I have developed a certain perverse fondness for Gov. Mike Easley in recent weeks. He’s become the gift that keeps on giving.

Easley can’t seem to do anything right these days. While his endless pratfalls provide lots of fodder for the likes of me — ‘preciate it, governor — his reputation is taking a beating. If Easley hoped that everyone would just forget about the $400 million meltdown in the state’s mental health care system, he certainly got his wish. Trouble is, we’re now focused on his inept handling of the email flap.

After a recently fired state government spokeswoman revealed that deletion of email was a common practice in state government, Easley appointed a special panel to review the state’s policy on the handling and preservation of electronic documents. This is, of course, an important undertaking. More and more of the state’s business is conducted by email, but the current policy dates back (literally and figuratively) to the 20th century. Basically, state government employees have been free to use their own judgment about which electronic messages should be saved. That was fine for the time when most email was along the lines of, “Everyone gather in the conference room at 2 for Ethel’s farewell cake!” Today, though, it’s more likely that a message will say something like, “Water testing has detected benzene in the well serving the 100-home neighborhood. I recommend that we hold off on notifying residents until further testing can be arranged.”

You want the state employee who wrote that message later deciding — after homeowners have discovered their water is toxic — that it’s not really all that, you know, important?

So what does Easley do as he convenes a panel to study this indisputably significant issue? First, he fails to remember that Republicans use email, too. The panel initially was comprised solely of Democrats and independents, a situation that was fixed only after the state GOP complained. Then Easley names as the panel’s head a fellow who proudly claims that he’s never sent an email message in his life, and wouldn’t even know how to turn on his office computer.

Oh, yeah. That’s exactly who we want studying this issue — a guy who revels in his ignorance of technology.

I used to think Easley was merely disdainful of politics. Now I think he’s just clumsy at it.

Yesterday, Hillary Clinton brought her campaign to a North Carolina community college just a few miles from my Raleigh-area home. At almost exactly the same time, my email server stopped accepting messages, effectively cutting off my contact with the digital world. Coincidence?

Well, yeah, of course it is. What, you think I’m some kind of conspiracy wacko?

Actually, I’d be happy if my tech woes could be traced to the near-presence of the woman who would be president. That way, I’d at least know what I needed to do in order to fix the problem. (Exorcism, in case you’re wondering, plus a Rush Limbaugh bobblehead permanently parked next to my computer to prevent the demon’s return.) But since I can’t trace my woes to Hillary — my computer woes, at least — I’ve had to call in the experts, who are chewing on this problem even as you read this.

The bad news is that I’m temporarily robbed of the fan messages that flood in from readers. (OK, that’s mostly a theoretical flood of fan messages, but hey, it could happen.) The good news is that my daily number of spam messages, truly a flood, is now down to a trickle.

My helplessness in the face of what is probably only a minor problem illustrates how much ground I’ve lost in the past quarter-century. In 1982, I was a cutting-edge geek simply by virtue of the fact that I was one of the first people to buy a home computer. Adjusted for inflation, it cost me the equivalent of $11,300 today, and was such a marvel that friends made special trips to my house just to see it. I immediately was designated the technology writer at the paper where I worked at the time, because while I only knew a little bit about home computers, everyone else knew absolutely nothing about them. Ergo, I was that generation’s John Hodgman in this regard — the resident expert.

That was then and this is now. Today, I’m just one of a countless number of clueless chumps who are routinely brought low by glitches they can’t even diagnose, much less fix. My experts soon will have me up and running again, though. When that happens, I promise to respond to all the messages awaiting me. Both of them.

Because we live in a multicultural society, it’s important to understand (and appreciate) the distinctive tastes of the various groups that make up America. In that spirit, check out the web site called Stuff White People Like. Essays are contributed by readers, co-op style (which is fitting, considering that #48 on the list is “Whole Foods and grocery co-ops”). What others things do we white people like? We like Asian fusion food, Oscar parties, having gay friends, farmers markets and writing workshops. Oh, and we like knowing what’s best for poor people. There are dozens of other things listed, so take a look – and if you’re white, be prepared to wince in recognition.

Along a similar line, and with that same self-mocking tone, White Whine offers a fresh, new white-person complaint every day of the week. A few days ago I found this one, for instance: “Explain to me how health insurance doesn’t cover pilates class. Typical.” Then there was this: “Honestly, you’d think that when my Land Rover is getting worked on at the dealership they’d give me another Land Rover to drive in the meantime. A Honda Accord? Really?” Or this all-time classic: “Why was the year of my birth such a disappointing year for bordeaux?” Again, it’s a co-op. Feel free to bring something to the table.

As long as we’re making fun of all things white, it’s appropriate to finish with this video, which calls itself “Honest R&B.” The white-boy singer explains that while he’d like to make love all night long, he’s really only capable of giving it seven minutes or so, and that’s “if you don’t move around too much.” Otherwise, four minutes – tops.