Remember When We Weren’t On All These Mailing Lists?

Is it just me, or do I end up on a mailing list with everything I buy online? They made it sound so easy to buy online. Go to the website, search for the item, compare to the prices on Amazon, read the reviews, discard the bad reviews from customers that sound like just didn’t know what they were talking about and so their review cannot be trusted, enter in your credit card information and then get your item. Piece of cake! But they never tell you about the mailing lists. 

They never tell you how you’ll spend more time deleting emails from their mailing lists than you will enjoying the product you bought. That should be the Prop 65 warning! Who cares about the unhealthy chemicals? We’re surrounded by unhealthy chemicals. I want to know how much time will be stolen from me in reading and deleting mailing list emails.

It is almost as if they think that by sending me lots of emails showing their new products, I’m going to buy something I don’t need just because there’s a pretty picture of it in my inbox. Don’t these online retailers know that they way people buy things is by deciding first what they need, then going on a calm, reasoned, methodical search for the product that will best meet that need, and at the lowest price, regardless of who the retailer is?

And why would the attractiveness of the photo matter? You ever see the way these products are set up? The photographers made less fuss over me in my fifth grade school photo (although to be frank, no one was going to be interested in the photos except my parents and grandparents and whomever else got one of the 10 precious wallet-sized pictures…and I assure you, they would not be paying a dime for the photos or even myself in flesh and blood, even if shipping was included) than over a chair and a pillow in an email.

Imagine that there were mailing lists for people? Like, everytime I got a new shirt, or a haircut, or changed up my shaving routine there was an email that went out to a mailing list, letting them know and advertising the opportunity to get more of me for a discounted price. Who would be on the mailing list? How would someone get on it?  It would have to be anyone who ever complimented me on anything, for a compliment is a way of buying my product, isn’t it?

Wait a minute…sending updates of appearances and routine and everything else in life to a list of friends of family…isn’t that what Facebook does?  Is Facebook really a big mailing list for the store that is each one of us. And it’s completly free! Except of course for the time we have to spend on it to consume each others’ products.

Which brings us back to the time spent reading and deleting the emails from the online retailers’ mailing lists (or, if you’re like me, not deleting out of care for the time that went into their preparation). 

There is always the unsubscribe button, isn’t there? Yes, assuming you can find it. Computers today have accessibility features that can enlarge 1 point font into something readable. But how do you find the word ‘Unsubscribe’ to enlarge? Like the shoal waters of the Mississippi to Mark Twain, you just have to know its there from experience. And just like every superhero has a weakness, every email from a mailing list has an unsubscribe button. You can count on it.

And now all you have to is follow the unsubscribe procedures. But that’s another story for another day.

Remember When We All Ate Peeps?

On the table in the kitchen of my office at work, there is a package of Peeps. It has been sitting there for days. It is a package of Peeps like any package of Peeps – yellow, baby chickens made out of sugar and sculpted by expert hands, colored by expert food colorizers.  The same Peeps that I remember from childhood, that I used to put in the freezer and then eat alongside my meat and potatoes.  

What happened to our love of Peeps?  Was it when they started making bunny peeps?  I think that may have had something to do with it.  A baby chick goes “peep peep” but a baby bunny goes…I don’t know how a baby bunny goes but it definitely doesn’t go “peep peep.” So perhaps the creative violation gave people a bad taste for the taste of Peeps.

More than eating them I see people making art out of Peeps. Putting the Peeps in dioramas, as if the Peeps can act out human dramas. The artwork is so good it makes me forget that you are supposed to eat Peeps.

But then I remember back to the taste of Peeps out of the freezer.  So sweet and…so cold.  And that dusty exterior like eating a frozen desert. No – the bunny Peeps, even if it was a failure – would not explain the unpopularity of Peeps.

For it wasn’t just bunnies!  There were peeps for every occasion. I remember Halloween Peeps in the shape of ghosts and coffins with “RIP” written on them. There may have been a subliminal message there. Then again, maybe not.  

