Tag Security

Encore again

Michael 7 Comments

Don’t look at me like that. I thought I was done too, but you know, sometimes it takes more than one trip to the curb.

When I’m not writing or speaking, I’m reading or listening. Listening to a really good speaker is fun because I can imagine what the speaker was doing or going through as I hear the words, see the movement, and feel the emotions as the speech unfolds. It gets interesting when the speaker speaks with an accent unlike mine. (Yes, we all have accents. Ask anybody who didn’t grow up in your block!) When the speaker’s first language is something other than English, I rarely have trouble understanding the words. While listening to a speaker who speaks English other than American English, I may have to listen a little closer but it too usually is not a problem (except for someone from Georgia who still isn’t sure the North won). But a writer who writes in English other than American English…well, I’m sorry, but I’m just not enough of a world traveler to be comfortable reading “colour” and not want to correct it to “color.” I’m getting better. It only took 60 some years of reading but I am getting used to the alternate spellings and the odd idioms, but, but … but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to “maths.” It makes more sense than the American “math,” given that it’s a shortened form of “mathematics,” but it just sounds too weird. There. I said it.

I walked into my daughter’s house a day last week and everything, everything was out of the kitchen cabinets and on the counters. (You remember her, the human the dog let join him on vacation in last week’s post.) “Moving?” I hesitatingly asked. “Oh good. I’m doing it right,” was her reply. Apparently, it’s a new (to me) cleaning strategy. When you want to do a serious declutter, make like you’re moving to a smaller home. If you wouldn’t take it to your new downsized abode, don’t put it back in the cabinet. I kind of like that. It seems much better than what some people refer to the Shinto method of decluttering. Hold something and if doesn’t bring joy to your life you don’t need it in your life. I have no proof of it, but looking at the sequence of events, I’m pretty sure that’s how I became an ex-husband.

A morning news article one day last week brought home the closeness of winter in a big way, which is most impressive considering it is not yet autumn. Folks at Pikes Peak woke up to six inches of snow. Here at the base of the mountains on the other side of the country we’ve been having cool nights and days alternating between deluge like rain and desert like heat. A wonderful combination to make weeds along the sides of the road flourish and flower.  They make a very pretty contrast the orange barrels that typically line the highways as an homage to the states that actually maintain their roads.

Yesterday was Constitution Day in the U.S.A.. If you missed it, don’t worry. Almost everyone did, including the local governments who order the fireworks displays for every other holiday or event you can imagine. Let’s travel through time. On July 4, 1776, the colonies’ representatives to the Continental Congress (the Second Continental Congress to be specific) signed off on the Declaration of Independence. [Yay, fireworks!] So we had a country, sort of, but no framework for the government to uh govern it. On November 15, 1777, that same Congress approved the Articles of Confederation that went into effect on March 1, 1781 when all the states ratified it. [Yay, but hold the fireworks.] The Articles established a framework, but it was more a frame of balsa instead of steel. In other words, it wasn’t terribly strong. From the government’s point of view. It treated the 13 states as 13 states, 13 independent states (as in little individual countries) bound together by the “Perpetual Union.” (Yep, that’s what it was called.) Then in May of 1787, a new batch of representatives from those sort of independent states saw the Articles needed a bit of an overhaul, and maybe they were a little rash not letting the central government do too much. So they convened the Constitutional Convention. Instead of fixing, they rewrote, and on September 17, 1787, the states’ representatives signed off on the new Constitution of the United States. [Yay! But wait, still no fireworks.] Finally on June 21, 1788, the required number of states needed to ratify the Constitution had done so and now we had a government to go along with the country. [Yay, but the fireworks people got tired of waiting (like we need another summer holiday anyway).] And so, in 2004 (yes, 2004!) Congress approved September 17 to be Constitution Day (technically Constitution and Citizenship Day) because why not. [Yay, still no fireworks but we’ll have them for Black Friday instead.]

Also for those residing in the U.S.A., today (September 18 to be clear in case you’re not reading this today), is National Cheeseburger Day! “Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger.” (Bonus points if you can identify from whence that line comes.)  Discounts throughout this great land of ours can be had from penny burgers to full price but we have a new flavor. Check here for what is certainly an incomplete list of participating burger bistros.

And I bring this up only because it is so stupid it begs to be included.

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At least it wasn’t a handgun.

