forgetfulness

Stupidly Smart

/ Diane Henders / 36 Comments

When I checked my email a couple of days ago, I discovered a message that began, “Don’t mind on my English, I am from India.”  I would have trashed it on the spot, but before I could get to the delete button I had already skimmed the next couple of sentences.  Then I started to giggle, and slowed down to read the whole thing.

Apparently this enterprising soul had “thiefted all my personal data” by installing malware on my computer while I was visiting a porn site.  S/he had all my work and social contacts, and what’s more… (wait for the horror of it all)… s/he had also hacked into my forward-facing webcam while I was on the porn site and captured a video of me masturbating!  Unless I paid the ransom, my shameful secrets would be revealed to everyone I know.

Well, I’ve never visited a porn site; I don’t have a webcam; and the research I do on my computer is more likely to inspire snores than sweaty ardour.  I’m not exactly trembling in my boots.

But I wonder… does this person actually make money?  Are there really that many people visiting porn sites and whacking off in front of their computers…

Don’t answer that.  On second thought, I don’t want to know.

But the whole thing got me thinking about all the “smart” devices that are monitoring us without our knowledge.  Webcams can be remotely activated.  Our cell phones can be hacked to secretly relay audio and/or video.  And those are just the beginning.

The other day I noticed a red light blinking on our thermostat.  On its screen was a polite reminder to change the furnace filter.  Our fridge tells us when it’s time to change its water filter.  My car monitors its tire pressure.  But we drew the line at a septic pump that would monitor our waste output.  There are some things I just don’t need to know; although apparently somebody does, or they wouldn’t have bothered making the thing.

And the smarter my devices become, the dumber I get.  (I prefer to blame the devices for this, not advancing age.)

Before I had a smartphone, I used to know my friends’ phone numbers by heart.  Now they’re all at my fingertips; and I’m lucky if I remember my own.

Same with special dates.  I had them all in my head, and every time I went to the store I’d check my mental list of upcoming birthdays and anniversaries and buy the appropriate cards.  Now my smartphone’s calendar reminds me two weeks in advance, and I still forget to buy the damn cards.

Smart devices are teaching us to be helpless.  It’s only a matter of time before we’re slumped drooling in antigravity chairs while robots ferry our bloated carcasses from bed to dinner table to toilet and back again.  Our fridges will order groceries; our toilet seats will monitor our health; and if we’re plugged into virtual reality we can experience any adventure we desire without even leaving the house.

And when all human contact has been eliminated and our only intimate relationships are with computers, that enterprising soul in India will really make a killing.

Or maybe s/he’ll be too busy watching porn and getting frisky with Rosy Palm and her five daughters…

Not A Cartoonist. Obviously.

/ Diane Henders / 32 Comments

not a cartoonist

…but I’ve been having fun drawing cartoons lately anyway.  And I figured, what the heck, why not post them?  I don’t know if I have enough time or inspiration to do regular Sunday funnies, but I’ve got a few floating around my computer.

Here’s one for today:

pants

Stand Back: Brain Farts!

/ Diane Henders / 40 Comments

My brain has apparently been eating ‘way too many beans lately.  The brain farts are getting embarrassing.

The past few weeks I’ve been totally immersed in finishing Book 6 in the Never Say Spy series.  Who knew fiction writing could cause such nasty brain flatulence?  Must be all the fibre in the pages.

The other night I slid into bed and Hubby said, “Oh, are you finished in the bathroom already?”

I stared at him blankly for a moment.  No, I wasn’t wondering ‘Who are you and what are you doing in my bed?’  I wake up in the middle of the night to do that.  Seriously.  It’s the weirdest feeling.

But getting on with the story…

I realized I’d completely forgotten to wash my face and brush my teeth.  So I got out of bed, went to the bathroom… and put on deodorant.

Shortly thereafter, I had a session with my muay thai trainer.  I’ve been going to the gym regularly for quite a few years, and when I realize it’s time to go I often leap up from my computer without fully disengaging my brain.  (Yes, actually, that is quite painful.  Thanks for asking.)  So before I leave home,  I perform a short ritual similar to the Catholic “Spectacles-Testicles-Wallet-And-Watch” to confirm that I have my shorts, running shoes, gym card, and hair elastic.

Knowing I’d be distracted that day, I took extra care , double-checking to make sure I had everything before I left.  So I arrived, full of pride, with the four things on my checklist.  But… without my hand wraps, boxing gloves, water bottle, or shin guards.  Smooth.  Very smooth.

Several days later, I booked an appointment with my accountant.  I had just completed a marathon 14-hour writing session the previous day and I was coming into the home stretch with the final chapters.  I knew I was going to be distracted.

I repeated the appointment time to myself and to Hubby several times, beginning two days prior to the appointment.  I put the appointment in my computer calendar with a popup reminder and an audible alarm.  The night before, I reminded myself again:  “Appointment at 11:00 AM tomorrow.”  The morning of the appointment, I got out of bed and reminded myself, “I have to get up from the computer at 10:00 AM to get ready for my meeting.”

When I looked at the clock next, it was 11:15.  Much grovelling ensued.

You’d think I’d have learned my lesson.  But no.

Only a few hours later, I was heading out to the gym.  Not because I’d remembered it; simply because it’s muscle memory after all these years.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve arrived at the gym and begun my workout only to wake up and go, “Shit, I didn’t feel like doing this today.  I was going to skip it…”

Anyway, I was getting changed before I left home and I forgot to put on my bra.  Fortunately the bathroom is upstairs, and by the time I got downstairs it had become uncomfortably obvious that I wasn’t being supported in the manner to which I am accustomed.

My final draft should be finished and out to my editors/beta readers this week, after which I’ll be able to return to a state that passes for normalcy (at least for me).  I shudder to think what other gaffes I may commit in the interim.

I think it’s time to get a T-shirt: “ Beware:  Brain Farts.  Keep back 15m.”

Anybody else suffer from brain flatulence?  And please tell me I’m not the only one who wakes up wondering “Who are you and what are you doing in my bed?”

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I’m doing another Goodreads giveaway this week:  Two signed copies of Never Say Spy are up for grabs.  Follow this link to enter the contest!