No, I think the answer is a type of corporate conspiracy.  Somewhere inside the company that makes Peeps somebody decided that it would be funny to tell everyone that Peeps were bad for your teeth and your health in general, and were all around terrible things to eat, but still keep making them so we would be surrounded by creepy little chickens made of marshmallow and pure sugar. 

And at just the right moment, all of the Peeps will rise up against us, and rule over the humans, and make us manufacture miniature humans made out of sugar, and we will call them…Peeps.  Those will be the real Peeps.  Calling each other our “peeps” today is just practice for the day when we’ll make ourselves into miniature marshmallow figurines encased in dusty sugar painted yellow or whatever shade you choose, just there are different shades available for the thumbs up emoticon in text messaging. 

And people would still make art out of them, make little dioramas out of the Human Peeps – putting them in houses and yards and rock bands and dramatic revelations from soap operas. Because if you’re not going to eat them, you’ve got to do something with all these Peeps, Human or otherwise. You let them sit on the table in the kitchen at the office, just waiting for someone to get hungry enough…

…someone who didn’t eat a big enough lunch, who though that leftover matzah would be enough to get him through the day…

…someone like me.

Back to the Future, Forward to the Past

Tomorrow is October 26th, the day that Marty McFly, the star of the movie Back to the Future, goes back in time to first impair, and then save, his parents’ coupling and, thus, his own existence.

I saw the movie in a movie theater in Washington DC, our homeland’s Capital, with my family while on vacation in the summer of 1985. My family’s weak knowledge of the locale delayed our arrival at the theater until the movie had already started, and as we quietly searched for empty seats in the dark, all the clocks were ringing at Doc Brown’s home to a Marty on the morning of his tale.

From that first viewing until now, I had believed that the movie was only about a young man who travels back in time and has a wonderful adventure.

I now think the movie is about the young man seeing his parents as the heroes who give him his vigor, instead of the villains who scheme to impair it. 

Picture how Marty’s parents and family home appear at the start of the movie. Now picture the parents and home at the end. And now, pretend that instead of traveling back in time to change events, Marty travels back in time just to witness the events, and, as if in a dream, sees the events of his parents meeting as occurring differently than he has allowed himself to believe. 

And when Marty McFly wakes from his dream, he sees his parents and home as it always was. Not stopped in the past like that busted clock tower, but eternally youthful. And the only difference was in HOW he saw their courtship take place. 

A few days ago I read an article in my favorite newspaper, the New York Times. It was a lead article, right at the top of my phone, about President Biden’s plan to lower drug prices being deleted from the big spending bill as part of a compromise between the writers of our written laws. 


Is this the BEST headline to use if the author WANTS a compromise to be found in the future? When I read this, what I hear is that the proponents are painted with failure, and the opponents are painted with malice. 

Here is not what the Times wrote, but what I heard in that headline:

The proponents failed not by their ideas but by their naked ambition. The opponents succeeded not by their ideas but by their naked ambition.

That is what I hear, in my mind, and there is no proof to the contrary. 

And from my hearing, I interpret this headline to scorn both the proponents and opponents of the law to lower drug prices, and in so doing scorn the very process of compromise itself.

And then right underneath it, a sub-headline reads that this: 


Instead of reducing the tension of the first headline, this sub-headline adds to the tension. 

Why embarrassing? Why does the New York Times call not finding compromise EMBARRASSING? Why do we see our leaders as embarrassing failures, instead of as the source of all our wealth?

Should people be embarrassed when their best efforts fail? Is that what we tell our children? You should be embarrassed when you don’t succeed in the way we expected!

But our principles! says a strong voice in my mind. We can’t compromise on our principles, and to not call this embarrassing would sound like we have compromised on our principles!

