Well, just 2 days after the hard drive went south, I found out my e-mail address had been phished. So if anyone gets a bad e-mail from me, sorry. Part of the problem is I had just renewed the antivirus software from Eset (the best AV on the market), but the renewal info was dead on the old HD. It was this afternoon when I logged onto the internet portal of Frontier to send a message, and noticed every time I tried to create a new message, there was already an identity (not mine), and a message body. Frontier's support is real nice, using a live interface, and it took about 3 minutes to solve the problem. And a quick call to Eset got me my info, although I am still waiting for the scan of the HD to finish before I can instal the AV software. Should be done tomorrow. For now, I'll just change the password daily.
The problem is, well, the internet, and the punks out there who scam and hack and whatever. It reminds me of a time when I was a kid in Grand Central, waiting for a train to go back to Connecticut. Or maybe Rochester. Anyway, this con artist came up and sold me a bill of goods about this hot album that had all these name players on it, like Santana, Clapton, George Harrison, and others. Being a dope, I paid too much for what turned out to be a horrible collection of songs by who knows. In any event, it's that burn, of being had, of not being able to just do something without getting bothered, that is magnified in the internet. A million billion times. Or so. Time to get a job as a pool boy on some island somewhere.