The Second Hand Man

It’s wonderful to be writing my memoirs, undisturbed and on a PC!

It’s an IBM 5150 with a green screen and a portal for a 5.25-inch floppy disk.

It’s a goddamned dinosaur compared to the stuff of the future, but to me it’s a little piece of heaven on earth.

As adults we tend to take so much for granted, almost forgetting about the restrictions we once had to experience as children. Whether it was at home or at school, we were prisoners of society. We were constantly told that we stayed in the land of the free and the brave.

Free?

How can you call it freedom when you are constantly told when and what to eat and drink – or what not to eat or drink; when and where to go – or not go; who to befriend - or not befriend. And worst of all – the goddamned curfews. Didn’t it always seem that the parties were just starting to get…interesting at the point where you had to leave?

Of course, it was all done out of love – for our benefit, protection and guidance, so that we could become cloned into upstanding citizens capable of implementing those very same restrictions on future generations.

I’m just thrilled that my restrictions of using a pen or a typewriter to record my memoirs have passed forever.

The next time I return to the past I’ll be sure to target a time when the world had become more computer-familiar.

Last month, instead of a Person of the Year, Time Magazine selected The Computer as Machine of the Year!

I must remember to constantly keep, and update, a record of my current access passwords. I’ll make a point of taping them in an envelope to the bottom of my desk.

The same goes for the key and/or combination of my safe; as well as my banking accounts.

I don’t want to return to the past once more only to discover that I don’t have access to my assets and, especially, my diaries.