I certainly hope my brain is empty now. It would be nice if my sinuses followed suit, but you know, seasons change and all that.

How about changing your mind set whenever you stop and question, “What if..” You know the What-Ifs. The questions that start with “what if” and end with tragedy. We say we have the right answer to any What-If that comes your way. Check out our latest Uplift! for how we do it!

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Reading Isn’t Believing

Michael 2 Comments

And they say you can’t believe everything you read. (I say you even can’t believe everything you think but that’s a topic for a different post.) No, this is really about what you read, or don’t, or think you’ve read. Or maybe even for some people what you think you wanted to read. Rarely it might be what you read that you wanted to think.

Not only are 4 out every 5 calls I get enticements to either throw my money away on a non-existent extended warranty, or to have them syphon money out of my accounts if I do so much as to actually think to answer it with a phone that had once been near an ATM machine while I was making a withdrawal (I don’t really know about that but it seems like the scammers have to do less and less to get our money, and what could they do to me for presuming otherwise, sue me for libel?) (now where was I?) (oh yes, I remember), not only are there oodles more nuisance phone calls, nuisance emails – either spam or outright phishing schemes – have taken a dramatic upward arc on the occurrence scale. However…every now and then you come across a spammer who didn’t get the new spam scam users guide. These are the ones that have multiple fonts, bold, lots or asterisks and exclamation points, and refer to accounts at banks and retailers you’ve never used or refer to you as your email address.

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Yesterday I found a new one. Just in case you thought all the bold type, red bullet points, and mysterious name weren’t incentive enough to open the email, they included in the subject line, “This message is From a trusted sender.” I know that convinced me to open that missive right then and do whatever it said.  Hey, that Nigerian prince might still have some of his millions left to give away.

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Clearly that was something not to believe even if I did read it in black and white.

Some signs nobody ever reads. Not far from me there is a stretch of road where for about 30 yards the posted speed limit is 5mph. I’m not sure my car can go that slow. It seems to me nothing between stop and 15mph even exists. Another instance of not believing what I read, although with not quite the same conviction. Oh I’ll slow down as slow as I can get, but 5? Ehhhhhh, probably not.

There is a sign I take with great seriousness and wish everybody who read it would believe it. No, it’s not the “Masks Required” sign but it would be nice if more people believed that too. No, this is this sign.

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The rate of confiscated guns per million passengers doubled in 2020, a year when the number of people flying decreased by 60%. So far, with 2 whole months in for 2021, the rate is close to 4 times that of 2020. That puts the TSA on pace to confiscate close to 15,000 guns at security checkpoints. If that doesn’t worry you enough, over 12,000 of those guns will be loaded. Eighty-three percent of the handguns pulled out of pockets, purses, and carry-on bags are loaded.

The most common reason people give for attempting to enter an airport secure area with a concealed and loaded weapon is that they forgot they had it. Yeah right. Put that in writing and I won’t believe it then either. According to the Pew Research Center, 67% of gunowners say they purchased their guns for protection. If all those people getting on the planes are representative of gunowners, when the time comes to protect life or property I suppose they will have to convince the assailant to “hang on there a second, I want to shoot you which is my right, I just have to remember where I put that darn gun.”

Gun-Sign-Crop-1-768x377It would be nice if people who decide they don’t want to believe the part of the TSA sign that says firearms aren’t allowed through airport check points at least would believe the rest of the sign, the part in smaller print that says they can be fined up to $13,000 dollars for doing so. Then again, maybe that’s not a lot of money to them. In that case … I know this Nigerian prince who needs a little help.

You can believe me on this. I am a trusted sender.

Truthfully?

Michael 2 Comments
A tossed in, not given a second thought aside in my post from a couple posts ago provided the inspiration for this post with a little encouragement from Christi at Feeding On Folly, confirmed by a comment from WD Fyfe – do, or how regularly do, or why don’t people do lie on the security questions that accompanied passwords in “password controlled” sites? You know the ones, first pet’s name, first car, paternal great grandmother’s shoe size. All the things anybody with a little observation prowess can deduce from your Facebook profile.
 
My actual thought was “By the way, those security questions – does anybody lie about them? Wouldn’t that make more sense? I mean if they are the last line of defense and somebody has already cracked your 23 character upper and lower case, number and special character containing password that you change every 4 days, surely they know what street you grew up on. But I digress.” Well, the time has come to, um, er, do the opposite of digress.
 
