Blog #254                                January 20, 2022

 

I never thought my own daughters would turn against me.  It happened last Sunday night when the family gathered on Zoom to conquer, as we always do, the New York Times Sunday Crossword.  The clue was Look or manner – four letters, starts with m.  I suggested mien, which fit nicely, and, since it reminded me of The Raven, I immediately launched myself into reciting the appropriate verse:

 

But with mien of lord or lady perched above my chamber door

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door

Perched and sat and nothing more.

 

I would have continued for the full five-minute recitation had I not heard my daughters, in unison, scream.  “Stop, Dad, stop!  Not again, or we’ll put you on mute.” Mute?  You’d put your own loving, if strange, father on mute?  They repeated the warning:

 

This whole Raven thing is a bore

We’ve heard it so often before

Be still, you old coot,

Or we’ll put you on mute

And listen to you nevermore.

 

I guess I have to give them credit for inspiring a good limerick and our Weekly Word – mien, which is a person’s look or demeanor. 

 

I went to a doctor one day last week (there’s a shock!) and was waiting in the room aptly named for that specific activity when a nurse entered and called out “Michael”.  I have been highly conditioned, in the true Pavlovian method, to respond to a woman’s voice calling my name, and I arose.  But I was reminded of a day years ago when Carol was having an early-morning operation.  We waited in a capacious room at the hospital with a dozen other people until her name was called and the nurse led her into the operating theater.  I went to the cafeteria to get a Diet Coke, returned and opened my book.  About an hour later, a different nurse came out and called “Michael”.  It seemed like not enough time had passed, but, as I said, I am highly trained.  I grabbed my book and my soda and followed the nurse like a dutiful poodle toward the double-doors.  As we walked, she looked at me and my Diet Coke and said, “You know, we told you not to eat or drink anything this morning.”  Whoa, I said!  Stop!  I’m not having an operation.  I’m waiting for my wife.  Apparently, I was not the Michael she was looking for.  Boy, that was close.  If I hadn’t spoken out, they could have dragged me in and cut off my Slauson, or any other attractive body part they came across.  I understand why they can’t say your last name when they call you in the waiting room.  It has to do with privacy and HIPPA, as if sinister and subversive agents are skulking through the nation’s waiting rooms collecting the names of patients and exposing their vital information to a vindictive and curious world.  MICHAEL WENT TO THE EYE DOCTOR, I hear them scream.  Seriously, who gives a flying HIPPA?

 

This compulsion with secrecy and security is out of control.  How many passwords do you have?  Dozens?  Hundreds?  What are you afraid of?  That someone will steal your access to Candy Crush?  That someone will find out what songs you like?  That someone will find the picture of your vaccination card and use it to gain entrance to Barbra Streisand’s 19^th Farewell Concert?  Plus, with all those myriads of passwords, you have to write them all down somewhere, so all a thief has to do is find your list. Besides, creating an acceptable password nowadays is harder than getting into Stanford.  I tried to register a password the other day.  I started with something simple:

 

jetson

Sorry, that password is currently being used.

jetsonx

Sorry, your password must include a capital letter,

Jetsonx

Sorry, your password must be at least ten characters long.

Georgejetsonx

Sorry, your password must include at least two numbers.

Georgejetsonx123

Sorry, your password must include a punctuation mark.

Georgejetsonx123!

Sorry, your password must include an ampersand.

What? I’ve had it.  This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard and you can take your product and shove it up your ampersand!

Sorry, that password is currently being used.

 

Message from Shakespeare: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done than be one of the twenty (The Merchant of Venice).  I don’t have a password; I have a puss-word.  It’s called Meow, and as soon as I say it, Pops comes running to see what I want.  Talk about your Pavlov!  You know that Pavlov could only train silly, stupid dogs.  People don’t train cats.  Cats train people.  Meow!  And don’t you forget it.

 

If you’re so worried about your privacy, how can you possibly tolerate an Echo or Alexa in your house?  Whether it’s Dot or Siri or Echo or Alexa, you know those round little bitches are listening to every word you say and reporting it to anyone who will pay the price.  Just take my advice and don’t talk to anything short and round – including Dr. Ruth.  Especially Dr. Ruth!

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you are feeling well, avoiding Covid and protecting those passwords.  Let’s see, what else happened last week?  Well, I got my 4^th Pfizer booster.  My left arm now has more holes than Pebble Beach.  Did I need the booster?  Do I know what I’m doing?  Does anybody?  The answer to the first of those questions is I don’t know, and the last two questions – well, the short answer in NO and the long answer is HELL NO!  But, as it says in the Odyssey, “Zeus grants us this or that, or else refrains from granting, as he wills; all things are in his power”.  I guess that’s Greek for “it’s all in God’s hands.” 

 

I just welcomed you back and already it’s time to go.  I’ve used up my allotted words and am afraid if I keep talking, you’ll put me on mute.  But I’m saving some truly delectable words for you next week, so don’t be late.  Meanwhile, as it says in Don Quixote, “May God grant you health and not forget me.”  Stay well, count your blessings and memorize all 108 lines of The Raven by next week.  There’s going to be a pop quiz.

 

Michael                          Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com