Patsy Porco

Archive for August, 2016|Monthly archive page

The Cost of Beauty

In Aging, Humor on August 25, 2016 at 11:50 pm

I just got a facelift kit in the mail. I ordered it a few days ago. It consists of rubber bands and adhesive tape. All for the low, low price of $16.95.

I’m sure I’m going to look fabulous at a family wedding next month … as long as I stay away from strong breezes that lift my hair and expose the tape behind my ears and the band around my head.

Maybe I’ll order a hat, too.


The House Phone

In family, Humor, telephones on August 13, 2016 at 1:59 am

When you’re of a certain age, you and your opinions run the risk of being considered not-relevant by younger people. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. That’s because, when I was a bit younger, I always cringed when I read the “Letters to the Editor” in our local paper and saw reminiscences by older people about restaurants and stores that used to be in our town, a flood that happened 50 years ago, and people who used to be important. “Live in the present,” I used to think. Now, a few decades later, I don’t want to fall into the same trap.

My blog has a few loyal readers and I think that most of my readers are middle-aged, but not all of them are. I know that some younger people read my blog. I’m not aware of any readers past middle-age, but, then again, when does middle-age really end? There was a movie starring Meryl Streep and Shirley MacLaine, where Meryl said to her mother, Shirley, something like, “You’re not middle-aged. I’m middle-aged. How many people do you know who are 120?”

So, when I compose a blog post, I try to write about things that everyone can relate to, no matter your age. But occasionally I do refer to an experience that happened awhile ago, or an object that is considered old-school. Notice that I didn’t say old-fashioned. I make sure to use pop-culture terms when I indulge in a conscious reminiscence.

What’s on my mind now is something that is slowly disappearing and will be missed by many—the house phone. Almost everyone of every age has a cell phone or a smartphone, but many of us who are older than 30 also still have house phones. The younger generations don’t see a need for a phone that is attached to their house or apartment. They do, however, know what a house phone is, because all of them grew up in a house that had one, so as long as I don’t talk about rotary phones, everyone should be able to follow along.

The reason that the house phone will be missed is because it enabled everyone to know what was going on in their family. When it rang, anyone could answer it, and we didn’t know who was going to be at the other end. Kids got to talk to their friends, their parents’ friends, their siblings’ friends, an aunt or uncle, a debt collector, or, if they were really unlucky, their teacher or school principal.

The phone was usually attached to the kitchen wall with a short, curly cord. Some families had phones with really long cords that could stretch around wall corners and up staircases. That didn’t guarantee a private conversation, though. Family members would walk by and overhear snippets of your conversation, either accidentally or on purpose. They’d also yell their comments about your comments so that the person you were talking to could hear them. This was usually very annoying and frequently led to the person on the other end of the line having a front-row seat to a loud family fight. The house phone also enabled everyone in the family to know what everyone else was up to, good and bad. There were few secrets with a family phone, because there was little privacy.

I remember one phone call in particular. It was a Saturday afternoon. Saturdays were always hectic at our house. I was about 10 and had six younger siblings. My mother had just returned from grocery shopping with all seven of us and the kitchen was filled with brown paper bags. My mother and father were putting away the food and talking. The phone rang. My mother picked it up and then handed it to me. Everyone was in the kitchen and the clamor was louder than my caller’s voice. I had to strain to hear.

“Hello,” said the woman. “Is this Patty?” At the time I was calling myself Patty, so I said yes. I motioned to my family to keep the noise down. They got louder.

“This is Jean-Marie’s mother,” she said. I was confused. Why was my babysitter’s mother calling me?

“Yes?” I said. My mother began laughing and then my father belly-laughed at a story one of them had just told. I tried to stretch the cord around the corner of the wall into the hallway where it was slightly quieter.

The woman continued. “I have some bad news. Jean-Marie killed herself this morning.”

“Oh no!” I said over the voices floating around the corner from the kitchen. I went back into the kitchen, covered the receiver with my hand and said, “Please be quiet.”

I turned back to the phone, but my mother grabbed the cord and said, “Don’t you tell us to be quiet. This is our phone and our house. Your caller will just have to put up with the noise.”

I went back to the call. “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “And I’m very sorry about Jean-Marie.”

“I know,” the woman said. “I just thought you should know since you’re one of her best friends.”

“I am?” I thought. “Well, thank you for telling me,” I said.

After I hung up, my parents spun around and asked if I was able to hear my very-important call. I said I was.

Then they asked who was so important that a little noise would bother her?

I said that it was Jean-Marie’s mother.

“Why would Jean-Marie’s mother be calling you?” my mother asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She said I was Jean-Marie’s friend and she had to tell me something important.”

“Jean-Marie is 16!” my mother said. “You’re 10. Why does she think that you’re friends? And what did she have to tell you that was so important?”

“She said that Jean-Marie killed herself this morning.”

