Jam is mashed, preserves have chunks of fruit. With some fruits it's hard to leave large china during processing (like raspberries, which break easily when properly ripe), at which point raspberry preserves might have less sugar then raspberry jam.

Were you doing this from the same IP address? Cause some places check for that kind of thing.

The New York Times did an article on it last fall. Here's a non-paywalled copy of the article or, if you prefer audio, here's the episode of The Daily where they discuss it.

It's possible Trump will win again. And even if he doesn't, he's not the only threat. There's so the emboldened MAGAts, a resurgent white nationalist / neo-Nazi / christofascist movement being weaponized, an unapologetically corrupt Supreme Court, a Republican party that's too scared of their own voters to do their job, a heavily militarized and intolerant police force, and plans to forcibly re-make the country with the next Republican president.

Sadly, no:

Bakers, bakeries and bakers shops were required by law only to sell their 'national loaves' when they were a day old because stale bread did not cut to waste like fresh bread. Source

[If you can find it, the BBC Timeshift episode 'Bread: A Loaf Affair' mentions this along with a surprisingly interesting modern-ish history of bread in the UK. It's narrated by Tom Baker.]

And WWII.

In the UK, bakers were forbidden from selling bread on the day it was baked, in order to make it more stale and reduce demand.

So it worked and he gave it to you, and when it arrived at your place it no longer worked? I'd try checking that all the internal cables are connected properly; one of them may have jostled loose in the journey.

Are you getting any POST codes?

I went to a party that lasted all weekend. We weren't drinking or anything else, so I want to emphasize I did all this to myself, completely sober:

We were tossing lightsticks back and forth in the dark; I was barefoot. I leaped up to catch a lightstick; when I came down, my right foot landed fully on some kind of spiny, prickly, thorny plant, and I got a bunch of the pointy spiny bits embedded into the sole of my foot. This was particularly ironic, as I had made a point of pointing out the plant to everyone else earlier and telling them to avoid it.

The toilet backed up and I had to clear it with a plunger that had a broken handle. I cleared the toilet, and also managed to flay about a fifth of the skin off the palm of my right hand.

I slipped on the stairs and wrenched my back pretty badly. The dog ran underfoot and I sprained my left ankle. Something else happened, I don't even remember what, and I injured my right hip.

The worst part was that I had driven myself and a group of friends to this party, which meant I had to be the one who drove us back: my car had a manual transmission and no one else knew how to drive stick. So envision this:

My right foot, with the spikes still in it, was used for the gas and the brake. My left foot, with the sprained ankle, had to delicately balance the clutch as we drove up and down these narrow back hills. There was no way to balance my weight on my injured right hip, so every movement on the gas or clutch put some torque on the hip - as well as twisting my injured back. And I had to shift with my right hand wrapped like a mummy's, but the shifting pressure was still on the part of my hand with the flap of skin. And the roads just kept jostling every single injury I had.

It was an incredibly, insanely painful drive home. And it was still one of the best parties I've ever been to.

Are they looking meaningfully at you while they're doing it?

I'm afraid that that information has had to be [redacted]. Choose another path.