It does seem silly when you think about it. These are the questions they ask if you have to confirm who you are if you’ve mis-entered or forgotten your password or the super secure second level site protection. Password requirements get more complex – 8 to 20 characters long, cannot be your user name, cannot be your email, cannot have been used for the last six passwords, include upper and lower case alpha characters, 2 numbers, and a special character or two, and must be changed every 60 days. But if you forget that password they will let you in if you can correctly answer the name of the city your high school is located. 
 
Christi (you remember her from the opening paragraph) suggested it would be fun making up answers and WD (he’s in that same paragraph if you’re wondering) intimated he had lied on them, so I (you remember me from, well, from here) thought, “Let’s do this!” Let’s consider the most common of these questions, Grandma’s shoe size not among them.
 
City where you were born: Obviously I can’t use the city where I was actually born. To begin with it’s too pedestrian. There are some good ritzy cities out in the world, Tokyo, Abu Dhabi, Manhattan (never New York), but the fictional ones are better. Would I want to have grown up in Emerald City? What kind of childhood would Port Charles provide? Oh, I know the perfect city to be born and raised in. Bedrock!
 
First pet: Considering I spent my childhood in Bedrock my first pet could have been Dino but he seemed loyal to Fred and Wilma and I couldn’t deprive them of that. Unless Fred and Wilma were my parents. That would be a whole different story. Pebbles could have been an older sister and I came along much later. Or perhaps she was the much younger one and I was already out of the house and/or cave by the time was playing Frisbee Rock with Bam Bam Rubble. Either would clear the way for Dino to be my first pet except that seems just too obvious. If I am to stick with Bedrock as home and the long lost child of Fred and Wilma a more secure pet answer would be the other animal living at Cobblestone Way, Baby Puss. 
 
Maternal grandmother’s name: This is taking over the spot formerly held by mother’s maiden name I guess because that was too easy to figure out. But because everybody knows Wilma’s mother is Pearl Slaghoople (you did know that, didn’t you?) I think it’s time to fast forward from prehistory. Think of all the famous women that have graced the world. So many choices. But there is only one that is the most secure. Anna. More specifically Anna McNeill. Most specifically Anna McNeill Whistler famously appearing in Arrangement in Grey and Black, No. 1.
 
First car: if we’re going to be making things up we might as well make one up with flair. Perhaps my first car would be a Bugatti or Alfa Romeo, a Corvette split window coupe, or maybe a Mustang like the 1968 390 GT Steve McQueen drove to fame in Bullitt. This might be my weak link, the one somebody might be able to puzzle out, the 1964 Aston Martin DB5. If they ask about a chauffeur it would have to be Bo…. But I digress. Again.
 
There are so many other questions and they keep changing them just ever so slightly but well take a stab at one more. High School Mascot: This could be the easiest answer for a hacker to hack. It wouldn’t take much personal history delving to uncover a connection to the Merry Mountainmen or the Fighting Firefighters.  So we have to be particularly suspect in our choice, one no hacker could imagine. Clearly it must be the Hapless Hackers.
 
So these are my “truthful” answers to some of the more common security questions. What would yours be?  And please, please, don’t go blabbing my answers around!
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Who’s Calling Please

