I Am Michael Crobit
Back when I was dead set on going into the magazine stream (boy, do I talk about the streams or what?), I subscribed to Masthead--the magazine about magazines. Then I decided to remain in print, which also meant that I'd let the subscription to Masthead expire. I did and it did in December. Access to the magazine's online subscriber content was denied starting that month, and I didn't care--I had been barely keeping up with the 24-page mag each issue anyways.
Funny thing happened, though. Next month came, I got an issue. Then the next month, another issue. And on. Today, I got the March/April 2006 issue. But it doesn't make sense. My print and online subscription was tied together.
But I may have figured out the source of my free issues. It seems to be a mistake by someone in circulation. All of my issues since the first one I received have been addressed to one, Michael Crobit. I never bothered telling the magazine different, and so it appears, the while Michael Czobit's subscription has expired, Michael Crobit's subscription is good at least through March/April.
Fine, sunny day out there in Mississauga, and I assume Toronto. It's even brought out some weird ones from hibernation. On Lakeshore, I spotted a prostitute strutting. Or at least I thought it was a prostitute: high heels, wacked-out hair, make-up done by a slob, mini-skirt 12 inches in length, torso exposed, looking like cheap meat. But maybe I'm totally off-base. Maybe that's the new hot look.