I Never Complain, but…

QWERTY middle finger picAll this talk of viruses disabling computer programs. There are other ways of disabling us users, and I’m not referring to disability.

What is it with this younger generation, anyway? They come out of the womb air typing—like they already know QWERTY’s keyboard layout. Really! It took me a high school senior class to memorize my typewriter’s layout, though my class drill assignments looked like Greek on a modern-day sheet of papyrus. I mean, with 50-65% typing errors, it was sort-of illegible.

Even now, I have deceptive looking hands. My five-year-old Grand Niece says my hands are “tangled,” meaning: I can’t grip things. They look like they belong to a keyboard maestro with long skinny fingers and a palm spread to rival The Shaq. Hey, I’m not complaining about my unusual hands, I’m complaining about our 21st century digital communications.

Since I was born in the first half of the 20th century—a long time ago—hertz and gigahertz mean nothing to me but frustration. Forget kilo, mega, and gigabytes. Our brains store information, hopefully; computers store space or bytes? Where I come from, a byte means a “bite of food,” or a limb, if you’re a child in the throws of anger. Anyway, we used to have bully bullies. In addition, we now have cyber bullies. I can’t take it anymore! I’m tired of being pinned against my password wall!

I’m being bullied into taking “Brain Energizer” supplements to boost memory and ward off disabling Alzheimer’s Disease; because I can’t remember all my passwords to my varied treasure chests of Gold? NO! They’re to my many portals of business goings-on. It’s not my fault!

For security’s sake, when I come up with a password, I’m asked if I want my program to remember it. Of course. It’s a time saver to click “Yes;” so I click “Yes.” If they remember it, why should I. Right? Wrong!

When my Shaq fingers make a mistake, they ask me to verify my password. Excuse me! They were the ones who asked me if I wanted them to remember it. When I type in my username, that horizontal line of bold black dots clues me that they remember; it’s right there, hidden in plain sight, to login.

My question is: “How does this clock-and-dagger password drama relate to my identity?” Hackers, BE HACKED! Computers, my brain intelligence has out-witted your byte space. I’ve been byte-n enough.

I have a manila envelop titled “Usernames and Passwords” filled with each venture’s name, email address, username, and password…written in reliable, old-fashioned long-hand.

I love my long digits; especially my multi-functional middle finger—for the express purpose of typing, of course.

P.S. Just returned from my Chicago convention. I’ll have the update, and warnings of “accessible” tours, next week. Stay tuned.

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