For years I've relied on my children to fix computer problems (although, since I made the switch to Apple, such problems are far rarer). But now it's time to grow up, in tech terms, and try to solve my own problems.

Luckily, I've had help: Google. Whenever I encounter a glitch or can't figure out how to complete some task, I Google the problem. I almost always find a solution.

Last week it was documents that I was unable to drag from my desktop to the trash; they just kept bobbing in place, refusing to move, as this message was displayed on the screen: "The item can't be moved to Trash because it can't be deleted."

What now? I Googled the phrase, and the search produced a link to a Mac forum that had a simple solution - no call to my son required.

A dozen years ago I wrote a Hampshire Life story about a visit to a taping of the venerable PBS series "Antiques Roadshow" - the show where people haul in all sorts of stuff, much of it weird, in hopes that the experts will tell them they've got a treasure on their hands.

I brought along a pair of sterling silver jiggers, oddities that my father had bought decades ago in England. While they looked full size, they had false bottoms, so a barkeep could get away with pouring less than a full measure. I thought they were funny.

But when I pulled the jiggers out of my pocketbook and presented them to the Antiques Roadshow's silver expert, he was neither amused nor impressed. They weren't worth anything, he told me, other than the silver they were made of.

Ah well. Those silver jiggers still hold a prized spot in my china cabinet.

But what's to say you don't have some real treasures in your china cabinet? (or attic, or basement, or garage...). You may be able to find out on June 9, when "Antiques Roadshow" again makes one of its rare stops in Boston.

You can't just show up, however; you have to apply for a ticket. They're free, but are awarded by random drawing. Applications and rules are at www.pbs.org/antiques; alternatively, call 888-762-3749. The deadline is April 16.

"Antiques Roadshow's" most recent success story involved carved rhinoceros horn cups from China worth more than $1 million. Start going through your cupboards now.

The light on my phone's answering machine was flashing when I got home from work one day this week, with a prerecorded message about an emergency notification system.

At least it wasn't one of those calls leaving annoying and/or unsettling messages about consolidating my credit card debt. If it had been, it would likely have been one of the last of them.

Because that call happened to come on the same day that the Federal Communications Commission announced new rules tightening the restrictions on prerecorded telemarketing calls -  aka robocalls.

From now on, a business must have your consent (on paper, or through electronic means like a website form or a telephone keypress) before it can place a telemarketing call to you or send you a telemarketing text message.

The new rules close a large loophole. Previously a business was free to contact anyone it had "an established business relationship" with. The loophole was that that established business relationship could have been triggered by something as minor as entering a giveaway at the mall (win a pool! win a car!); once you did that you were fair game for follow-up calls.

Another change: If you receive a robocall, you'll be able to opt out immediately through an automated menu. No more calling back to request that the calls stop.

Some robocalls are still allowed, however - mostly ones that benefit consumers. These include notifications about school closings or changes to flight information. A business or organization does not need your permission to make such calls to landline numbers; however, oral or written consent is required for cellphone messages or text messages.

If you think a caller has violated FCC rules, you can file a complaint at this link.

A few years ago, a co-worker told me that the red pen I was using to mark proof pages was "too hostile." So I switched to a kinder, gentler color - green. Specifically, a Pilot G-2 07mm green gel pen.

I've gone through a lot of G-2s since then. Last week it was time for yet another replacement. But this time my brand-new pen wouldn't work. Despite a full supply of ink in the barrel, the pen produced only scratches.

I tried soaking it in a glass of water, a trick that used to work with ballpoints. Nothing. So I emailed Pilot to ask if they had a way to get the ink flowing.

The next day a rep emailed back to apologize, promising a replacement. And three days after that a package arrived, containing three new green G-2s plus four green G-2 refills (I didn't even know refills existed).

In an interview in today's Gazette, Susan Grant of the Consumer Federation of America advised, "Let companies know what you think, good or bad." She's absolutely right. If I'm pleased with a product or service, I try to let the company know. And if I'm not pleased, I register a complaint. I've almost always gotten results - replacement products, price adjustments, generous coupons.

Bottom line: When things go wrong, don't just gripe. Give the company a chance to fix it.

