Reporting, Recording and Relaying - But Always Telling It As I See It

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Do Not Password - Do Not Collect My $200.00 Dollars.

Being robbed and assaulted at gunpoint would be less traumatic than having my gmail account hacked. I am certain of this because I protect my password with the veracity of a mongrel dog protecting a marrow bone while I freely walk around with my wallet dallying in my pocket, shielded only by a swath of denim.

You wouldn’t think this would be the case, as staring at the business end of a 9mm before its owner pistol whips you could challenge even the meatiest of Health Savings Accounts, not to mention the need for reconstructive surgery and testimony.

Yet we are led to believe, via television and radio, that identity theft is a crime that renders the victim a credit quadriplegic - his life ruined into the foreseeable future as he is left wondering if even his customer loyalty card at the local coffee shop is valid any more. Tragically, this may in fact be the case. But the mere threat of identity theft has left us a nation incapable of social discourse because our brains are taxed remembering our passwords for our fucking gmail accounts!

Wouldn’t you think identity theft would decline with the current state of the economy? Isn’t there the very real possibility that the person whose identity you were going to lift is worse off than you? We aren’t exactly a nation of polo match attending aristocrats.

Nonetheless, we have been convinced (and maybe rightfully so) that our entire electronic presence is constantly at risk of intrusion (I originally typed “intursion”, which isn’t a word, but should be). Therefore, I need a three number, five letter, ten character, encrypted and updated every five minutes password to open the email that states that iTunes did, in fact, charge me $.99 for Bette Davis Eyes.

“But your credit card information is stored on those sites, that’s why you need a password!” the grand identity protectors say. To which I say, “But isn’t it also stored on my actual credit card that I hand over with impunity to every merchant - including the nineteen year old pot head who is looking to score a dime bag from the corner dealer after his shift?” This does not seem worrisome to most.

So, in lockstep with the rest, I have accumulated passwords like politicians accumulate PAC dollars. I sleep better knowing that no one will ever be able to hack into my Twitter account and tweet a message to Ozzie Guillan.

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