time it expires, I was going to stop wasting my time, and the magazine's.

Oh, I'll check in from time to time and see how things are going, playing the part of a friendly stranger who stops in to touch base.

But once my loyal readership has been lost, it's awfully tough to win me back.