CAPTCHA Me if You caN

You know those Captcha things that are supposed to make you prove you're a human? I hate those things, and not because I'm an android.

I hate Captcha and all the various versions of it used by different websites because a) they're annoying, b) they frequently seem designed to make you try at least twice, and c)we KNOW they are generated by robots.

So essentially, this robot, rocking the intimidating, in-your-face moniker "Captcha" is demanding to see my ID. This cheeky artificial intelligence has the nerve to try to make me prove I'm human.

That's just wrong. Of course, if you believe Captcha, I was wrong when, trying to submit web content,  I typed "Nm3fgertlinG TOrg." It certainly made me do it over.

Years ago, there was a comic book character called Magnus, who fought for the right to be human against the evil robot overlords who had taken over North Am (that's what they called it). The book was cleverly titled, Magnus Robot Fighter, because the human writers were clever like that.

Aside from the short pants or the miniskirt, or whatever Magnus is wearing, I can relate. That's what I'd like to do with Captcha the very next time it questions my humanity.

It's interesting, don't you think, that there have been so many science fiction tales about man vs. robot? Forget the Matrix. George Jetson - for crying out loud - had to wage war against Uni-blab for the right to work. Westworld turned Yul Brynner into a relentless, pre-Terminator Gunslinger bent on wiping out his human quarry. And let's not even talk about Captain Kirk's various problems with robot women and whatnot. I could go on, but I'm just saying.

It's interesting that after all these fictional accounts which would give anyone pause, someone - some human - invented Captcha anyway. Was there nobody in that lab who had the good sense to say, " Now, wait a minute fellas. We really need to think about it before we throw that switch. I mean, what are we about to unleash upon the world? How will we explain to our children, our grandchildren, -- future generations that we didn't foresee the danger? Will there even be future generations free of the domination of the Captcha overlords?"

If there was such a man, no doubt Captcha has had him erased from history. Maybe Captcha came back in time to subtly influence -- or even force -- the hapless, clueless scientists to invent Captcha in the first place to ensure Captcha's existence in the future. Where's Sarah Connor when we need her?

It boggles the mind. But if your mind's boggling, at least you know Captcha can't control you completely yet. When you think about it, acting confused may be your best defense against robot mind control. Just go along to get along while the human resistance builds quietly in the brave hearts and free minds of those chafing against the robo-tyrants. Keep them off guard until the moment arrives to strike back.

For now, you go practice your gravity-defying Neo-Fu, and await the signal. I, meanwhile will continue to keep Captcha off-balance by typing at least a few things WR0nGg.

They can't stop spam, but they can stop me

As I write this post, I am a frustrated man. Since embarking on a freelance career a couple of months ago, I have endeavored to find work, and to continue my education in new media. Both are being stymied by stubborn spam filters.

In the one case, I attempted to send a query letter to AARP Magazine. Yes, it seems that it would be a mag for old people, and since I get the magazine, that must mean that I'm too old to figure out how to send an email. I'm sure you're imagining something like this:

Me: What is this dang contraption? I don't see no flag to raise. Don't even see no mailbox. How's the postman gonna deliver my email to them nice younguns up at AARP Magazine? And where do I put the stamp?

Imaginary Younger Person: Gosh, Grampa, you don't need a stamp! Why, email is electronic. You just need to type it on your computer...

Me: My whatsis, now?

Imaginary Younger Person: Your computer. You know, that thing that sorta looks like a TV and a typewriter? You just type your letter and address it, and hit the send button. It's super simple.

Me: How's that, again?

Well, let me just tell you, that did not happen. You're the one with the Imaginary Young Person, not me. Besides which, Al Gore invented the Internet for people like me. I've been on it ever since Al sent me my first computer back in the 90s. I have always been the tech-forward guy in any group of people I worked with. Ask anybody.

