Breach of Security

I'd like to blame it all on Matthew Broderick, but I don't think I can. There was no disembodied computer voice that came to me and asked, "Shall we play a game?"

Indeed, it was no game. And, over the past few days, I realized just how vulnerable all of us in this super digital---and nasty world.

It started innocently on Thursday when I returned from two days of clothes-drenching Chicago humidity. I got home and turned on my computer, idle since early Tuesday morning, to check e-mail and write a blog entry on my Midwestern adventures. For some reason, I could not access the Internet. Our high speed connection is via Broadband and Time Warner Cable. It has been pretty reliable. But, I immediately blamed it all on a bad signal and beckoned Time Warner to come and correct the situation.

The requisite "cable guy" showed up on Saturday and, after two plus hours, he determined the signal coming into the apartment was certainly strong. He had plugged in his own laptop and was immediately able to get into eBay to show me some new Hot Wheels collectibles that he had just purchased. After all, by the end of two hours, we had hit on a variety of small talky topics. But, the determination for me was that my computer, which also routes an internet signal to my roommate, was preventing it all from happening.

I enlisted the aid of a good friend, who also makes her living now as a professional computer repair specialist. After three hours plus on Sunday, she confirmed that something in my hardware or software, perhaps one firewall conflicting with another, was now not recognizing the Broadband signal. My heart bled as my computer left the building in pieces. It is in her home now undergoing one of those "Six Feet Under" autopsies. The mechanism will be fixed and ultimately good as new. I will learn that I need to do more regular updates and backups. My hand is officially slapped with the nun's ruler. But, I consider just why I am in such a position. Always convinced that there is hacking a-plenty in the big, bad virtual world, I have over-protected myself with more secure boundaries than Switzerland. And even that renders me useless.

But, at the same time, I didn't realize that those same villains without faces were working their evil on another part of my life. Specifically my bank account.

Saturday morning, I got a voicemail from Washington Mutual's fraud department, which had spotted some "suspicious" activity on my debit checking card. After waiting 35 minutes for the "next available agent," I could confirm that, yes, some scumbag was playing fast and loose with my card and pin number making over two thousand dollars of purchases in Macy's located in City of Industry and Downey. I could attest that I had never been in City of Industry and Downey, because they are two places I wouldn't be caught dead in since, if I were, I would be caught dead in them. Given the locales, I can pretty much be 99.9% percent sure that the culprit is either Black or Mexican and quite possibly illegal. Of course, I killed my card and thanked the bank for their due diligence. I will be living on credit cards and cash the next week. And without computer access at home to boot. The invasion to my world is despicable, annoying, inexcusable, and ultimately manageable.

But I thought about this for more than a moment. I thought about Macy's. Because they probably didn't check for photo identification to accompany whatever this common piece of trash had printed up on the Acme ATM Card maker in his basement, they will be out over 2000 dollars in merchandise. I'm inconvenienced for a while, the store suffers a financial loss, and some pile of shit with either a faux African first name and perhaps a "Z" in his last name is wearing some smart Calvin Klein shirt. I consider the wild-ass notions of a super-liberal friend of mine, who has always connoted the spectre of crime to a poor economic environment. Oh, puh-leze. The rat bastard using my debit card number was probably buying big ticket items, not Fruit Loops for the breakfast table.

I know now, one more time, that average American citizens are not safe. We have no recourse and little help from anyone. And we have political leaders and would-be leaders who don't give a rat's ass about any of us. Let's face it. Barack Obama and John McCain have not uttered a sincere word to any of us since their campaigns began. Who else can we believe or trust? Senor Sleazebag, LA Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, just passed a city ordinance banning plastic bags, while ignoring the death of several innocent people at the hands of illegal alien gang bangers. One-time Presidential hopeful John Edwards told lies for over a year and his Pinocchio-like nose grew almost as long as the other body part that he can't keep in his pants. How about Detroit Kwame Kilpatrick, the dude with the pretentious African name, who was elected on the promise of bringing "change" to the political scene in Detroit? Nope. He's in jail now and used that "change" to call his lawyer.

Yep, our leaders don't care. We are all alone. So, in lieu of being out and about, we need to hunker down some more. And hide in closets and underneath beds.

As for me, I'm signing onto Lifelock. As soon as Washington Mutual sends me my new debit card.

Dinner last night: Toucan sandwich at Islands.