If you can’t say something good, then just don’t say anything at all. That’s advice that no one ever gave me.

Discretion is the better part of valor. The same people who never told me not to say anything bad never told me this either.

Brylcream – a little dab’ll do ya.

Which reminds me. We saw the first of the 8 Black Mirror episodes of 2025 last night. In our overly commercial world, I thought it made some good points.

A young married woman collapses and needs brain surgery. It is dangerous surgery and may affect her cognition. But a new technology would guarantee her functioning. It is based on cloning the affected part of her brain, putting it on a server belonging to a company called Rivermind, and letting her brain continue to operate through an app on her phone.

It is also relatively inexpensive, so she and her husband, who are financially struggling, go ahead.

It turns out to be bait and switch, as Rivermind keeps cutting back on service unless the couple upgrades their subscription at an ever increasing cost. The service restrictions come by decreasing the area covered under their “plan” until they are restricted to one New York county, and until, under the basic plan, the patient begins spouting out advrtisements geared to their particular situations. Her husband becomes upset; she inadvertently suggests a specific anger management program. One of her students is facing domestic hardship; she blurts out an ad for Christian family counseling.

The writer of the episode suggests he got the idea from service subscriptions that start out cheap for the first year or so, or from podcasters who subtly interrupt their conversation to give a little commercial message. And I assume from YouTube and other services, which eliminate ads if you pay for premium status.

L.S.M.F.T.  Lucky Strike means fine tobacco.

As you might imagine, this is not what I expected to say on the blog this morning  amidst my frustration with the Republicans, the Democrats, King Donald, King Benjamin, King Vladimir, and the Washington Nationals.

I had intended to alleviate my frustrations by turning back to some of my books. Picking a different shelf of a different bookcase. One with an assortment of signed books.

And more.

Have you read Wouk’s book? You may think it’s about Humphrey Bogart, but it’s really about a Jewish kid who finds himself in the WWII Navy and wonders what to do about the girl he left behind.

And what about Schindler’s List?

You think Schindler’s List was about Meryl Streep? If you do, that means you are mixing it up with Sophie’s Choice. Shame on you.

And, by the way, did I tell you about the time Tom Keneally and his wife came to our house for Shabbat dinner? One day, I will. I hope his memories of the evening are as warm as mine.

You’ll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsident.

I really must upgrade my WordPress subscription.