Michael 2 Comments
Happy Veterans Day. I would have come on sooner with that but there is no death of greetings for veterans in early November. Everybody wants to thank somebody for his or her service. Personally as a veteran myself I’d rather we also be remembered in February or June or whenever I’m struggling across the supermarket parking lot with a cartful than everybody figuring they’ve done their duty for those who did their duty by offering an extra 11% off (with valid ID) on the second Monday of November.
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What I really want to write about today is a new twist on an old scam that is making its way around the globe thanks to our reluctance as a society you to reconsider using real money now and then. But before we get to that I want to mention two other things I read in the past week that tie these pieces together like a granny knot that’s been caught in the rain over a 3 day weekend.
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In a recent “letter to the editor” in a national magazine in response to an article on phone scams, the writer seemed quite proud that he never answers his phone without knowing who is on the other end. If it’s important they’ll leave a message. On land line phones this is aided by the use of real Caller ID assuming the caller and the ID actually match (stay tuned). Anybody with a cell phone, which is just about the same as saying everybody in the the known world and probably most of the unknown other worlds  know there is no such thing as real Caller ID on a cell phone. Rather we only “know” who is calling if the caller is in our personal contacts list. Why on a system where you can send text and data, transfer money, and even make video calls can no one figure out how to identify who is on the other end of that signal? Well for whatever reason, the writer does not answer a call unless he can identify the caller and encourages everybody else to do the same.
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In another issue of that same magazine there appeared an article on how to avoid fraudulent phone calls. It was actually subtitled “How to detect and defeat the latest phone fraud.” In my opinion that was a little fraudulent. The article explained how with currently available low priced and even free apps anybody can alter their phone number to make it appear to the reciever as any number the caller chooses, even the receiver’s number. This is called “spoofing.” Their recommendation for “defeating” this fraudulent practice is to assume no number you see on your screen is the actual number of the caller. I’m not sure who just got defeated but yeah, sure, that will show them a thing or two!
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Now, let’s put those two thoughts together. The user says to not answer any call from any number you don’t recognize. If it is important they will leave a message. The expert says to assume every call is from an unidentified source and a potential scam, even if you recognize the number. Ergo, nobody answer any call! Instead, check your voicemail each time the phone rings. If it was important, there will be a message. If it is a voice you recognize and can identify, you can call him or her back but knowing that person will likewise screen all calls, expect to leave a message which may or may not be listened to. It is very possible this can instigate a world record attempt at the longest game of phone tag but nobody will ever know because nobody will take the call from the Guiness people because nobody knows their number nor for sure if they are them.
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imagesSo where was all this going? Oh yes, the new scam. But first, a question. Do you have a Zelle account? A more pertinent question, do you know if you have a Zelle account? Zelle is a money transfer system used by almost every bank in the U.S. Interestingly, if you have installed your bank’s mobile app on your phone you almost certainly have a Zelle account whether or not you know it or want it. It’s just waiting to be activated. And there is the next biggest scam we’ll not hear about until some Senator’s son is duped into losing his allowance.
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The scammer using an already available low priced or even free app calls you after having spoofed your bank’s phone number. You answer because you recognize that number and you are told it is the bank fraud department calling because they noticed unusual activity on your account. Don’t, they say, give them your account login or password, just confirm if these were your charges and rattle off a couple obvious non-purchases. Of course they aren’t yours and you say so. Good, they say, they can take care of this. You are told to open the bank app, again reminded to not give them your login or password. Once you have the app open they will text you a verification code to enter on the login page. At that point they begin to change your user ID and password, open the Zelle account and transfer your balance to a disposable phone which is then discarded as soon as they re-transfer your money to their account. Because you entered the code on your own device, the bank does not act on it as being potential fraud. They will email or text you a notice that your user ID and/or password had been changed. You may not even get that notice if the scammers took the extra time to change your contact information. Even if they did not, Zelle transfers happen so quickly, by the time you would contact your back to inform them that you did not change your user ID and/or password it will be too late.
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Moral of the story. Check your accounts and even if you never asked for it, see if you were enrolled in Zelle, and anything else, “automatically for your convenience.” If you are planning to use it, set it up yourself then lock it.  If you aren’t going to be using it, ask if it can be removed from your service package or at least locked from being activated.
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And maybe make a note of the Guiness record people’s phone number and start screening your calls. Just in case.
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What A Dump

Michael Leave a comment

It’s that time again, the time when if you don’t pull the mental chain your brain will back up and then you’ll have to get out the big plunger.

Misunderstanding

You’ll recall my recent discussion on non-dairy butter, not the concept but that the package read “butter.” Not “plant butter,” not “soy butter,” not “butter tasting butter substitute,” but “butter.” I guess I have a wider readership than even I could have imagined. Shortly after that post – ummm – posted the ACLU filed suit against Arkansas claiming the state’s new labeling law stipulating that only meat can be called meat, only milk can be called milk, only rice can be called rice, and presumably only butter can be called butter violates the manufacturers’ of the ersatz products free speech. Hmm. Now this is just a thought, but if American chicken and hog farmers actually came up with green eggs and ham and attempted to market them as “broccoli” and “kale” would that same ACLU step in to protect them?