The claims made by most "As Seen on TV" products seem dubious to me, but when I got a press release for a gadget that promised to "Remove lint from hard to reach places" it got my attention.

The National Fire Protection Association reports that in 2006 there were roughly 16,000 home fires in the United States that involved clothes dryers, and the leading reason was "failure to clean" - aka, lint build-up.

We clean our dryer's exhaust hose regularly. And I clean the lint trap after every load. But my dryer has an impossible-to-reach spot, below the screen. I can see tons of lint down there. Gobs of it. I just can't reach it.

And that's why the Lint Lizard - an attachment for a regular vacuum cleaner - caught my eye.

I emailed the company to ask for a sample. Two days later, it was on my desk.

Here's my report. The Lint Lizard attached easily to my vacuum. But the clear plastic hose portion that was supposed to wend its way into the nooks and crannies of my dryer seemed awfully large. I didn't think it was going to fit.

Good news: It turns out that the hose is flexible enough to be squished into the narrow slot leading to all that lint. The Lint Lizard sucked up all the loose lint easily. (And since the hose is clear, I got to watch it fly by, which was both very gross and very satisfying.)

However ... some of the lint had been in my dryer so long that it had formed a solid clump. The Lint Lizard couldn't budge it.

I found a long dowel and poked it around gingerly to loosen the lint. I sent the Lizard in again. It slurped up every last bit.

A colleague with a child heading off to college wanted to fill out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid - the form better known as FAFSA - online. So he Googled FAFSA and then clicked on the link that showed up in the top spot on the search page.

It wasn't until he had nearly finished filling out the online application - complete with confidential information like Social Security numbers - that he realized he was not at the federal government's application site, but a site run by a private company - which now wanted to charge him money to file the "free" form.

Why did this happen? Savvy companies pay to place ads on the Google search results page, and employ various other tactics to ensure that their websites show up prominently. In this case, fafsa.com appeared in the top spot. The federal site, fafsa.ed.gov, was second.

So here's a quick reminder for all Google searches, not just those involving FAFSA: Take the time to scan the first page of results (I often go through the first two pages) to find the website you really want.

Pay special attention to domain names (the two or three letters that follow the "dot"). In the FAFSA instance, the .com was a giveaway that it was a commercial site; U.S. government sites end with .gov.

To celebrate its 29th birthday (and National Bagel Day), the Bruegger's chain is giving away three free bagels tomorrow, Feb. 9, until 2 p.m. to anyone who shows up with a coupon for the promotion.

If you're on Bruegger's mailing list you should have already received a coupon by email; otherwise, go to Bruegger's Facebook page and "friend" the company, which will allow you to download a coupon there.

More free treats: According to the Thornes Marketplace website, from Feb. 9 to Feb. 14 anyone who stops by the Noteworthy stationery store on the second floor will get two truffles from Heavenly Chocolate!, gratis.  

On Super Bowl Sunday I announced to my family: "I am ready to go into the belly of the beast."

The beast in question: Walt Disney World's resort booking system.

I love Disney World. It's my all-time favorite vacation destination.

I do not love its reservations system, however. For nearly every one of my vacations there, the reservations process has been miserable.

This time might have been the worst, though.

To book three rooms each, at two resorts (a total of six reservations, in other words) took hours. I missed the Super Bowl because of it.

I called the reservations line at 4:53 p.m.

At 6:05 - one hour and 12 minutes later - my reservation was finally complete. I had to give my credit card number at least six times. I had to give the names of the people in my party, their addresses, their email addresses, umpteen times.

But that wasn't all. Since we've stayed at Disney World before, the reservations system already contained information about us. It turns out that much of it was misinformation - incorrect addresses, incorrect names. It was a mess.

Then, to top it off, the reservation clerk - who couldn't have been more courteous and pleasant - told me that she couldn't find the rate I had seen just 12 hours earlier at www.disneyworld.com. The only available rooms were more expensive - a lot more expensive. I looked on my computer as we talked, and it seemed true: The lower-priced rooms weren't showing up. That seemed peculiar, given that our trip is nine months away.

I booked the more expensive rooms. Then, after hanging up, I brooded.

I went back online and found the rooms I wanted at the original, cheaper price. What was up with that?

