Twitter tweeted me today and said my account had been “compromised” and please get a new password. My daughter confirmed she had received a “tweet” that she knew didn’t come from me, so Twitter wasn’t kidding.
Awash in internet paranoia, I not only changed that one, but all the rest of them, too. After all, you never know.
The trouble with all these passwords is exactly that: “all these passwords.” I literally have to keep a cheat sheet in my desk drawer to keep them straight. And then, there are the web sites I don’t visit often, and honestly who can remember ten letters and numbers, preferably upper and lower case with symbols after three long months? Not me.
My daughter said she’d seen a notebook made expressly for listing passwords. I probably need that, since my current list slants across three well thumbed 4 X 6 cards awash in a rainbow of sticky notes for the after-added ones. If you are organized in the rest of your life, but your password list looks drunk, what does that mean?
Of course, I couldn’t take a password notebook out of the house because I’d promptly lose it. But I was thinking, it would look rather nice in my desk drawer where the helter skelter note cards with sticky notes now live.
The Twitter email just went hand in hand with Welcome To Monday. I try not to believe Monday has it in for me, but I do occasionally wonder if Monday is really a Ferrari driven by the Mischief Demon. I headed into my favorite FedEx Office this morning only to find they had botched a total of twenty six velo-bound briefs that I had left for the overnight shift to copy. Only last Monday, they had made exactly the same mistake on an overnight order. The stapled sets, they could handle, but the velo machine just brought out their creativity. Whoever works the graveyard shift has yet to grasp the obvious: a “copy” of an “original” has to look exactly like the original or else it is not a “copy.” You can’t have a single-sided original and a double sided “copy.” In lawyer-world, “copy” means “exact copy” not “in the ballpark.” (This obsession with nitpicking is also called “thinking like a lawyer.” I get paid to do this. Honest.)
At any rate, while I waited for the corrected velos, I exiled myself to one of my favorite home stores where I sniffed candles, bought a few of the good ones, and snapped up a pound of my favorite coffee at a wildly discounted price. Thank you, Monday Demon.
Then I headed back to FedEx and laughed myself into near hysteria reading “Laughter is Your Best Vacation” (which was seductively next to the impulse-buy candy under the cash register) while I waited for the staff to finish the 26 corrected velos. In the end, because I am pretty sure my work keeps the doors open at that particular FedEx branch, they gave me the entire order for free. Thank you, Monday Demon. Now on to Tuesday. (I’m thinking Tuesday drives a VW bug. One of the new ones that looks as if they took an old one and tried to turn it into a helium balloon.)

The Monday Demon