Thank you, Anthony Weiner

I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve been following all this Weiner stuff, where, unlike Strauss-Kahn or Arnold, there’s no meta story about pigs and power but only the inescapable conclusion that our news media function at the level of middle school boys – but at least it’s led me to do something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time: change my G-mail password.

Why? Well, it’s a circuitous route, getting from there to here, but here goes.

You’d think that Weiner would have just come out and said No, that’s not my surname down there, and those are not my underpants. But no: His Twitter account was hacked, he said, but that may or may not be me. So, given that he knows what his underpants and himself in them looks like, and since he seems so agonizingly honest about the whole thing, you have to figure that that someone really did hack in (and why does Andrew Breitbart always seem to be involved in these sordid stories?), found that photo somewhere, and sent it.

I have a Twitter account, but I only use it to follow my son and the weather and Jon Stewart. I never tweet anything, I have no idea how to twitpic, and my opinion of sexting makes me feel as old as I thought my mother was when she warned me about pedophiles on the Internet.

But I do have a G-mail account. I no longer pay attention to the ads and suggestions that appear next to my messages, though they are pretty freaky. Here, for example, is a recent message from a friend:

I’d love to write a real email but I don’t want to spend too much time on my neighbor’s computer seeing as he was working on his novel when I arrived today.

And here’s how helpful G-mail responds:

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[Please don’t click on the links – you’ll just encourage them!]

Yes, freaky.

Despite all this, I still think G-mail is cooler than other email addresses – it still has the cachet it had when my son, harbinger of all new media, invited me to join back in its beta days. However, even though I don’t have any sexy pictures to be embarrassed about attached to my emails, and I don’t work in the White House so I don’t think the Chinese would be interested in me, it just seems prudent to make it a little more difficult for someone to find out the details of my prosaic life.

And so, if you’re one of my G-mail friends freaking out while reading this (especially the one with the novelist neighbor), I, just like George W., am keeping you safe.

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This entry was posted in Cultural stuff, My so-called-life, Technology and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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