Speaking of now-defunct magazines I owe my life to, here are issues of Might for sale for $10 each.
(Warning: totally unfunny self-indulgent post with a cheesy moral at the end. Read at your own risk.)
I discovered Might Magazine during my senior year of high school. My friend Christy and I were at Tallahassee's coolest bar (but having coffee since we were too young to drink), Waterworks, and digging through the magazine rack, where we found a copy of Might. I actually still remember the exact table we were sitting at when we first opened it and beheld the wonders inside.
This was (for me) before the internet, and writing like this - conversational, bold, daring, un-PC, satirical, hilariously funny - was completely new to me. We spent a few hours devouring it (that was one of the best things about Might - it was chock-full) and then begged the owner to tell us where he got it. He did - and Christy and I joined him to become the only three people in Tallahassee, Florida who read Might Magazine.
I only had a few short years with Might, but I read each issue at least 20 times, most memorably reading aloud the whole way to a packed car on a road trip to Atlanta to see a Luna show. When I got the last issue and found an essay on "Death" in the front and the words "At least we tried" and realized that Might was over, I cried. Then, I called the subscription line and left a long message about how Might had changed my life and I just wanted them to know that.
Finding Might, for me, was basically the equivalent of an actor turning on SNL for the first time, except it was even better because Might was so DIY. It was the first time I realized that there were people out there, not too much older than me, doing really original, amazing things completely on their own. When I eventually got on the internet, my first-ever yahoo! search was "Might Magazine." (Later, doing this same search, I would find Mcsweeney's in its second week of existence, send them a hundred bucks (of my student loan check) and become a Lifetime Subscriber, which is pretty much the only shrewed move I've ever made financially.) I always thought that if I was going to be a writer, I'd probably be an English professor, to have something to, you know, "fall back on." No offense to English professors, but a few years later I dropped out of college and moved to New York, knowing almost noone, to be a writer, and I can't help but think that Might's influence had something to do with that. It's a cliche, but nobody should ever give themself something to "fall back on" unless they, like, got knocked up in high school and have a kid to support or something. Anyways, Thank You Might Magazine. The end.
(I just realized this is the Lindsayism.com version of the dreaded Girl-Blogger-PMS- Post! Hey, it's better than blathering about Ben and Jerry's and engagement rings and "girl's nights out"! (You know who you are))