True, a stronger voice answers back, but we never said anything about compromising on our principles. The only law is written law, and written law reflects no principle save one: that NO COMPROMISE plus PEACE is a superior state for all as compared to a compromise but no peace. 

The relationship can be re-stated as an equation:

(No Compromise + Peace) > (Compromise + No Peace)

The New York Times is too FINE a paper to reject the substance of this principle and formula. There is no way that the New York Times that I have come to know and love since eleventh grade English class would hold any principle higher than peace.

So why does the Times scoff at the relationship between law and peace by calling a failure to reach a compromise embarrassing? The answer is in the very same Back to the Future whose teachings we celebrate tomorrow.  

WHAT IF, instead of seeing the years of not finding compromise on drug prices as Marty’s parents at the start of the movie, we saw those years of peace between the States as Marty’s parents at the end of the movie? 

What if the headline had read instead:


Now, instead of embarrassment and failure, the focus is on COMPROMISE and subtly tells every reader to find ways to compromise in whatever policy debate they stumble into. And the facts of the article – the sum of Yeas and Nays, the text of the bill – are exactly the same as before. 

To alter just the WAY the event is reported is to alter just its character. Characterization is not hard news.

And if characterization is hard news, then my ‘A’ on the New York Times quiz in eleventh grade was unwarranted, and I kindly ask that someone travel back to 1995, and delete the mark.

The Day of Default

Well, today is the day. The day the money is supposed to run out. It won’t. Congress always steps in at the last minute to fill our nation’s coffers with sweet borrowed cash.

What if Congress forgot one year to raise the ceiling of debt that pays for all the great things that people make and do for us? 

Let us say no one has paid any attention to the matter of the debt and its ceiling, and the ceiling was reached, and no one saw it dry the flow of our cash and send a few checks bouncing like red rubber balls. What would happen? Would we resort to barter, and go to market instead of the office to exchange reports we can wear for reports we can eat?

Such happened once, upon a time, many years ago, when to touch a screen had effect no greater than a fingerprint. In fact it happened three times in the same year, as if we were trying it out, wanting to give default the old college try, lest we be accused of not considering the other side of pay your bills on time. The result was interest and embarrassment, and we veered sharply away from the practice of default and from the leadership that brooked it. 

So worry not about the ceiling. Our leaders learned the lessons of the past, and instead of ceilings would rather we look in the mirror, and see the beautiful world our debt has purchased.

Untitled Entitlements

Eleven years ago today
I posted to this blog
a post about a show
Beavis and Butthead

What a funny show
So ahead of its time
I still can’t believe
it’s off the air

Tonight I read a poem
at the Brooklyn Poets
open mic and I’m a
little nervous, and so

in rather poor exchange
for all that you have
to me given, I must offer
meager meditation:

The only problem with
entitlements is the word
It has different meanings
to different people

Are your arms entitled
to blood from your heart?
Are your lungs entitled
to breathe the air?

Are your eyes entitled
to light and shade?
Are your ears entitled
to music played?

Is your mind entitled
to feel abused?
Is your voice entitled
to rust unused?

What is the point
of discussing entitlement
when the body’s organs
are slowed from lack of blood?

Wish you not the organs breathe?
And if not, how will you
walk tall without legs
and reach far without arms?

Perhaps you intend
to build the arms and legs
out of wires and metal
and run them on electrons

If so, who is going to deliver
electrons to your doorstep
like milkmen once delivered milk?
Robots will, I suppose

And Johnny 5 shall sit at my desk
spin in my chair, eat my combos
drink my coffee, and pretend to work
while writing blogs on the internet

Remember When Socrates Got the Covid Vaccine?

Hippocrates, the Greek physician whose oath all new physicians must recite, knocks on the door of his good friend, Socrates.
When Socrates answers, Hippocrates enters with excitement.

Socrates! You won’t believe this!
Protagoras, the great teacher of philosophy,
is not getting the Covid vaccine.
And he’s telling all his pupils
that a person should not have to
get a vaccine if they don’t want to.

