As I mentioned yesterday, it was so nice out that I was motivated to remove one of the storm windows from my office and put the screen in (just one of the two – no point in going crazy here). It’s not supposed to be quite as nice today but they’re talking about temps in the 70s over the weekend and maybe even 80 on Monday (that ought to get the pool algae fired up) before of course turning to shit on Tuesday. So the big plan for the weekend is to take the chains off the tractor tires and get the snow tires off the car. Pretty ambitious, I know – and risky, too. But I reckon I can drive through whatever Mother Nature throws at us (or wait it out in my bunker, as long as I have enough beer).

Do you use Dropbox? I do – I also use Google Drive (or whatever they call it), Microsoft’s OneDrive (which used to be SkyDrive), Apple’s whatever it is they call it, I have 5 GB with Asus, and I think I’ve even got a few gigs of storage at Yahoo. And I know I’ve got, like Flickr and Picasa and other stuff out there that I occasionally use, but my “go to” cloud storage is Dropbox (at least until the free space I have gets all used up). The main thing I use it for is uploading pictures from my phone and tablet (I already encrypt any documents I put up there – not that anybody give a shit about my ref-fi documents or copies of my tax forms, but, hey). It automagically syncs whenever I dock my device and then I have everything on every device I can connect to the Internet with.

So it was with much chagrin that I read yesterday that Dropbox has added Condi Rice to its Board of Directors. Because, hey, who wouldn’t want a person who loves her some warrantless wiretaps to have a say in what happens to the private data I store on the cloud. Not that I’d be terribly worried if all my photos of dogs, cats, and snow were to somehow be leaked to the NSA (who no doubt has them anyway), but it’s the principle of the thing.

At least pretend you give a shit about my privacy (and your integrity).

So now I guess I need to move everything over to Google or something. What a hassle.

Along those lines I dunno if this has made it out to the mainstream news or not, but a while back a vulnerability (the “Heartbleed” bug as it’s known) in OpenSSL (used by a shitload of websites – for instance, Yahoo) was discovered and to make a long story short, it…

…would let anyone on the Internet get into a supposedly secure Web server running certain versions of OpenSSL and scoop up the site’s encryption keys, user passwords and site content.

Once an attacker has a website’s encryption keys, anything is fair game: Instead of slipping through a proverbial crack in the wall, he can now walk in and out the front door.

Here’s a list of what’s currently vulnerable and what isn’t (those that aren’t may have been in the past, so going out and changing every password you have is up to you – though if you use the same password for everything, I’d advise you to knock that off).

If you’re curious about sites you go to, you can check them here. And if you want more information, there’s plenty of it out there. Google is your friend.

So, a coworker of mine is experiencing some angst. Her son left for college last fall, and although he’s fairly close she laments that they “never see him.” Add to that her high school age daughter told her that there’s a boy she wants to have over and, well, let’s just say she’s got some premature empty-nest syndrome feelings going on.

Those of us who know better, of course, tried to tell her that a fledgling leaving the nest is not a time of sorrow. It’s when they friggin’ come back that the real depression sets in.

When they leave, well, remember when you were young and you got your first apartment? That feeling of freedom you experienced, and you realized you could sit around on your couch (which was probably a pine frame with plaid-covered foam cushions that came in a set that included a “rocking chair”, coffee table, two end tables, and two lamps) in the living room and drink beer and smoke cigarettes (or whatever else your little heart desired) in front of the teevee and you didn’t have to explain your comings and goings to anybody and nobody was expecting you or making demands of you and if you wanted to live surrounded by pizza boxes, beer cans, and cigarette butts, well, by golly, that was your goddamn choice.

When the kids come back, though? That’s like your mom moving back in with you. And, don’t get me wrong, you love your mom (you really do), it’s just that you’ve kind of gotten used to her living over there and you can go visit or she can come and visit you and that’s really nice but eventually she goes the hell home.

Things are better that way. I reckon my coworker will figure that out soon enough.

Oh well, time to virtually head off to work. Let’s get this over with.