Carol:
The Worms Crawl In, The Worms Crawl Out
I can think of few scientific advances that have shown such creative range and adaptability as the Internet, yet drawing out the worst types of abuse among its users: e-mail scams, global hacking, and the spread of cyber-disease. The “dark side” of the World Wide Web, however, is not the industry propelled by greed and profit, but the subculture that creates havoc through the internet just for the fun or challenge of it. What a waste of the imagination.
Most of what I know about cyber -skullduggery comes from frequent e-mails I get from friends, forwarded from their friends, warning about the next worm that will appear as an attachment to an innocuous e-mail. According to Snopes.com, many of the computer virus scares are the stuff of urban legend, the warnings themselves started as hoaxes and spread by the well-intentioned. I have received e-mails that warn of “ A Card for You” virus supposed to be the absolute worst ever, uncovered by Norton or McAfee, announced on CNN with no “vaccine” available. The message itself is a well-traveled hoax, the virus non-existent. Snopes.com has a whole list of computer virus stories, showing how much is scam and how much is real. Unfortunately, enough of the real computer worms and viruses exist to merit concern and expense for firewalls and security software.
I know plenty of people who have spent frustrating hours and lots of money replacing computers infected by viruses, Trojan horses, or in “malware.” I inadvertently spread an innocuous but embarrassing virus to a colleague from an infected academic link. While doing research on use of student portfolios, I clicked on a link from a major university website that sent me straight to Pornolio.com. I had already sent the link to someone else at my college, who phoned me in a panic because every time he tried to close the window of the porn site, a new window and new photos popped up. I imagine some graduate student got a chuckle out of planting a naughty little surprise on his alma mater’s website.
But, I have gotten sidetracked from the original subject, the computer hackers who create large-scale and international havoc, who are referred to as “black hats” on the websites of internet security companies who call themselves the “white hats.” What I knew about these cyber terrorists came from skimmed newspaper headlines or TV crime dramas depicting nerdy 14-year-old geniuses wrecking havoc from the family rumpus room. So, I was surprised that googling “famous computer hackers” would lead me to websites created by high tech security services that wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for “abuses of the imagination.”
One of these sites, ITSecurity.com is an online publication “covering all aspects of the IT Security marketplace.” The website includes all kinds of information about virus warnings and protections, and its articles include such topics as “Ten International Organizations Trying to Hack Into Your Computer.” My attention was drawn to “Top 10 Most Famous Hackers.” What I am learning as I read the introduction is that Hackers can be “nefarious or heroic,” thus there are Black Hat Crackers (Nefarious) and White Hat Hackers (Heroic). Hmmm.
Serendipity kicks in. Sitting at my dining-room table at this very moment, drinking my coffee is a computer expert, the now retired head of a computer company. I am going to make him earn his coffee by giving me a juicy little story, or quote, or insight that can’t be looked up on the Internet. Boy, does he have stories to tell. Juicy, scary stories about the Internet Underworld, all nature of abuses cooked up by the imagination.
But the expert at my dinner table is anxious to hit the road. We are off to the Grand Canyon for the day. The stories will be left as cliff-hangers as much as I abhor untidy endings.
Source:
Newton, BBS for Science, Math and Computer Science K-12 Educators.
Snopes.com Virus Oaxes and
http://www.mcusa-archives.org/library/omh/pdf/1.3.pdf
Snopes.com Virus Oaxes and
http://www.mcusa-archives.org/library/omh/pdf/1.3.pdf
Megan:
I’m sitting in my office in the shed at 10:30PM, with Milo asleep on the chair behind me, supposedly keeping watch. I brought him out here because I am afraid of the dark and because he barks at me when I come in late and wakes everyone up. I’m starting to doubt the effectiveness of his protection though. On the way to the shed, we stopped so he could smell the garbage cans and he moved behind me, and leaned hard into my legs as though he was pushing me forward. He didn’t growl or bark or even whine, but he was definitely using me as a shield against whatever predator he knew to be stalking us.