Although I don’t like it and have said so, there is no stopping American stores from running back to school sales in July. I’m sorry but in my mind that is just way too early. And I’ve been one of those parents with a calendar on the kitchen wall crossing off the days until those kids go back to school! But I get it, it’s a once a year marketing opportunity and they have to make hay, or money, while the sun shines. But now I have a real issue with those stores. Two days ago I was in the local supermarket and at the end of the “seasonal” aisle where all the back to school items were located was a big display of Halloween candy. Come on now!

This morning a man was stopped at the local airport for carrying a loaded gun in his carry on bag. It was the 23rd such seizure this year. Today is the 210th day of 2019 so a little more frequently than once every 10 days somebody is trying to sneak a gun into the secure area of the airport. Ours is not a particularly large airport with about 400 departures a day. I can’t imagine what TSA agents at a big airport find. I said those people carrying weapons are trying to sneak a gun past security. They claim they “forgot” the gun was in their carryon or they “had it when they were at the range last week.” Did they really? Did they really bring their travel carryon to the range last week? The gun confiscated this morning had 14 bullets in the clip, the clip in the gun, and an additional bullet in the chamber. Doesn’t seem like something one could, or should “forget.”

The lawyers at Publishers Clearing House are really good. You’re not going to see them okay an ad that calls margarine butter, I mean that says “You are a winner!” No, they say you could be a winner or you might be holding the winning entry. They ain’t gonna get sued for stretching the truth. I got another one of those mailings last week. Not from PCH. From the dealership where I bought my car and have it serviced. That would be Car #2, not the daily driver although the last letter I got was in reference to my everyday vehicle. Car #1 is a ten year old Chevrolet Malibu and earlier this year the dealer sent me a notice that it was time to “exchange” that car for a new model. I agreed with them but when I went over to swap keys and registrations they really wanted me to exchange money for a new car! I knew all along they weren’t serious but I had to go over for a state inspection anyway so I thought I’d see how much I could get out of them. Not much it turned out. Last week’s letter was from a different dealer about a different car. I know it’s a marketing tool just like back to school sales in July but the letter says they need cars like mine to “fulfill special used vehicle requests.” This particular car is not a 10 year old Chevy. It’s a 20 year old Mazda Miata with not quite 31,000 miles. I bought it from this dealer and they have serviced it since it was in the internal combustion engine equivalent of diapers. They might very well have a request for such a car. But when they say “We would like to exchange your 2000 Mazda MX-5 Miata for any new or Certified Pre-Owned Mazda from our inventory,” I doubt their sincerity. But as fate would have it, Wednesday I have a service appointment there for that very car. I know just the new Miata in their inventory that would make a dandy exchange!

I feel better now that I held my occasional brain dump. Thank you for tolerating me. I’d be happy to exchange your new reading for my old writing any day!