I finally got the quiet I had requested, in the form of a stunned silence.

It turned out that Jean-Marie’s mother had called the wrong Patty. The other Patty, who was 16 and was Jean-Marie’s real friend, also had a last name that began with a B.

Now if that had happened to a 10-year-old on a cell phone, there would be nobody to question him or her and, ultimately, once the shock was over, offer comfort.

Parents miss out on their kids’ secret lives when everyone has his or her own phone and talks behind closed doors (and texts right out in public). Sure, as kids we used to resent being eavesdropped on, but secretly it was nice knowing that people were interested … sometimes.





The New Kidnappers

In Computers, Humor on August 4, 2016 at 12:39 am

Remember the good old days when criminals hacked into your computer to steal your bank and personal information and they did it discreetly, so that you didn’t notice the theft for days, weeks, or years? You might never have noticed if you hadn’t received foreclosure notices for a house in Kentucky you didn’t know you owned, or if a repo guy didn’t show up to tow a car you never had.

Today’s criminals are gutsy. Not only do they hack into your computer, but they gloat about it, and then demand payment to return your files. Once you pay, what’s to stop them from doing it again? They can ride this money train into the cyberspace sunset.

Check out this email thread that my husband started yesterday on Facebook. His story is true.


Frank (my husband): My desktop computer at work was hacked. I opened up an email and all of my files were encrypted. I rebooted and then a ransom note appeared saying I had three days to pay in bitcoin currency to get my files decrypted. How crazy is this? Our IT guy is on the case!

Karen E: Damn hackers!

Me: I wonder if modern computer kidnappers talk like old-school people-kidnappers?: “Vee hoff your computair. Send many bitcoin now.”

Art K: Isn’t Paul B an IT expert?????? He may need to be called into the case.

Paul B: Bummer Frank. If u send me the bitcoins I may be able to fix.

Ron B: Good luck Frank. I had the same thing happen to me. The hacker turned on my laptop camera and took a picture of me and threatened to turn over all the “dirt” he could dig up on me. I was able to power down for a day then put a paper clip in the reset button and most of my files were saved. I’m sure there’s a better way but I’m no computer geek.

Me: Did you see “Burn After Reading”? Maybe they were going to give it to the Russians. Haha.

Ron B: Once I knew it was a scam, it was actually hysterical. It had a picture of Pres. Obama saluting the flag and authorizing that I pay the money. The only part that was not hysterical was that I did lose some files and lots of pictures.

Leo C: It was the DNC.


UPDATE: I’ve received a ransom amount: $287.09. My IT person says the Russians are definitely behind all the hacking done in the U.S. Hey Comrade Hacker, I am not paying a single cent to you. I don’t negotiate with terrorists!

Dano P: Search for the Trend Micro ransomware removal and decryption tools.

Frank: Yeah, my IT guy just added that and he just told me that my backup drive was encrypted as well! This sucks!!!

Dano P: Send bitcoin to

A Summer Dinner Party

In Humor, Summer on August 2, 2016 at 9:47 pm

I’m working in my office on the second floor of our house and the windows next to my desk are open. It’s 9:30 p.m. My next-door neighbor has been having a dinner party on her deck for the last few hours. She’s well into her eighties. So are some of her guests. Judging from their voices, there are also some people there who are middle-aged. One of the men has an Australian accent. There is also a young man who is 21. I know this because I heard them trying to figure out how old he was in 2004, when some event they were discussing occurred. One woman said he was ten, but then someone else said that he was only nine because he was born in November and it wasn’t November yet.

Initially, I closed my windows, but it got stuffy so I opened them again. It’s enjoyable to hear them having a good time outside. Summer is so fleeting and outdoor parties are wonderful, even if you’re only eavesdropping on them. I keep getting drawn into listening to their conversations. I caught myself several times before I yelled a comment out the window. My work, needless to say, is going very slowly.

One woman is loud, with a capital L. One man talks over everyone else. The Australian, sadly, doesn’t talk much. It’s a treat when he pipes up with a comment in that sexy accent. Oooh, he’s talking now. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it is enchanting.

So far, they’ve discussed everything from how to convert Celsius into Fahrenheit, the 2016 presidential election, the song, “Hot Legs,” Warren Zevon, YouTube, casinos, and wearing war paint as kids. The conversation topics change quickly, as they do at parties. Occasionally, the loud woman yells out, “Woo-Hoo!” or “Loser!” and then cackles demonically. One man announced that he’s having a “Casino Night” at his house. I wish I could go, but I’m busy that night.

It’s dark now and the party continues. The loud woman is now, for some reason, talking in a stage whisper. It sounds like there are several different conversations going on at once. It’s hard to concentrate. I guess I might as well get back to work.

I have to say that I really enjoyed this summer deck party. Summer deck parties beat winter indoor parties any day. Even if you’re an uninvited guest.


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