You wanta password? A code? In your face.

Oh yeah? I'll give you a password.

Password—a cursed word. Beside the dreaded blue screen, signing on with your password ranks pretty high up there. 

Today was a “sign on to Microsoft” day.  Since I have not put these on a flash drive, but have diligently kept them in an address book, typing in passwords are not usually a problem.

Encountered a red error note telling me that this was the wrong password, needed to reset.  MSoft sent me a code by email, a line of seven numbers.  I copied and pasted them into the password box, pushed enter.  THEN I was told THIS was an ERROR!

Got another seven numbers, pasted them in, moved onto the next step to create a new password: bunny1foo9foo.  

MSoft wanted me to type my old password. 

???What??? If I knew the damn password, I would not be resetting a new one.  Why? MSoft asked.  Because I had forgotten the old password, you blinking idiot.

Back to getting code.  Back to pasting the code.  Back to making a new password, a deceased relative’s name.  Back to saving.  Then, then, trying to get into my account. 

MSoft didn’t ACCEPT this new password.  Suggested a code.  Wanted to send me a new code. I pushed cancel.

Either MSoft is playing me or God is having a bit of a giggle.

Why? Why does this happen? It happens to everyone, I know, because my daughter told me so.  I am pretty evenly tempered personality, but this?  This?


PS: just spent 1/2 sticking hour trying to change a password. Then another 1/2 hour going back and forth until resolution was achieved.  As much as I enjoy having my computer, smoke signals might be better.

Revenge of the Easter Egg

For hunting only

It was a brutal competition, with lots of screaming, shoving and pushing. There may have been some scratching and punching as well. There are no memories about who garnered the most eggs; the hunt was not so much about speed—it was about who was most devious. 

Then Easter was gone, baskets were packed away for next year, and deviled eggs were supper. With no holiday to anticipate, a veil of tedium settled over our farm in a pre-summer heat.

In the middle of the night, something woke me, something like a POP!  I rolled over, catching just a hint of chocolate.  Then a new smell came in waves---foul, recognizable, nauseating.

It was the distinctive odor of rotten eggs.  Rolling out of bed and looking under it, I spotted a lone Easter basket with the remains of an exploded egg.  One of my three brothers had placed it there before I went to bed. (My bedroom was that clean...seriously...even under the bed...)

Opened the window…threw the Basket out…and heard the muffled giggles from my brothers’ rooms.  They were waiting for my own explosion. 

Well, they did not get it.  I tiptoed down the stairs and slept on the couch.  The rotten egg smell did not limit itself to my room; it traveled to their room as well.

Justice and revenge would wait for another day.  I was the soul of patience.

Those bastards....

Balloon of the Mind

Kenny Luo@kennyluoping

The Balloon of the Mind

Hands, do what you’re bid,

Bring the balloon of the mind

That bellies and drags

In the wind,

Into its narrow shed.

Wm. B. Yeats

Fancy.com

A Drinking Song

Wine comes in at the mouth

And Love comes in at the eyes.

That’s all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift my glass to my mouth,

I look at you and I sigh.

W. B. Yeats

                                                               

William B. Yeats—always a favorite of mine.  

Always follow the balloons. 

Drink good wine.

Life is too short to drink cheap wine.