Miata

Lost Luggage

Michael 10 Comments
The past couple of weeks I’ve had an issue finding something that I wanted to write about. This week was quite different. I just have said to myself, “Self, now that’s blogworthy!” at least a half dozen times. And even though I took a couple of those ideas and fleshed them out to full fledged posts, none of them are what you’re about to read. Umm, assuming you’re going to stick it out here with me and keep on reading.
Sunday afternoon I was hanging around, feet up, relaxing for all the world to see, and catching up on the day’s email, which included a few new posts from the myriad and eclectic selected blogs I follow. Among those was the newest post by Nicole Sundays. If you’ve not read her yet you should go over and see what she has to say. Nicole reminds me of the daughter I never had. Now there’s nothing wrong with the daughter I do have. In fact, I am quite fond of that daughter and I would never trade her in. But…sometime I just don’t understand how that creative, confident, successful young woman got that way from my attempts at child rearing. Fortunately she has. And fortunately I’ll be well (hopefully) taken care of in my old age. Older age. But I digress.
In this week’s post, Nicole tells how she “lost” her luggage and the resumes she carried with her saved her from having to replace a replaceable suitcase. There’s a lot more than that, a lot more, and you need to head over there to read the whole thing (https://nicolesundays.wordpress.com/2017/06/25/i-became-a-security-threat-how-was-your-weekend/) but that one little subplot reminded me of a piece of lost then found luggage. Except it wasn’t “lost” in the way she “lost” hers, it wasn’t my suitcase, and it wasn’t a resume that found it. See how similar a tale this is going to be?
To make a long story longer, let me start at the middle. I had returned from a business trip to Las Vegas. Yes, a business trip. Really. Yes. While I was there, although I always made sure to carry them but never sure why, I handed out no copies of my resume. I did however hand out many business cards. That’s how I remembered that it was a business trip. If it was a pleasure trip clearly I would have carried pleasure cards. Anyway, I had returned a day earlier when I received a phone call from the airline I returned on, one of the more than several that is no longer flying the friendly skies. The call was more confusing than it had to be, especially considering that I hadn’t had any sleep since I returned even though it was the following day because the flight I had returned on was a dreaded red eye and although the day I left was indeed the day earlier, the day I landed was the day after that. Had I gotten any sleep since the time I boarded I might not have have this story to tell.
BaggageClaim
My recollection of the exact call and subsequent events is a bit fuzzy now some 15 years later but it was fuzzy to start so I don’t feel all that bad about it. I received a call saying they were holding my suitcase at lost luggage and would I like to pick it up or have them deliver it either to my home or place of work. I might have been still a bit tired but I was certain I had not lost luggage nor filled out a claim for same. I conveyed this information to the caller and had it confirmed that indeed I had not filed a claim but just the same, they had my suitcase. But I didn’t lose a suitcase, all my suitcases (which totaled one for that trip) made the trek all the way home. Actually, all the way to my office since neither if us actually made it all the way home yet.
Here it gets even fuzzier as the gentleman on the phone who sounded like he had made many similar calls during his (hopefully) brief career as a lost luggage specialist, and sped through some details. Either that or I zoned out on his explanations and sped through them on my own. The gist was that the case had not a luggage tag (which I thought was required), and the claim check tag was rendered unreadable by the security personnel who forced the case open, but within was one of my business cards. Here I wondered if I had unknowingly been cast in a new crime scene drama for prime time TV and if so, would I be paid scale even though I didn’t (and still don’t) have an Actors Equity card.
At this point I really just wanted to get off the phone and see if I pushed the two visitor chairs across from my desk together would they be comfortable enough for a quick midmorning nap. I cut to the chase and asked, just hypothetically, since they got this thing opened, what did they find therein besides yours truly’s card. I expected to hear the litany traveler detritus that we all relegate to checked baggage but instead heard, “a pair of shoes size 11, a white necktie, two paperbacks (I don’t recall the titles if they had been mentioned) (I remember the shoe size because it wasn’t mine), and a money clip.” Apparently it was in the clip’s firm grasp that was my card along with the receipt for a restaurant where someone had lunch the previous afternoon, a folded tourist map of the Las Vegas Strip, and an unused return ticket for an airport shuttle service. None of the itemized contents interested me although I could have used a white tie and I told my caller this. Not about the tie though.
“So, for the record, you’re saying that you don’t want to reclaim your property.”
“No, I’m saying it’s not my property,” probably while stifling a yawn and continued, “but if it makes you feel better, I don’t want reclaim whoever’s property you have there.”
“Very well sir, then” the soon to be though he didn’t know it yet unemployed luggage owner tracker downer said, “have a good day.”
A couple days later I was out shopping and picked up a white tie.

Technical Resistance

Michael 8 Comments

I try to take responsibility for myself as much as I can in all aspects that I can reach. As long as I can reach them comfortably. Including my health. So when the good folks that bring me my delightful dialysis sessions announced an opportunity to “take control of your kidney health and experience better outcomes” I jumped at the chance. Who couldn’t resist better outcomes in anything you take on? Then they started throwing around words like “empowered” and “easy” in the same paragraph even. And they got me with, “Start managing your kidney care with your Portal today and gain more time to do the things you love. Register today and Thrive On” (Emphasis not even added. They’re good.) How can I not want to take advantage of gaining more time to do the things I love? I was hooked.

You just know this is going to go wrong somewhere, don’t you? Hmm.

Looking forward to actively participating in my care, I carefully filled out the many screens of information that they requested, chose my password, and awaited the confirmation email which would contain the additional instructions for completing the registration process. In just a few seconds it came, and in just a few minutes I did what I was supposed to do. In seconds again I received another email congratulating me on successfully registering for the patient portal and was presented with a link to “log in and start actively participating in your care!” (OK, that time I added the exclamation point, but I wasn’t excited about this. Wouldn’t you be?)

