Hey, You, Get Out Of My Head

Ok, now I’m really pissed off. We all have our little digital pilotfish attached to our online personae but some are much more annoying and potentially dangerous than others.

This computer, despite all my former-anti-nuke activist paranoia about this sort of thing, has been invaded by a shitty little bit of spyware masquerading as adware called Specificlick, apparently via Sitemeter, which is gone, as soon as Martin and I find an alternative hitcounter. (Or maybe not. Are hitcounts actually that important? Discuss.)

It first made itself apparent by brazenly declaring itself in the address bar of my browser, prepended to the address of the site I was visiting, like this:

http://dg.specificclick.net/?u=http%3A//blogname.blogspot.com/&r= .

Cheeky fuckers.

Having updated my spyware and AV and run both no no avail, I figured I really should do a little reading, first on how to remove it, then (because of that whole paranoid former anti-nuke activist thing) I want to know who the bloody hell are these people that have invaded my privacy?

Specificlick is a cookie developed by Specific Media Inc. We’re used to cookies, ho, hum, but this is of a specialised kind. It allows advertisers from one site or ad network to follow you around the web wherever you go subsequently, provided they are subscribers to Specific Media Inc.’s services, bombarding you with their own ads all the while. Imagine a nutter following you down the street and round the corner and on to the bus, yelling “Oi, you, MUPPET!” in your ear.

But while it does this, because of Specific Media’s recent acquisition of Sitemeter’s traffic monitoring capability specificlick also accumulates data on sites visited, referrals, outclicks, length of page view and so on: all the data that Sitemeter compiles, but specific to you, the browser. Or me, in this particular instance.

What exactly is it they want to know, what will they do with it and why? Who benefits from that? That there is material benefit is undoubted – why bother, otherwise? Data is useful and saleable stuff. That’s why, because their little bit of code is installed on my pc via Sitemeter, from their comfortable homes in sunny Yorba Linda, California or their sleek offices in Irvine, the Vanderhook brothers or their employees can see exactly what I’ve been reading and thinking abouit. In effect they have a spy in my head.

Oh I’m sure they don’t think of it that way, it’s all business to them:

The Vanderhooks created Advertisement Banners.com from their parents’ Yorba Linda home.

It was one of the few companies to use “pop-under” technology that allows advertisers to place their product pitches underneath computer Web sites so that a person sees the ads after they close their browser rather than being confronted by the more annoying “pop-up” announcements while they’re looking at something else. .

Oh, those bastards. I remember them. It turns out the Vanderhook brothers, all still in their twenties, were ripped off by one of their popup ad customers so they sued and won $4.3 million, thus enabling for the nice little data-mining empire they run today.

In fact they’re doing so well they’ve attracted a major infusion of venture capital cash. Who from, I wondered? The investors are Shepherd Ventures, a fund working with the US Small Business Administration who have significant other investments in military tech r&d companies, and Southern California’s largest venture capital firm, Enterprise Partners, whose other investments are mainly in biotech. Why this sudden interest in data mining technology, I wonder?

Much as the tinfoil-hatted devil on my shoulder (and lord knows it has had provocation) is urging me to discern the outline of some grand military-industrial plot in all this, if there is one it’s so subfusc as to be invisible. So that’s not the road I’m going down here.

No, its the principle of the thing that bugs the fuck out of me – the fact that because of the US’ lack of any form of homegrown data protection legislation and its unique position as the largest purveyor of media in the English-speaking world, American data mining companies with dodgy motivations have free rein to spy on mine and other non-USAnians thinking, despite theoretically sufficient legal protections at home here in Europe.

It may be a purely commercial process now but how likely will entrepreneurs like the ambitious young Vanderhooks be to turn them down, should Homeland Security or the NSA come knocking with wads of investment cash or a Presidential Order? They may be clever coders, they may have worked hard, for all I know they’re Nice Guys – but what they’ve also done is developed the perfect tool for detecting thoughtcrime.

Where could it lead? Am I being alarmist? Recently there’ve been reports about commercial businesses turning down people for mortgages, car loans, apartments, even for buying a treadmill, because private businesses were accessing a list of ‘terrorists’ supplied by Homeland Security:

Businesses checking customers’ names against a Treasury Department terrorist watch list are sometimes denying services to innocent people, according to a report released Tuesday by civil rights lawyers.

The 250-page list, posted publicly on a Treasury Department Web site, is being used by credit bureaus, health insurers and car dealerships, as well as employers and landlords, according to the Lawyers Committee for Civil Rights of the San Francisco Bay Area.

