RC Shivers

My Fridge Wants My Wi-Fi Password?!

August 7, 2026

My refrigerator asked me for the Wi-Fi password, and I have questions.

Not one or two questions, either. I mean a full congressional hearing’s worth. Why does the fridge need Wi-Fi? What is it planning to do once it gets online? Check email? Update its status? Start a podcast called Cold Takes from Yesterday Leftovers?

I just wanted a snack. A normal, peaceful, nobody-bothering-anybody snack. Maybe some ice cream, maybe something with cheese, maybe both because I am an adult and no one can stop me. But no. The fridge is over there blinking at me like it has urgent business with the internet.

And I am sorry, but I do not fully trust a refrigerator with unlimited access to cyberspace. What if it starts ordering pizzas? What if it sends embarrassing group texts to the neighborhood appliances? What if it watches “Extreme Freezer Makeovers” until three in the morning and then judges my leftover containers?

Or worse, what if it prank calls people and asks, “Is your refrigerator running?” That joke has been hanging on by a thread since rotary phones, but I guarantee a smart fridge would think it invented comedy.

Yes, I understand the sales pitch. The fridge can track groceries. It can tell you when you are out of milk. It can probably identify a sad head of lettuce in the back corner and alert the authorities. Very impressive.

But have we truly reached the point where writing “eggs” on a notepad has become too much labor for humanity? For decades, a refrigerator magnet and a pen held civilization together. Now the fridge wants network access, firmware updates, and possibly emotional support. It used to be my safe space, now it needs it s own.

And the fridge is only one member of the household tech committee. The lights are online. The thermostat is online. The cameras are online. The doorbell is online. The lawnmower may be online. At this point I would not be surprised if the gophers under my backyard have a mesh network and a group chat.

Everything is connected, which sounds convenient until you realize convenience comes with a subscription, a password, a software update, and one mysterious button labeled “Allow.”

Then there is the thermostat, which keeps trying to enroll me in an energy-saving program. On paper, that sounds noble. Save energy. Help the planet. Be a responsible citizen. Wonderful.

But I live in Georgia, where summer does not “get warm.” Summer walks into your house wearing a wet wool blanket and says, “Mind if I stay until October?” So when the thermostat suggests turning off the air conditioning during peak hours, I have to ask: peak hours for whom? Because inside my home, the peak is when the family starts sticking to the furniture.

And once the house heats up, the A/C has to run like it is training for a marathon just to catch back up. That does not feel efficient. That feels like the thermostat made a promise to the power company and left me holding the humidity.

Now, to be fair, I do enjoy smart-home convenience. I like being able to turn off a light from my phone instead of walking downstairs and discovering who left the lamp on like we are guiding ships into harbor.

And yes, I have asked Alexa to turn the lights down and play Yacht Rock. I am only human. Sometimes you need mood lighting and a smooth saxophone solo to make folding laundry feel like a coastal lifestyle choice.

But every time I say, “Hey Alexa,” a tiny part of me wonders who else just leaned in. Is somebody saving that recording? Is there a file somewhere labeled “RC: suspiciously enthusiastic about Yacht Rock”? I do not know. I cannot prove anything. But ten minutes later, my phone will show me an ad for a reunion tour featuring three original members and a fog machine, and suddenly I have doubts.

Then there are passwords. Every app, every device, every digital doodad wants a password. The garage door wants one. The security system wants one. Social media wants one. The toaster probably has a two-factor authentication code taped to its crumb tray.

And if you get the password wrong, the device acts personally offended. “Incorrect password.” Incorrect attitude, if you ask me.

The other day, I imagined the fridge refusing to open because I had not connected it to Wi-Fi. “Please enter password so I can investigate the issue,” it would say. I would say, “How about I investigate whether unplugging you restores your sense of humility?”

Of course, changing a password always feels risky too. Somewhere, some machine probably lights up and says, “Attention: RC has changed a password. Prepare twelve suspicious login alerts, three security emails, and one urgent reminder that his data may already be for sale in a digital alley.”

Which brings us to the dark web, a phrase that sounds like the internet wearing sunglasses indoors.

I picture it as a shady side street of cyberspace with flickering neon signs, questionable usernames, and a raccoon in a hoodie selling expired hard drives out of a trench coat. Is that accurate? Probably not. Is it the mental image I am keeping? Absolutely.

In simple terms, the dark web grew out of tools designed to hide online activity and protect communication. The technology had legitimate uses: privacy, safety, secure messaging, and helping people communicate where open speech was dangerous. But like many inventions, once it reached the wider world, people found both decent and disastrous ways to use it.

That is the internet in a nutshell. Give humanity a powerful tool, and someone will use it to share medical research, someone will use it to organize disaster relief, and someone else will try to sell haunted printer ink.

Add anonymous browsing, hidden servers, and digital money, and suddenly the internet has a back room. Some people use that back room for privacy. Some use it for things you do not want discussed over dinner. Either way, it does not make me feel better about giving my refrigerator a password.