Be careful, my friend.
Just because Protagoras is famous
and known all over Greece and the Ionian Sea,
does not mean he has knowledge of
the physical sciences, too.
You, Hippocrates, are destined to be a great physician,
and know the care that one must take
about what one puts in one’s body.
But you should take no less care
about what you put in your mind,
as you are about what you put in your body.
On the contrary, you should take more care.
For what you put in your mind will determine
the care that you take with your body.
If you only put in your body
what your reason concludes is good,
then you will never put in your body
what your reason concludes is bad.
But if you put un-reason in your mind
it will become mixed with your reason
and you will no longer be able to tell
if what you put in your body is good or bad.

Come then with me, Socrates.
And maybe Protagoras can convince you.

The two friends go to the house of Protagoras.
They are led into the living room,
where Protagoras and a dozen of his students
are seated. A silent television in the background
shows the Olympics.
Protagoras recognizes Socrates and Hippocrates
and welcomes them.

Welcome, my young friends.
You are in time to hear my latest wisdom,
that I will give you both as a free trial.
Here is my teaching:
A person can decide not to get the Covid vaccine
and still be a good person.

Is that so? And is that just people with medical conditions
that make the Covid vaccine riskier than not?
Or is this teaching for all people, whether they
have such a medical condition or not?

My teaching applies to all.
No one should have to get a vaccine
if they are not comfortable getting it.
And that does not make them a bad person.

And can one be ignorant towards something
and still be honorable towards it too?

PROTAGORAS (exhales loudly)
No, Socrates, one cannot
be both ignorant towards something
and honorable towards it too.
I believe that was settled the last time we met.
You do not have to rub it in.
We all know how smart you are,
and how well you did on your SATs,
and what a great college you got into,
and how proud your parents must be
of their brilliant son’s achievements.
But this time I’ve got the upper hand.
For my reluctance to get the Covid vaccine
is based not on lack of information
but on lack of trust.
I do not trust the long term effects.
I do not trust the government.
I think that this vaccine was rushed (you can’t deny it).
And the marginal benefit from the vaccine
is not that much greater than the risk from Covid.
If I get Covid, I will probably survive,
and be fine the rest of my life.
But if I get the vaccine, I’ll live my whole life worrying
about the long term side effects from the vaccine
and I might still get Covid. You’ll admit, Socrates,
that the vaccine is not one-hundred percent effective.

That I will agree.
If the Covid vaccine protects against 95% of its hosts,
then 5% of its hosts got sick.
You have done your research, and reasoned well.
At least on that point. That the Covid vaccine
was made in record time, and lacks FDA approval,
and is not 100% effective against Covid, and that
we do not know what the long effects of it are
because we have been using it for not even a year
— on all these points no one could call you ignorant.

Thank you.

But if I can show that allowing your distrust in the Covid vaccine
to prevent your getting it is solely just lack of knowledge
and nothing more, will you get the vaccine?

I will take it under advisement.

Fair enough.
Now — the question of whether to get the Covid vaccine
is a difficult one.
And difficult questions are usually made easier by breaking
them up into smaller questions.
So let me begin. Would you agree, Protagoras,
that getting Covid is serious to one’s health?


And would you further agree,
that if one is a caregiver to others,
such as small children or elderly parents,
getting Covid would impair the care
they rely on for their daily living?

Uh, sure. Yeah, I guess so.

And does the probability of getting Covid
either with or without the vaccine
decrease as each new person gets the vaccine?

The probability marginally decreases
with each new vaccination.
I wouldn’t say it decreases a lot.

But a marginal change multiplied by many people
will no longer be in the margins.
And so if no one else got the vaccine,
wouldn’t your odds of getting Covid be much higher?


