Today, along with my 50 spam e-mails, I got one from some online office supply store. "Hi, Morton! Thank you for your recent interest in telefax supplies..." they began. Now, how did they know I just bought a fax? Or yeah, I forgot, I registered the thing with Canon. Silly me. Now there's a definite no-no. Should never have returned that little registration card...it's clearly just a marketing scam! Think about it - did you ever in your life get any "product updates" or "consumer alerts" from sending in those "warranty registration" cards? Nope, just more advertising.

Sunday night we hosted a Super Bowl party, like 35 million other households. Talk about a boring game! But that's another story. Perfect night for telemarketers. A drunk, captive audience who are bored, looking for something to do. Right in the middle of the Smith 80-yard runback, the phone rings.

"Mr. Leafit (they always get my name wrong), this is Susan at Crestview Acres. How are you today?" Those four little words that mean you have just been touched, again, by a telemarketer.

"Well, Susan, its L-E-V-I-T-T, and, if you must know, I'm smashed on Tequila shots, I gotta visit the growler, and twenty of my closest friends are partying and carrying on in my living room. Why?"

"We noticed that you and you wife recently joined AARP. Have you done any real planning for your retirement?"

"You mean Social Security? Not really - I assume Uncle Sam will figure out a way to screw me out of it before I'm ever eligible."

"No. I mean have you and your wife considered investing in an eternal resting place now for your peace of mind?"

"We're a little short on cash right now, Susan. And besides, we plan to be cremated. But I do have one question for you..."

"We're not allowed to answer questions from customers, but if you give me your OK today, I will guarantee you 50% off our usual price. And we throw in a lovely marble foot marker for free."

"That's nice. But I want to know how you knew about AARP?"

"I'm sorry. We are not allowed to divulge that information."

"Swell. Now I'm on a death watch list. Might as well have another shot of Tequila. And oh, by the way, give my regards to the Count. Has he gotten rid of that nasty rash yet?"

It seems that if you so much as take a dump these days, the deed ends up on a list that someone can buy so they can hit you up for some lame telemarketing or insurance scheme. These lists are big business. The life's blood of every company, large or small. But today it's so much worse. Not only are there the usual lists, but now your e-mail addresses and those dreaded "cookies" from the Internet are being snapped up for fun and profit. Your employer monitors your telephone calls, your e-mail, and even logs in all those sex sites you visit. The local "authorities" know about every traffic ticket you ever got in your life and the auto insurance companies charge you through the ying-yang for them. You get calls at home from every conceivable business on the map, day and night. And they all seem to know everything about you. And it gets even worse. Now there's "data mining." Companies sniff the Internet for every reference about you that's out there, hack into governement sites for more dirt, and combine these with local news clippings and such so that your entire pathetic life is out there for sale to whoever wants to pay for it. It's kind of like your social "credit history."

I always tell my friends, "Don't say or do anything that you wouldn't want published (with an appropriate unflattering, compromising and computer-enhanced photo) on the front page of the Washington Post tomorrow. Of course, even that's not good enough. The media lately has displayed an uncanny knack of digging up malicious dirt that even you yourself didn't know existed on you. And try to run for public office these days and a gaggle of "former acquaintances," just plain wackos, and even complete strangers climb out from under their rocks and accuse you of everything from carrying on a 20-year adulterous affair with them to stealing ketchup from Denny's. And then, it seems, everyone records your telephone conversations. Forget the KGB; America has it's very own version of high-tech espionage. And it's likely to be the kid next door who is intercepting your cell phone codes and hacking into your voice mail.

It's time for us to fight back. What we do with our spare time (and the rest of our time, for that matter) should be our business, not the business of some greasy used car salesman or my insurance company. We can start with the telemarketers. Whenever you hear the words, "Mr/Mrs XXX, how are you today," say something like "not well, really, the twitching makes it hard to hold the phone." Never, but never, send in a "warranty registration" card again. The product is covered. Just save the receipt. Magazine subscriptions? Never again. Either catch up on your reading at the barber shop or buy what you want from the newsstand. This even saves you money - you'll be surprised how fast your tabloid reading will decline. When you browse the Internet, make sure you turn off "cookies" on your browser. And use an e-mail program that can "filter" out unwanted mail by looking for words such as "get rich," "congratulations," or "make money at home" in the message. And, oh yes, NEVER pay for anything with a credit card. Always pay cash or write a check.

This way we can slowly begin to regain some semblance of control over our lives again. There was a time, when your grandparents were little kids, that your home was a sanctuary and no one ever bothered you there and when merchants were actually honest and delivered a quality product at a good price. We can have that again, even in the electronic age. Just replay Super Bowl XXXIII continuously on all stations for a few days and all the scam artists, crooks, and defrauders will die of boredom because, if they are true to nothing else, they do all have one thing in common - they have no patience.