THEY SAID

I promised I wasn’t going to write another thing about crime in the neighborhood but in today’s email two more reports by neighbors of their cars getting broken into. Odd thievery, mostly registration and insurance info from glove compartments. Comes the attendant chorus of enough is enough, let’s put up cameras and more lights. Makes me wonder, if every neighborhood had cameras on every corner, would this kind of vandalism disappear from the city? We are well on the way to that reality anyway. Wave. Say, Hi Mom.

Thievery, an ancient profession. Doubt it’ll go away soon.

From broken word to stolen passwords. You’ve all heard about the bleeding heart security flaw thingy. Yahoo users, they said, should change their passwords. That’s me. No, I am not going to whine, even though it took 1.5 hours of my shortening life. I kept getting caught up on my security questions, especially, What is the last name of your best friend in childhood? Why would I have chosen that question, assuming I did once upon a time. I didn’t have a best friend in childhood but I always wanted one. Isn’t that sad? There were only two possibilities name-wise. It’s not that I was a pariah; it was a small town. Anyway, before we get too far into the psychoanalytic wilderness, nothing, nothing, nothing could prevent Error from appearing, and madly I kept trying, variation after variation, each time taking it from the top, filling in all the little boxes. Even when I got both answers right, I was informed that some other inscrutable code was invalid. No, no whine. Instead, I will express gratitude to Patrice who at some point took over my computer like it was a cabin cruiser and I just sat there while the screen background went black and she drove it through the waters. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Anyway Patrice got it done, though I don’t think she knew for sure of all the stuff she tried what did the trick. And so far my emails have worked all day. (Why anyone would want to read them is a good question.)

I suddenly realize that Patrice is an evil tech genius from Kazakhistan and I am doomed.

So as not to end on a downer…due to my friend Randy’s encouragement, I took the on-line test, what character in the Wizard of Oz are you, and guess what, they said I’m Dorothy, and I didn’t even tell them I was from Kansas.

Also, more good news, if odd: Noelle came home to find all the stuff taken from their car in one of their own grocery bags sitting on their porch.

 

 

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5 responses to “THEY SAID

  1. Now, Richard, are you making these things up?    So who keeps their car registration in the glove compartment anyway???   May as well leave a set of keys, too.

    So far I’ve ignored the password scare.     Need to ask my “coastal advisers” ——Berkeley/Boston.   

    Better glance at the paper—–we only get the Cleveland paper 4 times a week—-Thursday is not one of the days.        Seems like I never get back to the computer til so late.

    Happy Week End to You!!!    Joanne

    ________________________________

    • farospace@sbcglobal.net

      No, I’m not making this up. In California you’re supposed to keep your registration info in your car. Why anyone would want it I don’t fathom.

      R

  2. Louis Bixenman

    I’m still looking for Kazakhistan on my 20th century globe…

  3. Francine Schwarzenberger

    YOU WRITE THE MOST INTERESTING BLOGS! THANKS! Date: Thu, 10 Apr 2014 23:34:58 +0000 To: francineop@msn.com

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