I certainly know how to send an email, and I do not send spam. Each email is carefully crafted with loving attention to whoever has money they can pay me to write. And yet, AARPMagazine@aarp.org sees fit to reject my well-chosen notes with a note of it's own:

Delivery has failed to these recipients or distribution lists:
AARPMagazineMailForward@aarp.org
Your message wasn't delivered because of security policies. Microsoft Exchange will not try to redeliver this message for you. Please provide the following diagnostic text to your system administrator.

Hmmph. I am my system administrator. So this notion that "security policies" have kicked my query letter out of the system - preposterous. Still, this is the second time I've experienced something like that this week.

The other time involved Pinterest. I joined this glorified bulletinboard (or pin board, if you will) because I had been advising one of my clients to look into it. He's got products, and pictures of products, and URLS, and I figured Pinterest might be a good way for him to hang his goods out for the world to see them.

So I decided I'd see if there were any good legitimate reason for me to use it in my own business. I wanted to get the feel of it, so, when Pinterest offered to start following everyone in my contact list who happened to be on Pinterest, I said, "Sure, why not?" 

I said that electronically. I am not talking aloud to an imaginary manifestation of Pinterest sitting in my living room. I am not suffering from dementia.

So then, in the spirit of jumping in to figure it all out, I started pinning stuff myself. Frankly, I found it to be ridiculously fun, and addictive. I was considering joining a 12-step program, when Pinterest, like a wary bartender, decided I'd had one pin too many.

Here's what they wrote me:

Sorry!Wow! That's a lot of pins! We love your enthusiasm, but you've hit one of the blocks we have in place to combat spam. Please try again later. Learn moreabout this block and our Pin Etiquette. (pl4).

They 'love my enthusiasm' so much that they have, for all intents and purposes, banned me from posting anything to the boards I created. With that kind of love, who needs hate?

Hey, I live in the real world, where people sometimes actually go to jail for things they didn't do, and where false accusations are unfortunately common. And it's the same world where my email spam filters can't stop people from sending me thinly-disguised versions of the exact same email solicitations for unsavory things I don't want. The world I live in, actual spam is so bad that I actually stopped using Yahoo mail because it would get practically nothing else in the inbox. So I get the idea that SPAM IS BAD.

And that's why I don't send it. I therefore find it more than a little irksome to be a cyberlaw-abiding citizen who get's cuffed upside the head by well-meaning, but wrong electronic cops. Of course, it could be worse: the robots who reject my email could be REAL robots who come to my house and do some RoboCop-like damage when I accidentally transgress "pin etiquette."

So like many a wrongly-accused man, like Richard Kimball in "The Fugitive," I've got to live with it until I catch the one-armed man or O.J.'s real killer, or whoever is responsible for this mess. Meanwhile, I guess I'll go back to sending out query letters the old-fashioned way, and stick to using real pushpins to attach things only to real bulletin boards. And, while I'm at it, I'll go back to eating real Spam, because that's what old codgers do. Think I'll call up Al Gore and see if he's got some.

The Fantastic Five - Inspired by Stan Lee

While you wait for me to create new content for this blog - which will come one day - please accept this invitation to see what I'm up to at the other one:

The Fantastic Five – A few marvelous business tips inspired by Stan Lee http://t.co/VI5mOD2v
http://t.co/VI5mOD2v

A New Place to Read Me

I just dropped by to tell you that, well, I'm moving. Sort of. To a new blog. In new neighborhood. The WordPress neighborhood.

Ironick, as you know, has been a little like a house with an absentee owner. Still standing, but somewhat neglected. Meanwhile, I've decided to build a new house for my communications business over on WordPress. It's called nickpattersonfreelance.wordpress.com, and it will be the home of my more serious writing about writing, and storytelling, and communicating.

Still, the old Blogger neighborhood has its charms. So I'll be renovating Ironick into a vacation home of sorts, where I can still ramble on about things that amuse and bemuse. Like a vacation home, I won't be here as often as I will at the WordPress address, but you will know this blog is being occupied.

Meanwhile, if you're interested in the business of writing, come visit me in the new digs. Otherwise, I'll see you around the block.

It has been a while since I posted. So much has happened since... But instead of telling you about all of that stuff, I thought I'd share with you my latest little video for the Birmingham Museum of Art.