In addition to the outcome of your health
and the necessary care that your health gives
to your loved ones, there is also the outcome
of your family’s health and your friends
and anyone you come into contact with.
Should the risk your non-vaccination
pose to others be placed on the scale
next to the risk it poses to you alone?

Yes, I suppose the risk of my giving Covid to others
must be placed on the scale along with
the risk of Covid to my health,
and the risk of Covid to my caregiving.

And so if no one else had gotten the vaccine,
and your odds of getting Covid were much higher,
and the weight of those risks that much greater,
would the vaccine then become more attractive to you?

Yes, I suppose it would given those parameters.

So if your reason for not getting the Covid vaccine now
is because your chances of getting Covid are not that high,
then why did you not run out and get the vaccine
when fewer people had gotten vaccinated?

How could I?
I was not eligible to sign up for the vaccine until late March.
And when I tried to register the wait was weeks long.

So you would have gotten the vaccine,
had you been eligible when the infection rate was higher.
But because you had to wait until others got the vaccine,
the Covid rate is low enough that the prophylactic benefit of the vaccine
isn’t worth the long term risks of the vaccine to your health.

Yes, you have stated it correctly.

And what are the long term risks of the Covid vaccine?

Who knows, Socrates? We may not find out for years.
And maybe the government is hiding the information.

But didn’t private companies, not the government,
develop the Covid vaccine?

Socrates, you know those drug companies
and the government are all the same.
They’re all friends, and all corrupt.

So I have heard.
Forgive me, but I think it would be best
if Rumor did not participate in this discussion.
I take it from your silence that you agree.
Now, Protagoras, do you drive a car?

Of course. There is no other way to get around.

And does your car have brakes?

There is no other way to stop a moving car safely.

I quite agree.
Did you install those brakes yourself?

Are you kidding? Of course not.

Did you test the brakes?

I test drove the car before I bought it
and the brakes worked.

But did you design, manufacture, and calibrate
the brakes yourself?

You know I did not. Engineers did.
And they tested the brakes, and I test drove the car,
and the brakes worked perfectly,
and have every day I drive the car,
including today.

There was some scattered chuckling in the audience.

I am glad to hear that your car’s brakes work so well.
I wish you and your family only health.
And so I am worried about the long term
health of your car’s brakes.
Is it possible that the brakes have some
defect that did not show in the tests,
but that will surface only after 100,000 miles?
Or perhaps the car manufacturer knows
about a long term defect, and has conspired
with the government to keep the defect a secret?

I suppose anything is possible.

And yet you continue to drive on those brakes
given the risk that you have just acknowledged?

Ah, Socrates, I see what you are doing here.
You think that you are so clever.
There is a difference between vaccines and cars.
I need to drive a car to go to work,
to pick up my kids, to take my wife on a date night
— you know, living life, and not just talking about it.

There was a round of applause from the audience.

Yes, I know what you mean.
It is nice to go out with loved ones.
Especially now that it is safer to do so,
than it was when Covid first arrived.
But, Protagoras, I see that the infection rates
are going up, mainly from the Delta variant.
And there is an Epsilon variant, too.
Did you see that?

Yes, I think I did.

Tell me, when the rates get high enough,
so that the odds of getting Covid without
a vaccine are back at the levels they were
when you said you would have gotten a vaccine
had you been eligible, will you then go out
and get the vaccine?

Protagoras pauses, and then says:

But Socrates, getting Covid isn’t even that bad.

Remember Going Out for New Year’s Eve?

This year I am staying home for New Year’s Eve.  Not that I would otherwise have gone out.  Going out for New Year’s Eve has always been for me a fun but long and arduous duty, with many minutes standing in cold air, far from food, beverage, or restroom.  But this year I have an excuse.  I can tell people that I really would have liked to run out into the cold, dark air and ring in 2021 with pomp and parade, and that because of the pandemic such hopes were dashed. And they will believe me.

