Categories: Technology Services

Spam is Spam: Keeping The Reports Away

We all hate it. Even those who send it hate spam. And when most of us receive it we do exactly what we should: report it. The problem is, what I,, as a sender, consider to be spam is not the same as what you, as a receiver, consider to be spam. Case in point, Map My Ride.

I love Map My Ride. It’s an Android, iPhone, and Blackberry app which uses your phones GPS to map bike rides, giving you wonderful stats like speed, distance, calories burned, energy outputted, and graphs climbs and elevation. All in all, its an incredibly useful app.

Recently they updated their site and app, increasing user friendliness and enhancing features. In the process I also suddenly noticed something in my email:

Something struck me wrong about this. Why are they advertising to me? Did I click something at some point in the registration process? Did I “not opt out” while creating my account?

Going through the registration process again it seems that the latter.

Yep, looks like a hidden opt out. A common, if questionable, tactic. I know I am always trying to uncheck this stuff, and when I “miss one” and start getting email, I consider that spam. And in this case it’s not even classic “soft marketing”, they’re specifically trying to sell me products. They provide a one click unsubscribe, so its probably not a big deal, but at the same time you have to wonder whether you should consider this underhanded. Is it enough to bring the ire of the spam button? They better hope not.

Kent Clark

Some have compared him to the Dalai Lama, others to Kublai Kahn. When he isn't teaching third world children how to purify water with nothing more than a plastic bottle and a garden hose, he is creating mad waves for surfers off the west coast with little more than a paddle. Some say there is a boat involved, others that he walks on water. Little is known about his background. he appeared from nowhere 15 years ago and claims heritage from a land with neither want not need. He makes little comment, stating only that it was a pretty cool place. Fire does not burn him, cold does not hurt him. Words could... but they don't. When he passes, pedals fall off branches. When he speaks, hair tugs at skin, pulling just slightly in his direction. He does not sleep but he does dream. He has muscled his way into the lives of the famous and whispered his way into their hearts. And in the wee hours he plays oboe softly, as if to sooth the night to sleep.