The list includes some of the world’s most common names, such as Gonzalez, Lopez, Ali, Hussein, Abdul, Lucas and Gibson, and companies are often unsure how to root out mismatches. Some turn consumers away rather than risk penalties of up to $10 million and 30 years in prison for doing business with someone on the list, the group said.

“We have found that an increasing number of everyday consumers are being flagged as potential terrorists by private businesses merely because they have a name that’s similar to someone on this government watch list,” said the report’s author, Shirin Sinnar, an attorney with the Asian Law Caucus.

Many companies who encounter even a partial match are unsure how to root out mistakes, and prefer to turn away someone trying to get a loan or rent an apartment rather than risk penalties of up to $10 million and 30 years in prison, the lawyers said.

How long before commercial data mining companies, with their increasingly sophisticated strategies for finding out what we’re thinking, doing and planning from our online presence, are compelled to do something similar under pain of penalty?

Big questions from one small irritating bit of code, but the answers are crucial to the future of the relationship between the governors and the governed.

I’m Suprised they Didn’t Charge Him a Supplement For Onboard Entertainment

Via Nothing To Do With Arbroath:

Sunday, March 18, 2007

BA places corpse next to first-class passenger

A British Airways passenger was refused compensation and told by the airline to “get over it” after a corpse was placed in the row where he was sitting last week.

Paul Trinder, 54, a businessman from Brackley, Northamptonshire, spent more than £3,000 for a first-class ticket from Delhi. He awoke during the flight to find that cabin staff were propping up a dead woman almost next to him. “The stewards just plonked down this body without saying a thing,” he said. “I remember looking at this thin, sparrow-like woman and thinking she was very ill.”

The woman had been in economy class when she died soon after the plane left Delhi. “She kept slipping under the seat belt and moving about with the motion of the plane,” Mr Trinder said. “When I asked what was going on, I was shocked to hear she was dead.”

Mr Trinder, who was kept on board the plane when it landed and questioned by police and a coroner, contacted British Airways to complain, but was told to simply “get over” the experience.

posted by arbroath at 9:46 AM

Happy Bad Mothers’ Day

It’s Mothers’ Day again in the UK, and as has been par for the course so far in life, both my sons seem to have blithely ignored it. I think I may have made a rod for my own back; it was me that taught them it’s a manufactured, capitalist holiday designed to squeeze more money out of our guilt, but WAAAH! You little ratbags! You could at least’ve sent a card!

At least there’s always the Bad Mothers Club to solace all us misunderstood British mothers out there. It’s written largely by its users and though it’s occasionally cheap, vulgar and hardly correctly feminist it’s compelling reading for the window it gives into other women’s lives and families. The personal stories and comments are often hilariously funny as well as frequently tragic:

Oh-so-perfect-Dad katkit66

Ok this really pisses me off. I look after my 5 year old daughter 6 days a week and on the 7th she goes to visit her dad.

Great. A full day to myself. But on her return I have the same conversation with her every single bloody week. ‘My Dad says you should play with me more. ‘Now before you read any further let me tell you, I DO MY BEST. I do her homework with her – I have made special documents on the computer soley for this. I read a bedtime story to her every night. I play Barbie dolls with her. I help her play dressing up. I play I spy on the way to and from school with her. I play computer games with her. I play ‘lets be silly’ with her, even when I,m on the bloody toilet. I could go on, but I wont.
My point is, that her Dad lives with his Mother, so when my little darling visits him for the day, he hasnt got to do the shopping, the cooking, the washing, the ironing, the cleaning etc etc, SO HE HAS GOT THE BLOODSY TIME TO PLAY ALL DAY WITH HER COS HE DOES SFA ELSE!!

Boswellox, bollocks Yacketyblah

OMG it annoys me so very much. Boswelox and pentapeptides and Pro V. Erm, no. I don’t buy it.

Ooo, look, I’m rubbing a tiny bit of this soapy thing on my perfectly made up cheek and lo and behold, look how clear and clean my still perfectly made up airbrushed skin is. Please rush out and buy me!

And, Nadine Baggott, I happen to think that around £20 for a bottle of the same stuff I can get at tesco for a couple of quid may as well be a celebrity price tag.

STEPSON FROM HELL justmyfather’swife!