When you stay home for New Year’s Eve, the hardest thing to do, I am finding, is to stay up until midnight.  When I was a child, staying up until midnight was more than a rite of passage – it was a way of conquering nature itself, of saying, “I will greet the new day when I will!”  And then I went through a time where staying up until midnight was nothing, because midnight was still evening.  

And now…now staying up until midnight is like holding a full can of paint at arm’s length.

To pass the time I shall take stock of the year’s doings, of what I have, and of what I’ve left undone. As for what I have, I count a total of five masks – two of them with strings knotted beyond salvation; two more that fell on the floor in a public place; and one that has acquired the odor of many lunches.  I was supposed to have ordered new masks, but the mails have slowed to such a crawl that the post office publishes guidance on making things by hand.

What will I remember most about 2020?  I think the better question is what will I forget?  Never before has a year left its mark like this one.  This was the year that I wiped down frozen pancakes with isopropyl alcohol.  This was the year that I followed arrows pasted on the supermarket floor.  

The most forgettable part of the year to me is the part before mid-March.  Those hazy months of January and February are now like a dream of some forgotten childhood, where life was innocent and free, and I frolicked about the garden of good feelings, and ate sweet fruit straight off the vine.    

The year 2020 was destined to be a year of masks and social distance, of new protocols and the end of many things that we took for granted.  As if the year of perfect vision would like corrective lenses let us see things that we had not seen before, would like an LG flatscreen display our blemishes in Ultra High Def, would like the Sword of Omens give us sight beyond sight.        

And as I pretend to wish that I was out on the town, in the crowds, breathing in their exhalations, I look towards 2021 with a mixture of gratitude, hope, and a firm resolve to stay awake for at least a few more minutes of 2020.

Remember When Planes Flew Somewhere?

Hurry!  Book your flight to nowhere! Yes, airlines, struggling financially from the pandemic’s restriction on travel, have figured out that if the problem with the flying was that the planes went somewhere, then the solution would be to offer flights that landed in the same place of departure. These flights to nowhere sold out in minutes.

Other business are following. For example, lots of people have been longing for the feeling of sitting in a subway car, a crowded subway car at rush hour.  Since the pandemic thrives most in a crowded environment, riding in a crowded subway car is no longer advised.  So for those who miss the crush of human flesh, and the hot breath from the mouths of strangers, all while riding many feet under the earth, a new company has a solution. 

lego figure in lego plane

Taking over an abandoned coal mine, this start up offers groups of no more than four at a time a short ride on a “subway to nowhere.” The employees fill the subway car with mannequins and then smear the mannequins’ faces with various foods so that the mannequins smell like real people. The mannequins are dressed in work clothes and overcoats, and the four human riders are shoved into the car.  Then the car travels thirty feet along the underground track – lights flickering on and off of course – and then stops in a real life simulation of a subway stopping for “track problems” that are announced over a grainy loudspeaker.  Business has been so good, they say, that the company has just opened a new attraction – the crowded elevator – using similar technology.   

Another activity that has been completely eliminated is shaking hands.  So a small start-up has started offering opportunities to come in and shakes hands with people in an entirely Covid-safe environment.  You arrive in a completely sanitized and ventilated chamber where you put on a spacesuit and then go into the “hand shaking” chamber where you put your be-suited arm through an arm hole where you shake a real human hand (likewise be-suited in space gear) for as long and as frequently as your pre-paid slot allows.  

And finally, for those who miss the feeling of being among thousands of people at a live event, like a rock concert or Disney on Ice, there is a company that now offers the opportunity to feel like you are at a crowded event.  The company rented out a motel, that, having had a lighter summer than usual, was available for the leasing. You come to their center and they have you go through a turnstile and then you are guided through a “self security” check where you are directed by loudspeaker to pat yourself down for weapons and glass bottles.  Then you pass through a small snack stand where you pay $15 for a hot dog and $18 for a soda sourced from the purest stream in the Himalayas.

