Just put a PIN on my skin
Sydney Morning Herald
Monday March 14, 2011
TWO of modern life's markers really get me going.First, is there ever going to be an end to the tacky parade of young bodies covered in "tatts"? I can't stand the sight of them.Maybe it's me growing old, but how revolting did those tattoos adorning the limbs and god knows what else of the cricketers look throughout the long hot summer? And now it's footballers everywhere looking like creatures from Spider-Man.And how silly will they look when they are my age. Trust me, you don't need the help of tatts to look silly when you're old.The second thing I truly loathe are "user names" and "passwords". All I want is to register the car, pay a phone bill, sell some junk on eBay, cancel an e-tag, open the Fairfax Member Centre, use an ATM, transfer some money in the credit union, unlock the stupid computer, borrow a book "online", get a Medicare refund on the mounting medical maintenance costs of my clapped-out frame, checkout the groceries, check in at Qantas, Skype someone , contact my broker and "chat" with my kayak user group.And in every case I have a username and a secret password. Which, the experts wheeled out every time another online scam is exposed tell me, should be different according the "exposure" each represents and worse, should be changed every month.My own list of user names and secret passwords - stored in a password protected file (I think) runs to 52 items. To be changed every month - I don't believe they can be serious! How can I possibly change them all when the whole process is scarily fraught with "invalid user name or password" warnings every time I venture near the wretched things?There must be an easier way.Hey, maybe I do want a tatt!Yes, barcode me now with a forearm tatt so that with one flick of the wrist I can be truly me. Yes, amazing as it seems I'm Peter Skinner, that is my user name. My password? Oh, that's easy, just read my wrist with your barcode machine.Want to register the car? Stand by Mr RTA, here comes a PDF of my wrist tatt (I know all about this high-tech stuff, I just want it used properly). Need me to pay for my groceries? Just scan my wrist, kid, and yes, I'll have some cash out, thanks.And, when the long day finally wanes and I end up, tatted and a little torn, in a box, there will be no mix-up or doubt as to who is in there - one last scan and the indelible memory of my life will be erased forever.
© 2011 Sydney Morning Herald