I’ve looked after him for the past 13 years (14 since his natural mother died) He’s now 21 and ever since leaving school has been in and out of prison, in trouble with police, on curfew (mostly at ours!) He’s now got his girlfriend pregnant and we’ve just paid 200 quid yet again to keep him out of prison for her sake! Now I’m the big bad wicked stepmother because I broke up a physical fight between them, in MY house. Hence my name you’re JUSTMYFATHER’SWIFE!!!!

Stop any J. Random Woman in the street and you’d hear a story like one of those. As all mothers of whatever variety know, motherhood is a blessing and a curse; nothing in life can ever give you such joy or such pain; particularly so at the moment with the political and ecological outlook so bleak and the future so doubtful.

This being the internet I’m bound to be accused of having beien exclusionary of fathers and the childless in this post to the glories of motherhood – well, tough titty. It’s Mothers Day and even if my kids have forgotten, off having their grownup lives, I haven’t. Today as every day I shall be acting like the Bad Mother I am.

A Little Pizza History Is Made

I’ll have a 3 cheese, hold the Soylent Green & Anchovies, please…

From Geekologie:

Wonder Pizza USA is developing a vending machine that cooks and serves 9″ whole pizzas in just under 2 minutes. Each machine can have up to three different kinds of pizzas available at a time, although I’m curious as to what kind of quality you’d get from a vending machine. I suspect you’d be better off eating pizza you found in a dumpster and washing it down with urine.

Bloody industrial designers – why is it they can design a coin-operated apparatus that makes instant pizza, but not a vending machine that can make a decent cup of tea?

“They’re doing their part. Are you? Join the Mobile Infantry and save the world. Service guarantees citizenship.”

Over at the News Blog friends are pinch-hitting for Steve Gilliard, who’s just undergone open-heart surgery resulting from a dialysis-related heart-valve infection. This is one of the ever-present dangers of dialysis and the reason why I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail. All his friends and family and well-wishers from all over the world, and they are many, are united in hoping for his swift recovery. Let’s hope too he gets the kidney he needs soon, because the subject of donor kidneys in the US is a troubled one:

In the United States alone, more than 63,000 patients are waiting for a kidney, according to the National Kidney Foundation. The kidney waiting list of the United Network for Organ Sharing currently increases at a rate of 20 percent a year, and the list will be 100,000 to 150,000 patients long by the year 2010.

One of the excellent writers filling in at the News Blog is Lower Manhattanite, who I’ve always wished would start his own blog. Steves’ hospital stay got him thinking about hospitals, and veterans’ and military hospitals in particular, in light of Steve’s own interest in the topic:

[…]

That symmetry hit this weekend as I drove my kids to their Grandpa’s house for a visit. Grandpa lives not far from my folks in Southeastern Queens, and getting to his house takes you past an odd neighborhood called Addisleigh Park—a weird, little enclave in Jamaica where Black entertainers like Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie and James Brown all owned homes. And just across Linden Boulevard from Addisleigh, was the big V.A. hospital—a mean, imposing place where sullen men drifted in and out for treatment that always seemed to be—well, according to them, less than good. Driving past there, I remembered the old OTB parlor and the bars dotting Linden along that brief stretch near the hospital—funny how those places wound up so close by, and how those places always seemed to be overfull of, to the point of spilling out onto the streets, of angry, apparently ill-treated men. There was a comic-book store us kids frequented on that block, and on those sojourns you would always hear the men carping and ranting a litany of V.A. hospital horror stories—sometimes in front of the aforementioned sad haunts, but also in the luncheonette/comic book store we hung out at where they’d come in for ciggies and cheap cigars.

“I got better care in the middle of the f*cking jungle than ten minutes from my house” I remember one gaunt, afro-ed outpatient growling to a friend at the counter one day. I Briefly dated a girl who lived in Addisleigh, and I noted one day sitting on her porch that we only seemed to see the patients coming in and out of the place–never employees, and how I never saw the doctors out on the Boulevard.

“They ain’t crazy.”, the girlfriend pointed out. “They come in and go out the back way, otherwise some of those dudes’d jump ‘em. It’s a rough place, and they hold the doctors responsible. One got f*cked up at the bus stop a few years ago, and ever since then, they go out the back door—and get the bus a few stops back ithe other way.”

I hadn’t thought about that conversation until this (Sunday) morning. What kind of treatment would lead patients to wanna whip a doctor’s *ss? And move not one doctor , but drive ‘em all to use a crappy back door near a loading bay for entry and egresss? I shudder to think of what had so many of those olive-drab clad vagabonds who wandered up and down Linden so incensed about that hospital. Well, at least I used to shudder.

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