Your Essential Shopper YES! and how to get rid of it

I’ve been receiving the YES! straight-to-the-trash “newspaper” for about half a year now. I never asked for it. I never, not once heard from the Idaho Statesman (a Gannett company) about whether or not I wanted it (they allege that a previous resident at my address gave them permission). But twice a week, it showed up any-damn-way, a pile of pink bagged garbage, a condomized collection of junk mail just sitting in my yard, daring me to defy it.

For a long time I just took it straight to the recycle bin (hey, evil conservatives with libertarian leanings can recycle, too). I would sometimes be outside and hear a thwack! sound and turn just in time to see the delivery person drive away with me trying to call out to them, “Hey! I don’t want that!” But to no avail.

I finally Googled the title of the supplement. What did I find out? Why, only that it’s a nationwide nuisance. There are people in places other than Boise that are just as befuddled as I am about this direct-to-your-door advertisement poopstorm. What’s funny is that, of course, you can find all kinds of links that point to how you can susbscribe to YES! and the blurb text gives me the impression that by God I ought to be excited about it! There are exclamation marks everywhere! There are words like dynamic and yippity zippity! Okay, maybe not that, but you get the idea.

Anyway, I finally found the number to call. It’s the Idaho Statesman subscription desk. It’s 208.377.6200, just FYI. And it’s public information, so I’m not breaking any rules in regard to disclosure. I’m just trying to save you the pop-up pain of navigating the Stateman’s Web site—clearly they’re desperate for revenue (maybe the majority of people are sick of reading “news” that’s really just the left’s opinion on how we’re supposed to think). If you call this number and tell them you don’t want YES! anymore, they’ll be happy to unsubscribe you. But if you tell them how outrageous their business practices are, they’ll transfer you to the supervisor. Now that’s service.

But wait, there’s more. Because there are other people out there across the fruited plain who have tried to unsubscribe from YES! as well. These people have spoken to the subscription departments of their local broadsheets and they’re still, guess what, getting a large pink turd dropped on their lawn twice a week. So be ready for a fight.

I told the Statesman that their direct delivery junk mail constituted a security risk to my family. No, really. Because what if I’m on vacation, okay? And what if the pink turd patrol continues to drop two bombs per week in my absence? Astute criminals will be able to deduce, a la Home Alone, that my house is ripe for the picking. And I ain’t having that.

I think it’s a commentary on where we’re at as a society when our newspapers can bully us into calling them for relief. Clearly, they’re desperate for a world that no longer exists; a world where they mattered. They’ve been reduced to schlepping used cars and appliances and blue light specials via ad supplements no one wants. I find it hilarious, in the end, and I rejoice in the demise of what has amounted to a powerhouse, for decades, of the American left (it’s also beautifully ironic that these socialists have to turn to capitalism to save them).

The Statesman’s harassment has been, perversely, at least a little instructive. I’ll keep you updated on whether or not they continue to shat on my lawn. Shades of the occupy movement? Oh, yes. I think so.

Capitalism and Ethics in the Web Age

I’ve become a regular customer at the local bicycle shop lately. I’m getting back into riding—I finally have enough free time to be able to budget an hour or so every other day so that I can take a good long ride. I originally stopped by the shop to see what new hardtail mountain bikes were going for—they had a few on special for five, six hundred bucks. Right in the wheelhouse, then, at least for my budget, and I thought seriously about buying one.

But then I got home and started surfing and Googling around, learning what was to learn. I wanted to replace my old banger; the fork was just done. I have a relatively late model Trek cruiser, too, the ones with the steel fenders and all that swoopyness going on, with a seven speed drivetrain. Being the ex-bicycle mechanic that I am, my gears were turning about swapping some of the good parts from my clapped out MTB onto the cruiser. A lot of that depended on the spacing of the rear dropouts, which, by the way, turned out to be identical. Long story short, I was able to swap everything I wanted to swap, and I only needed to buy new tires, tubes, and a saddle. I figured if I kept to the streets for now, I would ride more often if I didn’t have to drive half an hour to the trailhead every time.

I found some good deals for tires online, but you’ve gotta pay shipping, you can’t really look at the merchandise, and you’ve gotta wait for parcel post, especially if the item is bulky. So I walked on over to the bike shop. It’s only five blocks from my door to theirs anyway. I figured I’d see what they had.

Now here’s the thing: I shop online for plenty of stuff. I don’t think it’s bad to do that. Part of what makes capitalism work is the beauty of choice, and we have plenty of it in America. Coupled with that liberty, though, is the attendant responsibility to choose wisely, to inform one’s choices with some measure of propriety. I’ve been saying for quite a long time now that capitalism doesn’t work at all when it’s been divorced from Christian morality. If we don’t have an absolute right or wrong as a foundation under us, we can’t begin to allow the market loose; it would tear the world apart. I think we have plenty of evidence of that in current events right now, which I won’t belabor, but it’s in big biz and government aplenty.

I ended up buying my tires at my local shop, plunking down forty bucks a pop plus tax, which was a lot. But I was rewarded, and as it turns out, unexpectedly. First of all, I was “keeping it local,” something the granola-muncher North End hippies seem to be into, and something with which I agree. I was helping to keep the doors of my local shop open by doing business there. I was also sowing a kind of seed, because when I popped back in a week later with some stubborn axle bearings that needed adjustment, they comped me for the labor, happy to sell me a tool and some parts on top. They figured I’d be back, which I will. But I also got my stuff right now, which, fast as technology is these days, no online retailer can match (unless they’re selling downloads, natch). I got to look over the merch, make a good decision, and take what I wanted home without jacking around with shipping. Of course, there was the sales tax, but whatever. On top of all that, my local shop has a box of take-off parts—tires and tubes for like, two bucks each. They’re brand new, they just came installed as original equipment on some floor model and got swapped out for something different, spec’ed by the customer. Everybody wins.

Anyway, that’s all. Support your local biz every chance you get. The Web has enabled the illusion of more choice, more convenience, et cetera. But the trade-offs are real. Shipping can take forever, if there’s a screwup of some kind you’ll wish you’d never ordered the thing in the first place because returns are horrible online, and you don’t get to hold the widget in your hot little hands before you commit. Besides, one day you might wake up to discover the only choice you have left is MEGACORP OF CHINA and you’ll be completely screwed. So wake up to your Christian morality and ethics, America, and be proud of your heritage; do the right thing. Keep it local.