At 7:43 I called back. I got another agent, who was even more courteous and pleasant. She managed to book the lower rates, but in doing so she had to correct every one of the reservations I'd made just two hours earlier. Names, addresses, titles were still wrong, but in different ways.

The agent was apologetic in the extreme, and efficient, but it took her a long time to fix things, including seemingly endless stretches when she put me on hold while she consulted with the higher-ups in guest services.

Finally, at 9:47, the reservation was straightened out. "I just want to give you a big ole hug," the agent said.

Now, Disney World veterans may be asking: Why didn't I just book the rooms online? Here's why: because of a little-known fact. If you are a AAA member, you can get 10 percent off the price of rooms at Disney resort properties (it doesn't work for packages, just room-only reservations). But you can only get the discount by calling; it's not available online. And with three rooms for a total of five nights, that 10 percent added up to a lot of money.

Was it worth 3 hours and 16 minutes of my time? Right now, I'm not sure.

On my first call, as the agent and I waited for the computer system to register information, she'd say, cheerfully, "Mickey's working on your reservation."

C'mon, Mickey! As the chipper public face of a mega corporation, you can do better.

On a trip to Boston last month, I was determined not to buy anything I didn't need. Translation: I was determined not to buy anything at all.

But then, in Banana Republic, I came across a deal too good to pass up.

The shoe section was brimming with marked-down shoes, including one pair, Kamea, I particularly liked. It appears other shoppers did not like Kamea quite as much (or that the Banana Republic merchandise buyer grossly overestimated the number of size 9 feet that would be walking in the door).

Kamea had started off her retail life priced at $98. The little trail of sale tags on the box told a sad story: First the shoes were marked down to $69.99. Then $44.99. Then $31.97, the "final sale" price on the day I saw them.

But it turned out that $31.97 wasn't the final price. There was also a sign that read "40 percent off all final sale items." I did the math: that would bring the shoes down to under $20.

I have a Banana Republic card (see * below) that earns rewards points for each dollar I spend. And I just happened to have a rewards voucher for $20.

I brought the shoes to the sales counter. I told the clerk I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to pay anything for them. She looked at me skeptically, then rang them in.

Free shoes for me!

* My Banana Republic card (good at Gap, Old Navy and Piperlime, too) is the only store brand charge card I have, by the way. Lots of store charge cards also means lots of payment due dates to keep track of. For me, that was not a good thing.

Not long ago I was one of the 24 million customers that received an unsettling email from the online shoe retailer Zappos that began like this:

First, the bad news: We are writing to let you know that there may have been illegal and unauthorized access to some of your customer account information on Zappos.com, including one or more of the following: your name, e-mail address, billing and shipping addresses, phone number, the last four digits of your credit card number ... and/or your cryptographically scrambled password (but not your actual password).

The email went on to say that "critical" credit card data - the full number, rather than the last four digits - had not been compromised.

Zappos said it had wiped out all old passwords, and asked its customers to create new ones. It also noted that if customers used the same password on other websites, they should change those as well.

Done, and done.

But it was just one more reminder of how vulnerable passwords can be. For an article in its January 2012 issue, Consumer Reports surveyed 1,000 people about their passwords. Twenty percent reported that they use the same password for more than five accounts. And while the strongest passwords consist of a combination of uppercase and lowercase letters, numerals and special characters, fewer than 25 percent of the survey respondents used that level of strength for their most sensitive accounts.

I, a member of the remaining 75 percent, generally choose passwords that are simple, but not too simple, most of them an amalgam of my phone numbers, street addresses, pets and family members.

But I can do better.

Paris Finley, the Gazette's IT chief, told me that a hacker armed with only a standard-issue PC and a free software cracking program can decipher passwords in almost no time at all. Here are the examples Paris gave me (with calcuation times from www.howsecureismypassword.net):

horse - words found in the dictionary can be cracked in less than .001 second

horsa - cracked in .05 seconds

horsa3 - cracked in 8 seconds

Horsa33 - cracked in 3 hours

Horsa33# - cracked in 57 days

horse9galaxy! - cracked in about 2 million years

If you want real security, Paris told me, you don't want a password; you want a passphrase, which can actually be easier to remember than a password.

Mysister'snameisAleta - cracked in 95 sextillion years.