August 23, 2003

Virus Conspiracy Theory 101

Okay, so here's my guess. It's a bit hard to follow, but all good conspiracy theories are. They also require some leaps of faith. But that's nothing new to you guys.


SOBIG.F apparently had its genesis on a porn usenet group. (No, it's not a link to the porn. so-so-sorry.)

Okay, you're with me so far--good name: so big / porn usenet site.

Actually, good branding job by the evildoers.

So, here's my theory.

It's the Bushes.

Jenna Bush and Barbara Bush, the President's daughters.

Yes. You see, my guess is that there were some, well, interesting videos of the girls on that usenet site. REALLY interesting. And, you see, my guess is that they were doing a thing or two with a folk or two that could make Monica and Bill look like celibacy poster children.


And MY guess is the powers found out--and I mean powers, not Powers, and they planted the SOBIG.F virus to bring down the net and to make it a national emergency such that they could come and seize the computers of every man, woman, and child until government geeks can figure out how to dismantle the GIANT BIG SCREEN Bush Girls Video that's coming to a screen near you (if you still have a screen near you) this September 11th.

So, what'd you think? Has all the good earmarkings of a 21st Century conspiracy theory doesn't it?

Or so it would seeeeem... ;-)

August 22, 2003

it's just us

When I open my email, I feel if I'm shouting into a deeeep canyon, "Hello?" and I don't even get the echo back to keep me company. I get the feeling it's SOBIG.F, the mother of all bandwidth-hogging viruses. Where'd everybody go? Even the spammers are going easy on me. Have the FBI and Rumsfeld disconnected everyone but me?

Has everyone been knocked back into the real world? If so, where are we meeting and what are we supposed to bring with us?

Imagine being one of the so-called 20 computers that the virus sought out as its host. Personal computers, supposedly in people's homes here in the U.S., in Canada, and in Korea.

Imagine the knock at your door.

If you think they'd bother to knock.


"We're taking you down, missus."


"Your PC--please show us where it is. We know it's here."



"oh. well. um. you mean I'm one of the 20? No. That can't be. All my life I've wanted to win the lottery, but this isn't the right one."

"I'm afriad we got your ticket right here Ms. Sessum."

"Oh. Dear. Well, can I back up some files--I have to get my work files off or I can't send the stuff I have due. It will only take me a couple of minutes. I have a CD burner. Look, you can watch me do it. I have to--my clients are waiting for it."

"I'm afraid not. This computer is now the property of the U.S. Government. You've been infected, and we must quarantine you to ensure this SARS, errrr, I mean SOBIG.F doesn't spread to other unsuspecting victims like yourself or to President Bush's friends in Texas... I mean, global enterprises."

"But I'm an unsuspecting victim. And I have years' worth of work files on this machine--NO PLEASE--don't GRAB it like that!!"

"Woof Woof GRRRRR!" [[ed note: plainted wail of Bando the mutt.]]


"No, please, I was in the middle of a post. Please just let me finish!"

"Listen, little lady--you may think we're fooling around here, but you got the A-Rabs trying to kill us and those damn Rusians who never got over the cold war--and don't get me started on them 'AfrikanAmerikans' -- don't you see, WE HAVE ENEMIES, and THEY are knocking!"

"But I swear, I'm not the enemy. Please don't take me down--not yet--give me two more minutes! I haven't posted yet! I haven't pressed publi...."


So here we are.


As the uni-directional flood of email conversation crashes into serious roadblocks this week, the voice of blogging becomes even more important. Our words haven't slowed. We don't need no stinkin' cootie shots. The Web's heart is still beating. We're its pulse. We'll keep posting.

Unless, of course, there are more than 20.

Like, say, 20,000,000.


burnt red cedar
etched with lines
paintings of insects
tunnels trace paths
across shingles
making a road home.

this house it breathes.
aches and stretches
groans harmonies to the
rumbling of night

door knobs give way
six bulbs blown
cupboard hinges hang
just one
garage door left
to rise and fall,
seal us safely in.

what more can come undone
in the heat of the summer.

and still,
signature fingerprints
along hallways remind me
how small she was,
imprints of life
the art of time passing
strokes of white baby shoes
and strawberry-stained fingers.

there isn't much
I would change
if I could,
except maybe

the sky is falling

this worm, this SOBIG and it's infectious friends, are just what we don't need.

i'm on the phone with a client at a big global technology company and she mentions the emails she's been sending me today, and I say, um, no, I didn't get them. Neither did I receive a critical email from one of her colleagues. Surprisingly, my is hanging in there, delivering me all the spam I don't need and then some, while my clients' networks are griding to a halt, suffering email grande mals at a rate I can hardly track.

No, I'm not alone today. But I am a little scared.

I may also be one of the few who wanted to tell this client, we have two options when email dies: instant messaging and collaborative workspaces.

This is an emergency. You do what you have to do. I wanted to tell the client with whom I'm collaborating on this particular white paper project that boasts a fast approaching deadline, "Let's go start a team blog, mark it private, and do it like that. Just for today. I can't afford e-room, but blogger's free. We can make due. When we're done, we'll kill the blog. Google won't have time to spider it--and no, I'm not sure all of the technicalities on how blogger keeps private blogs private, but why worry--it's Friday and we can delete it by end of day tomorrow. We can post back and forth, leave comments, pull in links to relevant materials, and get the job done behind the backs of those motherfucking, spamloving, email-killing viruses."

That's what I didn't say.

What I did, in reality, was to send him an invitation to Yahoo Messenger hoping that he can sign on, add me as a friend, copy text out of his sent mail, paste it into an IM for me, from which I will copy it out and paste it into our MSWord document.

That will work for the edits.