You are then directed into the “concert hall” which is really just a chamber of cardboard cutouts of people and then mirrors upon mirrors to create the impression of thousands of bodies stretching out in all directions.  The lights are turned off, and a disco ball hanging from the ceiling makes the light dance all over so that the customer experiences an authentic laser show.  

The performance itself is placed on a small screen.  To simulate the feeling of being seated far away from the stage, the screen is very small.  For an extra charge you can zoom in to feel like you are closer, and staff pushes the cardboard cutouts closer to you so that you feel it getting more crowded.

Of course, with the recent uptick in virus cases, even the in-person fake concert business was compelled to go completely online. I can say from personal experience that although the virtual fake concert is nothing like being at a real in-person fake concert, in these times you simply must learn to adjust your expectations.  

Wow – today is exactly 10 years since I started this blog with a post about Beavis and Butthead. I remember the day like it was yesterday. Very glad to still be doing it. Thank you so much everyone for reading. I hope it’s been worth it! – MK

Remember When All Ice Cream Was Real Ice Cream?

I could not believe what I was seeing.  I rubbed my eyes, but it was still there:  Yet another ice cream shop claiming to be “the only real ice cream.”  This particular establishment’s claim to reality was based on its use of milk from cows that had not been fed hormones – that, and, I imagine, the scandalous prices it charged.

Doesn’t it seem like there has been a proliferation of these ice cream shops claiming to have the only “real” ice cream?  How can there be only one real ice cream?  If this ice cream was the only real ice cream, what had I been eating before?

ice cream cone being eaten

I did some research from my couch. Reality is not as simple as these retailers of ice cream had led me to believe.  One thing was for certain: a lack of growth hormones was not the only definition of reality.  This knowledge was comforting, but it had to be put to the test.  I would have to open my own ice cream shop based upon what I had learned.

The Real Deal (the only REAL ice cream!) opened up to as much fanfare as I could muster on a single Facebook post that took me two seconds to compose.  And a sign with this message greeted customers:

The ice cream is real because you believe it is real.  

It was an instant success.  Before long, the lines were out the door and I had to instruct my employees to be extra rude to keep it from getting too crowded.  I had a monopoly on real ice cream and I didn’t even know what flavors we had – it didn’t matter! 

At least, not until a competitor opened up across the street, claiming to have “the only really real ice cream” around.  I put on a disguise, and went to see what made this ice cream real.  At the entrance was a sign:

The ice cream is real because you can feel it and taste it.  

I bought a small cone – I couldn’t believe what they were charging for a small – and tasted it.  Yes, the tasting of the ice cream did seem more real than merely thinking about it.  My customers had left for this competitor, and who could blame them?   

After negotiating an expensive licensing agreement with the new ice cream shop to use their feel/taste formula for making real ice cream, I was glad to be back as a player in the market for real ice cream.  And my customers came back…for a day.  Because then yet another competitor opened.

No Ice Cream Is Real had lines out the door.  Once again in my disguise, I waited on line and when I got to the entrance there was a large sign:

No ice cream is real because no ice cream can prove it is real.  

And there was no ice cream for sale.  Instead, the refrigerated bins behind the diagonal glass panes were filled with slips of paper – paper of every color and thickness, with a small basket of pencils at the register – so that people could work out for themselves why no ice cream is real and therefore satisfy their craving for something that did not exist. 

And outside there were picnic tables where customers were sitting and working out on the slips of paper why no ice cream could prove it was real.  Some of them had the paper in a cone, and others in a cup. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves proving why real ice cream does not – nay, cannot – exist. It was such a simple and beautiful idea.  I could see why everyone wanted unreal ice cream from this place; it was truly the only place for real unreal ice cream.  And you would not believe what they were charging for a slip of paper.

Remember When the Trial Subscription Was Really a Trial?

Yes, the rumors are true.  I missed the deadline to cancel a free 7-day trial subscription of a streaming channel for a smart TV.  The particular channel is not important. I assure you, it was something educational.