That’s how it seemed to me, anyway. He might have just picked up a new smell and I was in the way. As my mother says, he is a clumsy dog. Today he ran into a door chasing a toy he’d thrown for himself. But this is not an essay about Milo. This is about me, being afraid of the dark.
For as long as I can remember I’ve had vivid hallucinations in the dark. Anything I think of suddenly appears right in front of me. In England, I saw badgers charging for me, but badgers are the largest predators in England. In Arizona I have to worry about coyotes and mountain lions, bears, snakes and spiders as well as badgers. In the short walk from our front porch to the shed, I clutch Milo’s leash and walk as quickly to the door as I can. When I reach the office, I let Milo go in first while I turn on the lights, hoping the intruder I’d “seen” would disappear in the light. I lock the door and turn on some music and Milo falls asleep in the chair. I don’t know what I’d do if he started barking though. I’d have to call the house phone, wake everyone up and have my Dad come out to the shed to get me.
That’s not how grownups are supposed to act. It certainly made living alone difficult. Even in England, when I only needed to fear the badgers, sometimes I would sit in the well-lit hallway outside my door and work up the nerve to unlock my dark, and (hopefully) empty flat. Twice now I’ve pet-sat for neighbors, become frightened and gone home (I took the pet with me). I try to reason with myself during the moments I am frozen, pulse racing, torn between screaming and running, and I know I’m imagining a pack of coyotes advancing silently in a crouch while Milo casually leans against the back of my knees. But then I think what if by imagining them, I have summoned them. It’s the Law of Attraction. If I imagine a savage, blood-thirsty attack in my driveway often enough, it will happen eventually. And animals can smell fear right?
This one time, I was upset about something. I’d gotten into an argument, had a teenage overreaction, and run crying from the house. I was sobbing on the front porch and out of nowhere a cat streaked down the driveway like it was being chased. It jumped in my lap, lay down and started purring. Weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know I didn’t imagine it. But it was exactly what I needed at that moment. See, Law of Attraction…
That’s how it seemed to me, anyway. He might have just picked up a new smell and I was in the way. As my mother says, he is a clumsy dog. Today he ran into a door chasing a toy he’d thrown for himself. But this is not an essay about Milo. This is about me, being afraid of the dark.
For as long as I can remember I’ve had vivid hallucinations in the dark. Anything I think of suddenly appears right in front of me. In England, I saw badgers charging for me, but badgers are the largest predators in England. In Arizona I have to worry about coyotes and mountain lions, bears, snakes and spiders as well as badgers. In the short walk from our front porch to the shed, I clutch Milo’s leash and walk as quickly to the door as I can. When I reach the office, I let Milo go in first while I turn on the lights, hoping the intruder I’d “seen” would disappear in the light. I lock the door and turn on some music and Milo falls asleep in the chair. I don’t know what I’d do if he started barking though. I’d have to call the house phone, wake everyone up and have my Dad come out to the shed to get me.
That’s not how grownups are supposed to act. It certainly made living alone difficult. Even in England, when I only needed to fear the badgers, sometimes I would sit in the well-lit hallway outside my door and work up the nerve to unlock my dark, and (hopefully) empty flat. Twice now I’ve pet-sat for neighbors, become frightened and gone home (I took the pet with me). I try to reason with myself during the moments I am frozen, pulse racing, torn between screaming and running, and I know I’m imagining a pack of coyotes advancing silently in a crouch while Milo casually leans against the back of my knees. But then I think what if by imagining them, I have summoned them. It’s the Law of Attraction. If I imagine a savage, blood-thirsty attack in my driveway often enough, it will happen eventually. And animals can smell fear right?
This one time, I was upset about something. I’d gotten into an argument, had a teenage overreaction, and run crying from the house. I was sobbing on the front porch and out of nowhere a cat streaked down the driveway like it was being chased. It jumped in my lap, lay down and started purring. Weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know I didn’t imagine it. But it was exactly what I needed at that moment. See, Law of Attraction…
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