So we return to the original issue: why does my refrigerator need Wi-Fi?

Does it want to help? Maybe. Does it want to make my life easier? Possibly. Does it need to know my router password before I can enjoy a snack in peace? Absolutely not.

The fridge can chill. Literally. That is its whole job description.

Until further notice, the milk can remain offline, the lettuce can keep its opinions to itself, and the ice cream is operating on a strict need-to-know basis.

The refrigerator is not getting the Wi-Fi password.

Welcome to the Latest Iteration

August 3, 2026

Welcome to the latest iteration of my website. I have had several versions over the years. I have had a web presence since 2004, but for some reason life always takes precedent and writing slides to the back burner. Why? Because even though writing is therapeutic and I have faith that my stories are entertaining to the audience I write for, family always comes first. A guaranteed paycheck always outweighs the possibility of selling a few copies of a book. That said, “I HAVE BOOKS FOR SALE!!” He screamed from the mountaintop.

Let’s talk about it! Stories come to me easily. They are not always good stories, and even if they are good, it doesn’t mean there is a market I should write them for. So, over a lifetime of writing, I have crates full of half-filled notebooks and thumb drives that will never be read by another human eye in my lifetime.

Wouldn’t it be cool if someone found my notes and books and thumb drives after I pass away, like many artists of the past popular in perpetuity, but posthumously?

Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that. And that is why I have had a web presence for the last 22 years.

I have travelled a lot in my life. A few other countries, but mainly my travels have gained me experience. I have met a lot of different people and a lot of different regional cultures. I've been to a lot of tiny little cracks in the country that many people don’t see. I’ve made friends everywhere. I can tell some of the stories, but then again, some of the stories can’t be repeated unless I’m hanging out with a close friend over a beer or two.

In all those travels, one detail always sticks out: the variety of people I have come across. Let me tell you about the people. Why?! Because everyone I meet or have met becomes a character in my books.

There was the bus driver on Oahu. My wife got a picture of us under a tree in the corner of a park the tour stopped at. The picture looks like a big Italian guy and a big Islander doing a “deal” of some sort. Then there was one of the locals I had met on a trip to the British Virgin Islands.

I can remember a lot of names, but it’s the personalities that really stick with me. I say that only because I do not remember the name of this particular guy. I remember his buddies like Two Shot and Romeo. But those are stories for another time.

We met at Corsairs on the beach in Great Harbor. We got to talk a little and found out he had a small boat we could rent to explore around the island. I met him on the beach one morning after that to rent his boat. My wife got a picture of us. She snapped it just as I placed a wad of cash in his hand. It looks like another “deal” going down.

I hate that I can’t remember all the names, but I remember WHO they were and how they conducted themselves. Our bus driver on Oahu I compared to the great Samoan professional wrestlers. He was big, but he was soft-spoken. I’m often described as a big teddy bear, but this guy was not just a big teddy bear type—he was a grizzly hiding in a teddy bear costume and personality. I could tell from the start we could be friends, but this guy had a dark side that he tried hard to keep hidden. A side that had escaped its confines at different times throughout his life. When that happened, the outcome was never good.

My boat friend at Corsairs was different. He was a big guy who didn’t come off as gentle. He had a hard shell, calloused and worn, but was still a young man in his twenties. His hard exterior wasn’t a pretense; he had had a rough life, but inside he was a gentle man. He had to keep that side hidden away so that he could not be taken advantage of. He reminded me of the rapper Ice Cube. He always had that creased brow and look of anger on his face. My island friend had that same look. Truth be told, I would not have started a conversation with this guy because of that look on his face. I met him in a group of people he was comfortable with, so I got to see the guy behind the scowl.

I’m currently working out a character for my Hawaiian buddy, but as for my pal in the Caribbean, his personality and the backstory I have imagined for him has developed into a character in my new YA novel The Last Lap of Red Clay. This book is a coming-of-age story set in rural Georgia. Three young high school guys find a beat-up dirt track car sitting on the edge of an old farm with a sign that reads, “If you can haul it, you can have it!”

He became the character I gave the nickname “Stank”. Stank isn’t a small guy, but he is not a muscle-bound high school football player either. Built strong, thick, and solidly tough, he is the guy that will protect the star player, but will always be the background blocker—never the star. That’s the surface of Stank. Dig a little deeper, and you find a timid, protective boy who knows his size scares away trouble, and he uses that to his advantage.

His friends know the real guy inside. He is the guy who might not get an A on every test, but he can figure out a way to make an engine run and a car go fast. He learned it from his dad, and once he learned it, he got better at it. Stank is what people used to call a tinkerer. He could figure anything out and create solutions that did not exist before. His friends gave him the chance to show that side of himself while the rest of the world only saw the outer shell.

The Last Lap of Red Clay is currently in the editing stage and should be ready for release shortly. Look for it to be available in the near future!

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Welcome to the New Website

July 25, 2026

Welcome to the official launch of the new site. I'll be posting updates on my upcoming novels, projects, and events right here.