I was not that late.  The evening of the deadline, I had been busy cleaning the coffee pot, and had become so absorbed in my work that I lost track of time.  And when I was done, I realized, Oh, I had better cancel that streaming channel.  And it was just about ten or at the most fifteen minutes past midnight.

White text on blue background that says "FREE FOR 7 DAYS"

I already had an email from the channel, containing a receipt for my payment.  I called up the channel to request a cancelation and removal of the charge.

“I’m sorry, I cannot remove the charge,” said the billing clerk.

“Surely there is some exception,” I pleaded, “some special procedure, some authority with the power to take off the charge.  Please!  My payment for Misfit Fruit is due this month and I need to make sure I have enough to cover it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.  All sales are final.  Except – “


“Except there is this process where you can request a trial.”

“Really?  A trial?”

“Yes, but I have to warn you, we don’t get very many people using the trial procedure.  Are you sure you do not want to simply pay the charge.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but in the warrior’s code, there’s no surrender.”

The trial of Streaming Channel v. Myself took place three days later.  Of course it was via Zoom video chat to maintain social distancing, and once again I had trouble with the background.  Fortunately, under the Zoom Court’s rules, the jury is sequestered until all Zoom background issues are resolved.  

As the first belligerent in the matter, the Streaming Channel put its case on first.  It called the billing clerk as a witness.

“And how are customers billed?” asked the lawyer for the Streaming Channel.

“On the first of every month, the bill goes out.  It is automatic.”  

“And what would have happened if the customer had canceled on time?”

“Then the customer’s name would have been taken off the billing list.”

On cross-examination, I asked the billing clerk if there was any empathy at the Streaming Channel for someone who was only ten or at the most fifteen minutes late with canceling the streaming service.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the answer for that,” said the clerk, “but if you visit our website, you’ll find a place where you can chat with one of our customer service representatives.”

The trial was then turned over to me.  First, I put my neighbor on the stand, who testified that in 25 years of living next to me he has never known me to be late in canceling anything, including a streaming television service.  It was brilliant testimony.  It should have ended the case right there.  Unfortunately, on cross-examination my neighbor was compelled to discuss our plum tree dispute from several years back, and the implied conflict of interest undermined his credibility.

Then I called a freelance technician who testified that the time stamp of the channel was not accurate.  Unfortunately, on cross-examination, the channel proved that my witness technician had an unusually high number of returns via Amazon, strongly suggesting that he ordered things just to use them once with no intention of keeping them.  I let myself have a glance at the jury – something they tell you not to do – and on their faces read nothing favorable to my side.

Finally I testified in my own behalf.  I told of my struggles at remembering to cancel free trial versions of things.  How growing up, my parents worked with me late into the night at remembering to cancel free services.  How I had forgotten to cancel a free compact disc service (remember those?) and how the experience had made me rethink my entire approach towards free services – that the service was never really free, that it was the work of thousands of unnamed and unthanked individuals who perform their jobs with diligence and dignity, and all they ask in return is that I notify them of my intent to cancel by the deadline, usually 7 or 14 days from the day you sign up.

The jury was in tears.  Deliberations lasted all of 10 minutes.  They returned a verdict of “no liability” meaning the charge would be removed, and I wouldn’t have to pay anything, and I even got a new trial subscription that I just had to cancel by the deadline.

The channel’s attorney congratulated me on my win; a professional to the end.  I held an impromptu press conference on the courthouse steps, where I thanked my legal team, expressed gratitude that justice prevailed, and closed on a message of hope. 

“My hope is that one day such efforts – such trials – will be unnecessary and people who are only 10 or at the most 15 minutes late in canceling a streaming channel can avoid a charge without having their lives tossed about.”

My finest memory of that day shall be the faces of the children in the audience, who saw at last that the system can be trusted, but that you should still remember to cancel the free trial by the deadline.