IS PRIVACY DEAD?
You have to ask?
With a few clicks on Google or Bing, you can find out almost anything about almost anyone.
Isn't it amazing just how much dirt we all seem to crave -and of course, the media loves giving it to us. Sure, if you're a celbrity, you give up privacy. But really! Long before the ghoulish media coverage of Michael Jackson's death, I realized that privacy was dead.
It was back in the '90s, when the Pope's colon surgery was reported by the media in excruciating detail.There was even a diagram of his insides in The New York Times. Sorry, folks, but that was TMI! People! We're talking about a very private orifice of the Holy Father. (I usually phrase that a bit more coarsely, but you get my drift.) privacylips.jpg
 knew then that nothing was sacred (literally), and it's only gotten worse. Yeah, sure, some of this information is good: Katie Couric let us watch her colonoscopy and that inspired many people to get tested. (The words "inspired" and "colonoscopy" are not usually found in the same sentence.) But really, I don't have to hear about everyone's, celebs and non-celebs alike. It's bad enough that I have to get these things myself; I wish that people would respect their own privacy and not tell me all the delightful details.
(Unless, of course, you write a blog, then anything goes: See The Genie Is Out of the Orifice.)
When it comes to privacy, there's a minefield out there - even for us mere mortals - and some of it is our own damn fault . . .
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 Wanna buy an apartment in New York? The good news is: prices are down and so are mortgage rates. The bad news is, you're going to need a letter of recommendation.
Here in the Big Apple, you not only have to plunk down an obscene amount of money for a space you'd laugh at if you didn't know better, you also have to get past the dreaded coop board. Basically, you have to prove that you're financially stable and are not a lunatic. Except in certain buildings on Fifth Avenue where you have to prove you're not Madonna and you are descended from the Mayflower. Not the hotel.
A coop board can refuse you for any reason, even if your finances are in order and you're not a rock star who shows up at the interview wearing leather, in August, and asks how many amps he can plug in without cutting off the electricty, which would plunge the building into total darkness, as if he cared.
The only safe question to ask, I have found, is which is the best Chinese takeout in the neighborhood. This will provoke a lively debate among the board members and will get the attention off you, no matter what your finances are, when your grandparents got off the boat, and what you're wearing. Yes, Chinese takeout is the ticket.
But even if you get through the interview with flying chopsticks, you still have to provide at least one letter of recommendation. When I was buying my first apartment, a friend wrote the following one for me. I didn't use it, for reasons that will become obvious, but I have saved it for all these years just for this moment . . .
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What do women want? Love? Sure. Money? Of course. Cosmetics? Now you're talking! Rita Rudner nails it in her very funny routine about those “free gifts” — you know the ones, where you buy something you don’t need to get a bunch of things you don’t want.
 It's twue, so twue.
I can rationalize falling for this a few summers ago because I was recovering from surgery, and hey, a girl needs a "free gift” at a time like that. As we know, I can rationalize anything, but honestly, that ad was too enticing. The cutest little cosmetic case in pink and white checks filled with goodies like summer blush (I needed that: It was summer! I was pale!) plus various and sundry beauty aids with intriguing names promising miraculous results. We do so live in hope.
My grandmother believed that all the dishwashing liquids, shampoos, and just about any product in a bottle, were all exactly the same thing in different colors with different names. I do wonder myself about New Dawn Dishwashing Liquid versus Herbal Essence Shampoo (they’re even the same color), and I am totally baffled by all those skin creams.
Do I really need a different moisturizer for my eyes, my throat, my t-zone, the rest of my face? For summer, winter, spring, or summer, night or day? Light, extra light, rich, super rich, fabulously firming, with aloe, lanolin, collagen, gentian, pearl drops of moisture, invigorating enzymes, hydrating hormones and unspecified ingredients that revitalize, rejuvenate, relax, and restore?
And yet.
I love those little kits with the goodies . . .
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A minute ago, I tripped on the oriental rug in my office. Bad carpet! And if I weren't so naturally graceful (not), I could have fallen.
And if I had fallen, I might have hurt myself (Ouch!), and the rest of the afternoon and maybe the evening or even many days thereafter would have been taken up with dealing with that. I mean, I could have sprained an ankle, or broken one even. I could have sustained bruises, with blood and everything. Just cleaning that up really eats into your day.
 Maybe I would have had to go the (Gasp!) Emergency Room. At the very least, I'd have to do something with Band-Aids, which are never where I think I put them (see: I'VE LOST IT!), and that activity alone would have taken up a lot of time. Luckily, I caught myself, and have now dutifully returned to the computer, where I am writing this. You think blogs write themselves?
The thing is, because I DIDN'T fall, I saved all the time I would have spent dealing with that but-for-the-grace-of-the-gods-who-protect-the-graceless flop on the rug. So, I ask you: don't I have some free time coming?
Can't I just goof off for the rest of the day . . .
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I AM EXPERIENCING T E M P O R A R Y T E C H N I CA L D I F F I C U L T I E S
 Not surprising, considering that I'm afraid of my own alarm clock.
No. Really. It’s a smart clock that automatically adjusts for daylight savings time, making it far, far, smarter than I. My old clock was dumb. It would start beeping in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t make it stop. Is the smart clock too bright for that, or wily enough to outwit me and go off at the crack of dawn, even though I have my phone programmed not to ring before 10AM? Only time will tell.
I am no longer afraid of my phone, the land line, but still get confused about getting messages from my cell. Or sending texts. I’ve mastered Hi-Def TV and can record, replay, and delete like a pro. But this level of competence took more calls to Time Warner than they or I would care to admit, and I'm still not sure how long recorded shows remain available for viewing. I will figure this out, and learn to live with all the new and exciting technology I feel I ought to know —
in the fullness of time.
Meanwhile, I blog.
If you really want to know about technical difficulties —BE ME AND START A BLOG. . .
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