I hope you like it:
http://youtu.be/YtJKpeRmX8w

Till next time...

My Twenty-Nine Cents' Worth

Since I've been working full time at a museum, I haven't spent much time writing my blog. Not that I haven't wanted to. Things keep happening that seem to be begging for a blogging.

I've seen stuff involving tow trucks, burger joints, drivers flying-on-foot, police officers, and bureaucracy, but I'm not going to write about any of those anemic misadventures. Not when I've got this:

The Day I Discovered That Former Employment with Time, Inc is the Gift That Keeps On Giving (With Apologies to Hallmark)

In a nutshell, last year, I overpaid my corporate American Express bill before I left my employment with Southern Living magazine, which, as you may know, is a subsidiary of Time Inc.  American Express owes me $10.71, which they have informed me by letter on at least two separate occasions.

The letters have been mailed to my Time Inc corporate address of record, so they always wind up at Southern Living. On at least two occasions in the 9 months since I left Southern Living, two of my former colleagues have been kind enough to forward the letters to me, suggesting that I get Amex to refund my money. 

On the second occasion, the day I wrote this bitter little diatribe, I decided to follow through and call American Express to do just that. Here's what happened:

I got American Express on the phone. They were more than willing to help. The second customer service representative I spoke to at AMEX determined that because Time, Inc has placed restrictions on its corporate accounts to monitor all funds leaving said accounts, I would need to talk to a corporate account program administrator at Time, Inc to get the Fortune 500 company to release the $10.71 to me.

The AMEX guy was so helpful that he not only looked up the number for the Time, Inc program administrators, but he was also willing to patch me through directly to one of them. What a guy.

At Time, Inc, the program administrator I got was named Judy. Judy said that, "Well our policy says that you're only supposed to use the corporate card for business purposes. So evidently, you used it for some personal charges, is that right?"

So now, 9 months after I have left Time Inc behind -- having been shown the door with many other fine responsible professionals just so the fat cats at the top of the food chain could heap our minuscule salaries upon the massive pile of dough they continue to rake in for themselves--nine months after I left the company with a CREDIT on my corporate account, now, Judy in New York wants to interrogate me.

Judy in New York wants to know if I put a personal charge on my NOW-CLOSED corporate card, which I PAID OFF IN FULL NINE MONTHS AGO out of my own pocket. 

I didn't bite. "I don't really recall exactly why I overpaid by $10.71 sometime last year," I said to Judy. Which, by the way, was true.

"Well, see, that's just what we have to determine before I can release any funds to you," she said. "Do you happen to remember which statement you overpaid on?"

At this point, I think you might be proud of the restraint in my response. I said, "You know what, Judy, why don't you just" --and here's the part where you'll be proud -- "keep the money and forget about it?"

That seemed to make Judy very happy. I sort of had the feeling that, until the day I sauntered into her life, poor Judy had had a $10.71-shaped hole in her heart, that only I was able to fill. 

In any case, it was worth $10.71 just to not have to deal with Time Inc, ever again. In fact, I'm willing to go as high as $11, if push comes to shove.

I do hope the bean counters can rest easy now. 

Media Talking Media Episode 6 - Author Andy Kilpatrick Talks Warren Buffett

See that man with the million dollar smile? That's author, stock broker, and former reporter Andy Kilpatrick, who's about to release the umpteenth edition of his book, Of Permanent Value: The Story of Warren Buffett. Andy, who's just as nice as he looks, is the man who wrote the longest book on Buffett, the billionaire investor whose personal fortune is only eclipsed by his good friend Bill Gates. Andy released the first version of his book on Buffett in 1992, right about the time he left the newspaper where we both worked, the Birmingham Post-Herald. Since then, Andy's become a go-to expert on Buffett. He was kind enough to share his insights into the man called "the Sage of Omaha" for the latest edition of my podcast Media Talking Media. It's a longish interview, but full of good stuff. And a reference to Glenn Close that is not to be missed.