I’ve been called many things in my day, but “mature” is usually not one of them.  I mean, let’s be honest here: I watch a lot of cartoons and I am eager to spend any free time (a rare commodity, to be sure) playing video games.  So every now and again, I’ll realize that I am “too old” for something, and it genuinely surprises me.  I recently had such a moment reading over an issue of Maxim.

I have nothing against Maxim – I’ve been reading and enjoying the, um… articles for around a decade now.  It’s always struck me as a kind of “little brother” magazine to Playboy – more crass and less sophisticated, and more attuned to what someone in their 20’s would be interested in, as opposed to Playboy which skews a bit older.  When I was in my 20’s, I enjoyed reading both.

But now that I’m 30 (and approaching 31), Maxim just is no longer speaking my language.  I like the pictures of the pretty girls, and I enjoy their takes on movies and TV shows, but overall I just find myself too old for most of what’s in their pages – articles about how to pick up spring breakers or cheat on your girlfriend are just not applicable/interesting to me.  So sorry, Maxim, no matter how many more friendly reminder cards you send me, I will be letting my subscription run its course next month.  Like MAD Magazine and Nintendo Power before you, I will remember looking forward to your latest issues arriving in my mailbox, and I’m sure I will occasionally thumb through your latest issue on an airport newsstand and think back on the good times we shared.  But I’ll know deep down that it parting ways was the right thing to do, and that we’ll both be fine on our own.