I cannot speak for the entire senior LGBT community, but many of the males therein on occasion enjoy a peek at a naughty Web site or two. Once viewed, however, it becomes impossible to escape endless enticements depicting an appalling array of sexual toys, equipment, scandalous outfits, DVDs and “personal services.”
This unending invasion of privacy is, as Aunt Agatha would say, “Perfectly horrid!” The most consistent ads I receive are those for Canadian, Mexican or Slovakian Viagra and “enlargement” products (which don’t work!). It seems by simply peeking, in a moment of idle curiosity, I unwittingly gave them my email address which was then passed around the world resulting in what some might call a deluge of depravity.
Since the emails might be real, I naturally have to check. This takes far too much of my time and leads to many a sleepless night. I spend hours trying to backtrack to the source to have my name taken off their list, but I end up on more pages of photos and order forms. When I do connect with a real person, they know nothing of the mailing list; instead, we end up chatting – somehow about very personal matters – which they charge me for.
My only consolation is now and then I’ve spoken to a few charming young men. Sadly, they all have problems, for example Bronc: raised by his grandmother (practically a saint) who now, almost blind, needs an eye operation. I had to force him to take a small monetary gift for her.
I continue in my struggle to get rid of these pesky Internet intrusions. How do they do it? I fear Edward Snowden is right; the government and others have access to my computer! Why didn’t someone tell me about this?
Too many remotes
Like most seniors I am frustrated by the hand-held machines which now dominate society and endlessly multiply and “improve” as soon as I grasp the basics of my most recent purchase; and I’m not even talking about the pad, pods and tablets. I mean the TV remotes. They were once wonderful for changing stations or volume thus allowing me to sit and get fatter. Unfortunately, they expanded to include all the extra machines for things like my VHS (for old Jeff Stryker art films), DVD, DVD recorder and the COX box-thing. All connected somehow to each other. The back of my console looks like the Gordian Knot. They are together in the new machines, but as a Yankee, I can’t toss out my barely 10-year-old Panasonic (which replaced my faithful Motorola).
Adding to the confusion are remotes for the fan, heater, air conditioner and garage door. The pile of instruments on my coffee table would confuse a jet pilot. Trying to escape the commercials and volatile volume changes, I rely on the “mute” to save my sanity.
I thought salvation had arrived in a machine daring to claim, “One remote does all.” I have yet to learn how to record a program, but I gamely tackled the instructions obviously authored by a Chinese ESL drop-out. The result was worthy of a skit featuring The Three Stooges.
Not surprisingly, the jumble of remotes was soon back, but not before I returned to the store demanding satisfaction. There, a snooty clerk blamed all on my equipment being too old (he meant the TV). He even hedged about giving me my money back, but I played the slightly deranged old geezer bit and he gave in. Plus, I casually mentioned the Better Business Bureau.