I clicked, eagerly awaiting the chance to participate in my care, and attempted my first official login. In went my email address, then went in my password, then the email address and password went in to wherever they go and the little circle thing started spinning and then, low and behold (words you just don’t hear much anymore) across the screen I was presented with the message “username or password invalid.” Oh, poo! No problem. In my excitedness I probably hit a wrong key so I re-entered the username which is my email address so I know that was correct, and then, this time more carefully, my password. Almost always when denied access it’s because I incorrectly enter the password which makes sense since they never show you your password (unless it happens to be ******* and you just have to remember how many *s). But no, again that didn’t work so I gave one more try and one more time I got the same frustrating message.

I selected the link on the page for technical support and sent them an email detailing my inability to log into the patient portal (and thus my unfortunate delay in participating in my care!) and sat back to await their response. A few minutes later I saw the little envelope icon pop up at the top of the screen and I anxiously opened my email to just as anxiously read their reply, get back on track, and start participating in my care. Well imagine my disappointment when I scrolled the inbox items and saw, “Undeliverable.” Instead of the anxiously awaited reply I had a message wherein the little emailman politely explained to me that my desperate plea for help could not be sent because the addressee “wasn’t found or doesn’t exist at the destination server” and I should check to make sure I entered the address correctly, contact the intended recipient by phone, or several other options that involved things like checking licenses and permissions and other things that normal non-computer savvy people (and probably some of them, too) have no idea what any of that means. Disappointment does not begin to describe what I was feeling. “ARRRGH!” OF COURSE THE DAMN ADDRESS EXISTS. ALL I DID WAS PUSH THEIR DANM BUTTON ON THEIR DAMN WEBSITE! DAMN MORONS!” I said to myself. Calmly.

Maybe it’s just a password problem and I actually mistyped when I was selecting it. It’s possible. If I can incorrectly enter a password when trying to log onto a site I can certainly mistyped the letters, characters, numbers, and case control when first selecting the password. Of course that would mean that I would have had to make the same mistake twice since, once on the first selection entry and once on the confirmation entry, but hey, it could happen. Yeah, right.

So I attempted to log on again, knowing it would reject the login information but also knowing I would be presented with the inevitable “Forgot your password?” link. So I did. And I was. And I clicked. And in a few seconds I received another email with another link to reenter my password. So I clicked. And I reentered. Carefully. Both times. The screen blanked taking all my information again to wherever the little electrons go when they discuss these things and in less than a second I got another email! This is getting exciting. Again anxiously (though not quite as anxiously as I had been earlier), I opened the email and read the message congratulating me on successfully changing my password with a new link to log on and “start participating in my care.” (No emphasis added. By this time I was getting emphatically worn out.) Again I clicked. And again I entered username AKA email address and password AKA, uhh, password. And again I got…”username or password invalid.”

Oy.

(If you read Monday’s post and are wondering if this was what I couldn’t remember…..well, the answer to that is no. But this one is such a great story I couldn’t wait to share it. That and if I did wait I knew I would have forgotten about it. But don’t worry. I still have the sticky note stuck right there on the monitor (see?) and I’ll be writing all about it next time. Unless something else comes up between now and then. But it’s OK. There’s lots of sticky on that note. It’s not going anywhere.)

(Oh and, do you think I use too many parentheses?)

 

Open Sesame

Michael Leave a comment

We’re not even certain how we got onto the discussion of passwords but sometime, somewhere over the past week we ended up asking ourselves did Ali Baba really say “Open Sesame?”

It would certainly be an easier phrase to remember than some of the strange concoctions we’ve concocted to satisfy our computer password requirements.  At He of We’s workplace, passwords must be at least 8 characters, no longer than 26 characters (really, 26) must contain at least two upper case characters, two lower case characters, one number and one symbol, must not contain any 4 letter portion of his user name or any 4 letter portion of his real name, must not have been used in the last 36 months, and must not spell out the company name.

Sometime last week somebody published some list somewhere about passwords.  Yes, we can be more specific but we don’t want to.  Partly because we aren’t sure who these people are.  They are so and so research, such and such consultants, or somebody or other institute.  They have to stay somewhat cloaked if not daggered because passwords are supposed to be secret.  How does one publish an opinion of others’ secret information? 

But we digress.  This list included the worst passwords you could use and the number one worst password of them all, Password.  Apologies to Allen Ludden.  Other bad choices include 12345 etc, iloveyou, and letmein.  Our favorite of the worst is letmein (let me in) because it sounds so plaintive and assumes computers have all the power.

