So yesterday, I was trying to get out from under the effects of one of these things, and finishing up "A Year at the Movies" (You've read this, yes? Don't make me put a copy in your hand.) by Kevin Murphy. There's a bit at the end where he dresses up, oh, I won't spoil it, but I must loan the book to my folks. You'll understand if you know them and if you've read the book.
Anyway, still not feeling exactly well, and it being about 8:30 at night, I get a telemarketer trying to sell me some sort of remodeling service thing. No, thank you. Back to the book, and then around 9pm, I get another call, and my relationship to language extends as far as being able to read. People talking to me might as well be the teacher on a Peanuts special (Mwah mwah mwah Whah whah? Yes, Ms. Othmar). And in response, if my own muddied thinking permits a logical answer to what I interpret as the question, I might be able to mumble a word or two.
So. This is when my ISP calls me to change my static IP address. Why not? Somehow I rally my capabilities and make sure that I write down the new address, and I manage to reconfigure and reboot my firewall appliance without too much difficulty. In testing the new IP, the ISP guy asks me who does my DNS for me. And I am amazed at how stymied I am by the question. Eventually I am able to come up with an answer, but I swear, it took me forever to page that bit of information into working memory.
And when I pulled up the register.com web page from which I administer my IP addresses, I was again defeated. So many possible links to click on, what do I do? And yet, in time (after the ISP guy got off the phone), I was able to determine that the first link on the page, the one labelled "change IP" was the one I wanted.
I suppose that the moral of the story is that the internet is becoming an easier and easier place to live; even an addled idiot can operate it. "Do not operate heavy machinery", indeed.