Invasion of the e-barbarians
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by Josh Freed
The Gazette © March 13th 2004
I'm under attack by a virus and I don't know how long I'll survive. It's a computer virus, the latest scourge of my electronic life. In the last five days, I've warded off over 200 different attacks, all trying to enter and destroy my computer's brain. They're usually disguised as e-mails with innocuous titles like "Re your billing request, Josh." Or "Hi! from Charlie." Or even "This is a message from Vidéotron. Please open."
The only thing between electronic death and me is an "anti-virus alert" gadget on my computer that keeps flashing scary warnings, like: "Deadly virus. Do you wish to quarantine and destroy the infected files now?"
"Yes," I type, and hold my breath, as the forces of good and evil do battle again, like a home version of Lord of the Rings.
The assault on my electronic castle is just another reminder that modern communication is a double-edged sword, and the more we communicate the less privacy we have. The global city has become a global sieve.
When I'm not getting electronic viruses I'm being inundated by electronic junk mail - spam - dozens of ads a day that offer me the usual wonders of the Internet.
There are "hot stock tips," and pictures of "hot, hot Russian girls XXX." There are hundreds of offers for me to have "penis enhancement" surgery, with message titles like "a horse will have nothing on you."
Major U.S. Internet providers like Yahoo! have just complained that Internet users now receive over 2 trillion junk messages a year – and I think I get about half of them. I receive endless ads that pop up on my screen, promising to help me get rid of "annoying pop-up ads," if I just buy their incredible "pop-up ad blocker."
It's an electronic version of Mafia protection money – where you pay criminals not to harm you. Then there are the countless pleas I get from once-wealthy Africans that sound like this:
"Dear sir: I am dying of oesophagus cancer and need $1,800,000 urgently for rare surgery. Should I survive, it will allow me to reclaim the $95 million in gold bullion my father buried in the jungle before his death – and you will be handsomely remunerated. Please send your generous contribution now. GOD BLESS YOU."
Of late, my e-enemies have even taken control of my fax line, which constantly spits out 24-page offers for things like GetRichNow Business Seminars. I have unplugged the machine for good, because it doesn't really belong to me any more. It's theirs – and I'm tired of paying their fax paper bills.
What can be done? We live in a world where we can connect with anyone, anywhere – but the down side is they can reach us, too.
Communication is a two-way highway that comes with its own highway bandits, eager to send you their schemes, scams and viruses.
Like everyone, I'd like to see new Canadian laws that crack down on these 21st-century vandals. Or at least an electronic version of the *69 buttons on the telephone, that let you call back people who call to harass you. That way, we could send back all the trillions of e-mails and viruses these new e-barbarians sent us. And let them freak out over "virus alerts" for a change.
Meanwhile, as more viruses pour into my house each hour, I wonder where my e-vandals will strike next?
I live in fear of the first "telephone message virus" that destroys-and-erases all my other phone messages. Or scrambles my messages so my mother's voice offers to sell me Get Rich Seminars.
Will I get a "mail-slot virus," where one letter can contaminate my other letters, then spread to my books and newspapers?
Or a TV virus, where one program infects another? I'll be watching the West Wing when suddenly President Bartlett and his staff get gunned down by mobsters in an Italian sausage joint - because someone has electronically scrambled endings with the Sopranos.
My biggest fear is that an e-virus will manage to jump from computers to people, like that recent Asian chicken flu has jumped from chickens to humans. After two hours on the Internet I'll suddenly start talking to my wife in computer-speak, and say things like:
"FYI, honey, re our LOL chat about detergent, you're terminated. It's a – FATAL ERROR. FATAL ERROR. VIRUS ALERT!" And she'll have to quarantine me in the basement until a specialist can debug me.
Meanwhile, for your sake, I'm stopping here. I just got an e-mail from someone called "Psycho-Sadie" and my virus alert is flashing again. So put down the newspaper now, before you get contaminated.
[1] Traduction F. Brooks.
Philo5
Quelle source alimente votre esprit ?