I Just Wanted to Look at My Calendar

It should have been simple. A right click on the 3x3 square in the top right corner of the write-a-new-post page of Blogger, my fairly-seamlessly-integrated-with-Google hosting site for The Burrow, should have done the trick.

Instead, I got this, reprinted here for your amusement:

Meet your Google Assistant

Ask it questions. Tell it to do things. It’s your own personal Google, always ready to help.

I thought that's what I had.    Now, instead of connecting me to my calendar, Google was selling me products.

Heeding Big Cuter's admonition that there are no unanswered questions, Mom; that's why we have The Google, I can tell TBG how old Shirley Temple was when she made Fort Apache (19) without missing a scene.  I know if I'm free for lunch next Tuesday without being tethered to one hard copy of my calendar.  I can write to you from many platforms (even my iPad) and Google takes care of the back office pieces.  I am grateful.  

I'm willing to have ads in the sidebars for the freedom to roam the world's knowledge, while keeping that which I need close at hand, at no charge.  I have no problem with data collection; I don't do anything that would cause a problem to anyone should it become public.  

I'm boring.  As long as my numbers are safe, I'm happy to share that I love Hanna Andersson almost as much as FlapJilly loves Minnie Mouse.  They both pop up with delightful regularity as I browse and read and click.  Is someone making money by selling that information?  I don't really care, as long as my interwebs are free and fast (which is why net neutrality is such a big deal, but that's an issue for another time, written by someone else).  It feels like a fair trade to me.

But I draw the line at talking to the tv or the computer.  I have turned off Lenore-the-Lenovo's microphone enabled assistant.  We don't talk to our tv remote control.  I don't want them listening to me.  It's on all the time; how do I know what's being recorded?  There are things I say out loud with the door closed that I don't necessarily want to share with the world.  I find the thought of an inanimate device responding to my requests to be a bit unsettling. 

I tripped myself up right there, in this rant... because I love pushing the microphone on my phone and asking her a question.... and hearing her answer out loud makes me smile.... and I realized that this argument is going nowhere fast..... and then I laughed.

It's not a right click that brings up the calendar; it's a left click.  Finding fault with Google because I couldn't remember which piece of the mouse to hug just doesn't seem fair.  And, there are actually some very useful tips over there on the right click side of The Google Apps .

I have no excuse, beyond the fact that it is about a zillion degrees outside and my brain has melted.