Another point in favor of letmein is its historical significance.  Literarily speaking that is.  When Ali Baba followed the forty thieves to their lair he heard the leader say Open Sesame to open the door to their cave.  Open Sesame did not make it on to the list of bad passwords so either nobody is using it or it’s not such a bad password.  Maybe it’s ok because nobody understands it any better than He of We’s workplace password rules.  Why sesame?  Why not caraway? Or poppy seed?  What about basil or parsley?

One explanation is that Sesame dialectically translates with different pronunciations to differentiate friend from foe and etymologically grew up to become the Hebrew word sisma, meaning password. (Or so we’re told.  On a good day we can be confused with proper English used grammatically correct.)  And everybody knows from the mysterious institute that the last word you want to use for a password is password.

Soon you’ll be able to use a picture for your password.  Imagine those rules.  No smirking, left profile only, colors present in nature during spring in Scandinavia.  Come on now.  Are we really hiding secrets that important in our files anyway?  Open Oregano!

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

The Road Untraveled

Michael Leave a comment

“Do you know there’s an alternate security area? Right through those doors, go to the end of the hall.  You’ll walk a little farther but there won’t be any lines and when you go through you’ll come right out at the tram.”  It was the most He of We ever heard a TSA agent speak at one time.  But who would know better how to beat the crush of early morning flyers?  And that was a real smile on his face and he even wished He of We a good day and a safe flight.  What a pleasant, early start to what was going to be a long, apprehensive day.

And it was early.  Sometime not quite yet 4:30.  In the morning.  How many flyers could there be at the main screening area?  Still, he was right there and the agent seemed earnest in getting people to use the alternate site.  So through the doors He of We pushed, down the hall, over the bridge, around the bend (he was indeed walking farther), down another hall, to the head of the line.  And all by himself.  Not bad.

After a quick run through the scanners, pat down, and carry on inspection, he was down the escalator and onto the people mover. Which was packed!  At still not 4:30.  In the morning.  Apparently a lot of people travel this early.  He of We wasn’t usually one of them.  His preferred travel time was anytime between sun up and sun down.  And his usual companion was She of We and she wasn’t one of the early travelers.  He of We would be navigating three airports, one plane change, 3 time zones, and a “commuter jet” alone this day.

Airport One was turning out to be pretty good thanks to the helpful man from the TSA.  He already knew the landing and departing gates for Airport Two and knew they were a 15-20 minute walk apart and he’d be there for 90 minutes so even the dreaded connection should be ok.  But he had to get from here to there on the dreaded “commuter jet.”  A lifetime of travelling and he’d never flown on one of these compacts of the airplane world.  After getting used to the idea that he was in a plane that could not fit his carry-on of half the size of a standard roll-aboard, and that the emergency card advised in the event of an emergency to step out of the emergency exit (what, no inflatable slide?), he settled his 20 inch bottom into the compact 18 inch seat and enjoyed the hospitality of the single flight attendant while she pushed the compact refreshment cart through the compact aisle.

A bit over an hour later they were at Airport 2 and after another hour He of We was listening to the boarding instructions of the gate attendant.  After pre-boarding the first class passengers, the diamond level frequent flying “partners,” the sapphire and emerald members, the lowly platinum and gold people, and the run of the mill priority flyers, the 40 of us who were left got to climb onto the Boeing 737 for another 4 hours of above cloud commuting.  He was quite thrilled to see an empty seat next to him, flight attendants who smiled, and that he remembered to put a set of ear buds in his carry-on which was now nestled under the seat in front of him.  It was going to be a reasonably pleasant 4 hours.

Those hours went fast enough and soon they were above a body of water that led to Hawaii and points west as they circled to get into position for their approach to (at last!) ground transportation.  To make a short story long, having only to wait 10 minutes for said transportation he was soon standing in front of the desk clerk at the hotel saying “of course you can check in early.” And thus it was that after 10 hours since he pulled in the parking lot of Airport 1 He of We was ready to open the door to his room and close the door on the Trip Not From Hell.

It was one of the first that had gone nearly hitch free for many thousands of miles.  While he thought of that he thought of the smiling TSA agent who wished him a good day.  Perhaps wishes do come true.  Naw, it was just a coincidence.  Of course, if She of We appeared on the other side of that door he was ready to change his mind.  

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?