Don't want to give away too much in a post like this--I might get online tomorrow to discover that all my accounts, everywhere, have been hacked, that "I've" ordered 423 books from Amazon (and several dozen exotic plants), have zero balance in any bank account, have subscribed to forty-seven newspapers, have maxed out several mortgages on our house, have received notices from all relevant financial institutions that I will soon be living in a van down by the river.* Or in a cardboard box under a freeway overpass.
Not to mention the messings with my Facebook and email accounts, with ... you know?
Of course, I understand the need for more and more passwords, for more and more password complexity. There are evil dudes (and dudettes) out there who would love nothing more than wiping us out. (I'm sure their grandparents are proud of them.)
I would still kill the phone-swindler who got about $10K from my aged mother before my younger brother found out what was going on and ended it all. And I'm not kidding about the "kill" part.
I was visiting Mom one day when the guy called--needing just a "little more money" before he could, you know, release the million he'd promised her. I yelled into the phone, warning him never to call again.
In ten minutes he called back.
Which shows how effective I was as a study hall supervisor when I was teaching.
Anyway, when I first got online back in the early 90s, I used a single four-digit password for everything. Banks, email, Amazon, whatever.
But soon those institutions requiring passwords started insisting on more complexity: more characters, capital letters, things like # and @ and ... you know. It's all so complicated that I can't remember a single password I have.
And so I must keep them organized in ...
You didn't think I was going to spill it, did you? I suppose you're selling vans suitable for life down by the river? And you need just a wee down payment?
*Link to old SNL skit about that van down by the river.
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