Newsletter -- Can I Unsubscribe?

Can I unsubscribe? Is that what you're asking? I thought so. You asked me a question, so I'll ask you a question as well. If you wanted to unsubscribe, why did you subscribe in the first place? Are you just so casual about declaring to the world that you don't know your own mind? And that you're such a fickle person as to not know what you wanted in the first place. You're all up in my face with umbrage over unsubscribing when perhaps I should be up in your face about why you originally subscribed. I remember seeing your subscription come in, and I recall saying, wrongly, it now seems, "There's a person I can depend on..."

Of course I'd rather you didn't unsubscribe. One, if you didn't know your mind originally, perhaps you're going against your ultimate will now. And you'll turn around in a few weeks -- months, tops -- and beg to be resubscribed. I wish I had a nickel for every person I've known who's done things like that. "He loves me, he loves me not." What's clear about most of these characters is that they're blown about by the wind. It's cool to subscribe to this guy's newsletter .... Then suddenly it's not .... With the tide turning once again, and everyone wants on board. Try, just try, not to follow the crowd.

At this point, though, we're not going by what I want. God forbid I might know best. Hell no, that can't be possible, can it? It's like I'm building a house with rotten lumber. What kind of house will I have? This piece decides it doesn't want to be part of the house. I wake up and the roof says it's had enough. I can only hope the basement sticks it out or the whole thing's lost! Isn't that something, that a basement, the lowest part of the house, has such power? You'd think, the basement, how humble, how untidy; there's bugs and spider webs and dust and dark corners down there; that's where we keep the sump pump. Stop to think, maybe it's your one subscription that's holding up the entire newsletter.

But no one stops to think. Because people are off in their own selfish little world, apparently capable of putting 2 and 2 together, but on closer examination all you get's a blank stare. Or a selfish, baby-like sniffling and whimpering and tantrums; the one thing they're good at is throwing tantrums! Bringing the whole house to a standstill while we get them cleaned up, or whatever the problem is. "Hush little baby, don't say a word ... if you wanna unsubscribe, it's no skin off my ass ... much!" Or is it? You unsubscribe and I might suddenly become sullen and develop writer's block, and next thing you know there's not a newsletter in sight! I've seen it happen.

Sometimes I wish -- yes, I wish -- I could be the linchpin like that for some guy's whole enterprise. Because the way it is for me, I'm always thinking, "No one's depending on me." When there actually could be a guy, or a show, or a production out there tottering on its last legs, with my allegiance, my willingness to stand with them being decisive. Well, don't get your hopes up. I'm not publishing my stats -- I keep all that top secret from my cutthroat competition -- but I can assure you, I've still got strength, top to bottom. And if you unsubscribe that's what you're going to miss.

I had a few of my more fickle subscribers (in the past) acting like I was Svengali, trying to keep a grip on them out of some funky ulterior motive, not just the good of the newsletter. To whom I say, Don't flatter yourself! Look, be realistic, my readership is worldwide, with barely any of them being local people. If they were local and I was Svengali, that'd be different. I'd be at their house, or them at mine, leading them by a chain in their nose, or simply by the power of my personality. My deep-set hypnotic eyes. My mystical hand pointing the way to a subterranean boudoir with all the fixins'. Or pulling a rope and having a servant subdue you. That never happens, at least not as often as you'd think.

The biggest reason it doesn't happen -- and, yes, I have appetites like everyone -- is my life is complicated enough without having to worry that people will have some reason to come back on me, or blackmail me. The cops show up, I don't want them finding anything, and they won't. "What's that black light and all the swirling colors in your garage?" "It's nothing, and I don't think your warrant mentions the garage. But if you must know, that's a party for happy subscribers to my newsletter, and if you'll pass me that bathrobe, I'm expected to join them momentarily, if you're finished searching the house."

Yes, I want subscribers simply for the good of the newsletter and my other enterprises, the blog, etc. I'll probably get a lot of good when I go to newsletter conventions and we're comparing subscriptions. It'll be a downer if I have to continually revise my figures -- I'm very precise -- based on the latest number of unsubscribers. No one wants to be a laughingstock at conventions, certainly I don't want that.

OK, look at it this way, I haven't even yet opened this current incarnation of the newsletter to subscribers. So why are you so concerned about being able to unsubscribe? If you feel you will be unsubscribing, you can see I have a little coupon you can cut out. When the time comes, if you just fill that out -- and make sure you don't submit a duplicate coupon, because I'll only accept originals -- I'll see that you are justly taken care of.

I Command You!

We're going to do something that will do you a lot of good. From now on, for a while, you're going to take your orders from me.

First, let me say, Thank you for your lack of sass. It wasn't entirely expected, although of course it was my hope. Docility gets a such a bad rap, I like to call it trust instead. You are to be commended, praised for it. Don't let anyone get you down.

Seriously, don't let anyone get you down, that's an order.

OK, a few ground-rules just to settle any reservations: 1) I command you to reserve enough of your own will that your obedience will be completely voluntary. 2) When in doubt, obey me without question. I mean you no harm. No harm will come to you from me by malicious intent. You are entirely safe (from me) while under my control. Naturally, I can't be responsible for unscrupulous associates who may come into our association, although it is my vow that if I ever take on associates, I will adhere to the most stringent standards relating to background checks and the likelihood of their perfect obedience to me.

You've had a hard life, you told me. You've had troubles making wise decisions. According to you, you've seldom -- perhaps never -- made one wise decision. Don't worry, you're not alone. Most of my cases are like that. But look, you're off to a good start already! Because in submitting to me, you've already made one good decision! So that's one good decision in a row, or one with which to start your row. I will see that you make good decisions all along the way. With perfect obedience, you will make many good decisions.

Now, what are we to do about your family? You told them something of the nature of our relationship. I wish you hadn't, but now that it's done we have to deal with it. You may be surprised to hear me say this, but you do not have to cut them off. Not entirely. Periodic visits and calls are allowable, given sufficient cause and advance notice. In part, it depends on the influence they have over you, whether it's healthy. If it's healthy, who knows, you might see them every fifth Christmas, or every third funeral for verifiably close loved ones.

But enough about you. What am I getting out of this relationship? Of course there is the satisfaction of knowing I could be of help. As the careful apple picker gently removes the worm from the fruit and eventually sets it free to live the rest of its life in peace, so you can look forward to many years of fruitfulness and good things. Then there is, more selfishly, the growth in my own spirit, as the exercise of my personal power has been vigorous, sustained, and successful. I have both done good and received that benefit.

You are a nice person. Thank you for coming to me. In the kitchen -- if you just go through that door you will see it -- is a sink full of dishes. There's soap under the sink -- just open the cabinet and look down. Do you know the steps to washing dishes? If you do, I dismiss you to go do that job. If not, I will sketch them out for you point by point. You do not have to dry them by hand. Just put them in the dish-drainer. I'm thinking it will take you around 35 minutes to get done. I will be in my study, relaxing. When you get done, please come to my study, knock and wait for me to tell you to enter. You will be told then the next chore on the list.