Let's hope everything's up and running once I plug the changes into the layout and have to turn around the 20-page MSWord file.

'Cause that's when I get to send the invoice.

i.e., that's how I eat.

Fuck you, infectors and spammers.

August 21, 2003

loving moms grow children who love effortlessly

Doc said goodbye to his Mom yesterday. He shared her last words with his readers.

It was actually just one word: Love.


Let that settle in, and consider the type of person she must have been, the way she must have lived her life, to have that message waiting on her lips as she said goodbye.

Love=one another
Love=your neighbor, your brother
Love=I love you
Love=should be enough; if not that, then what?

If you know Doc, he is testimony to his mother's life and love, her ability to show that love genuinely, unconditionally. He has shared that with us not only in his postings about his mother and his family, but through that place Doc writes from. His mother informs his voice, and she always will.

That is evidence of a life fully lived.

Blessings, Doc.

August 20, 2003


It's been a long couple of days with Jenna sick and home from school, which, as you well know, barely got started. The good news is she has meds for a wicked right ear infection and possibly strep, but the lame-o's at the doctor's didn't swab her because her ear was bad enough that she needed antibiotics. Puss and such. ewwww!

The whole thing put me in a funk, which was made a bit funkier because the nurse practitioner, whom we saw, only RX-ed FIVE days of omnicef instead of the usual 10. Two phone calls later and I had some bullshit mumbo-jumbo non-answer about why, but the damage was done--$25 to the wallet with a likelihood of being back there next week to see a REAL doctor who knows that this particular strepmonger doesn't cure easily, and that it's worse to NOT knock it out entirely, because it comes back (what class? that's right:) stronger.

In a side note, there has to be a carrier here in this house. There just has to be. After some Web research, I've determined it's either me or Hunter. Problem is, I have to live here, so if it's me, well, WTF? But Hunter on the other hand... he's losing his balls next week anyway, and I think I've talked the vet into putting him on antibiotics in case he's the strep-spreader, since the strep culture which would tell us for certain costs $110. Upon hearing I'd have to part with a c-note I don't have, I used my cunning linguistic capabilities to convince the dear receptionist that a few bucks and a few pills won't kill me, them, or the little fucker, so let's all pretend he's the carrier and treat him as such, shall we?

So, does this mean we're making progress?

I would like to believe that. Really.

Meanwhile, Ms. Jenna is perking right up on the meds--the asthma is simmering down and she even mopped the kitchen floor for me today and LIKED it. OH YES--this is a good thing. I told her she mops like her Daddy, who is incredibly thorough and painstakingly, um, careful when he takes on a project that needs elbow grease and a bit of strategy. She got that floor cleaner than it's been in three months, and she enjoyed squeegying the mop head more than any human being should.

So, the end of a long day (or thousand) and I think we're going to try school tomorrow. Nebulizer in tow to give to the nurse with what I hope is a sigh of relief from me, and some words like: "You can do her meds today. Thank you. I love you."

I'm not sure what the school nurse might make of this declaration from me, but being that she is the first school nurse I've laid eyes on since I was in eighth grade, I'm mighty bloody happy to see her. Peace of mind, you're almost mine.

I've been wanting to blog, writing in my head and then posting. Problem is, there's no server back there in the grey matter amusement park that is my brain. So everything gets lost.

So now I'm gonna get lost and go to sleep.

or at least count sheep.

thank you.

you go, george

George has his latest column up at AllAboutJazz.

George joined AAJ's roster as a columnist last week. Here's the press release announcing the news.

I wonder who does this guy's PR?

August 19, 2003


the fever's begun. sore throat. asthma flare. machine every 4. oh please, no. we're lysterining like crazy over here. drinking drinking (water I mean).

I'll likely be off and busy for a time. Either way.

carry on ya'll.

30 posts--i can hardly do 3

man, i've lost my juice. no lie. I had every intention to take a run at my semi-annual 30 posts in 30 minutes (30 minutes being a mile markerI've yet to hit). But look. My eyes are clcosed and Iam so tired,I can't do it tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I have so many half thoughts running through my mind as I sit here typing with eyes closed. I think, though, I'm going to let them settle with me here. They don'tmake sense outside of this dream. Not really.

kindergarten cold

can it happen that fast? we get one week and one day in and Jenna's already sick. So far a cold--no fever. We are hyperminting (lysterine) and toothbrushing and vitamining like crazy. Ireally don'twant herto miss this early. but most of all, i want that itty-bitty nose to feel awll better.

can't keep up

Things that remain undone:

cat still has his balls
bills unpaid--nearly all
garage door--springs popped
garage floor--because the springs popped, the floor now gets to hold all the shit I never know where to put.
vaccuming--what carpet? under the fur you mean?
Ford Escape unsold.
press release 1 unwritten
press release 2 unwritten
laundry not washed
laundry not dried
laundry not folded
laundry not put away
dance class not registered for
therapy appt not scheduled
Yoga tape stopped mid-way for a week
kids videos 3 days late
dusting--ha ha that's a joke. who dusts?
virus update on desktop--worm? what worm?
hug not received
dance video still unwatched--recital was in June
mandatory unemployment workshop unattended
dogs out of food
jenna out of soymilk

there's more, but I think I've done enough damage.

been quiet too long

up here late nursing a stomach ache. they happen to me every now and then, these intestinal bouts of agony that I think after many years of having them are due to not drinking enough water and drinking too much caffiene--i.e. dehydrating.

so I'm sitting with my knees up and my arms in some Frankenstien like extension over the couch, onto my little Borders lap desk which sits on the piano stool in front of the couch: i.e., my office.

I decided to see if I can do 30 posts to keep my mind off of my behind, for the time being. Off we go...