Photo credit: shc32 on Flickr via Creative Commons

The other day in my intro Italian class, my professor stopped her lecture and chastised the class for talking too much. I bristled despite myself, remembering my high school days not-too-fondly. I had to control that little nag of annoyance of my classmates and teachers -- it's what caused me to stop attending classes in high school and (consequently) put me here in the first place. What surprised me, though, is that I have yet to escape this stupid dynamic: kids act a little badly, teacher punishes kids, kids feel rebellious, teacher enforces more punishment, kids feel like crap and act more rudely.

It's true that there was a noticeable murmur on one side of the classroom whenever my professor drifted to the other side to answer a question or address someone directly, and she did tell people to quiet down. But the ensuing lecture about keeping our mouths shut while the professor was speaking seemed over the top to me. At several points she mentioned incredulously that she was not teaching kindergarten. If this is so, why were we being lectured about this at all? Wouldn't a polite reminder of respect suffice? Most of us at community college are technically adults by now, and I can't help but feel that we hardly act and are treated as such.

I have to wonder sometimes -- had I not screwed up so badly in high school, would I be in a four-year university right now? And would a professor of a four-year university harp on things like loudness and attendance?

I think the concepts of being an adult at four-years and community colleges are very, very different. At the CC level, most people are commuting and working and raising families or living at home and working toward a discernible goal. At higher-level schools dorms evoke a kind of childishness and don't really encourage work or family obligations. Yet I get the impression that rude conversations and ensuing diatribes wouldn't be tolerated at a four-year school. Why is it a norm here?

Also: SIIIGH ATTENDANCE. It enrages me that this is tied to grades at the CC level. If I can get my work done and the tests aced but I still miss a couple of classes, then I shouldn't be docked for a personal choice (or illness, in my case). I know that if I miss too much class I will fail. Things like attendance and self-control (texting? are you serious?) should be a personal responsibility for alleged adults. Professors shouldn't have to enforce this stuff.

Jonathan Mann -- of Song A Day fame -- invoked the lip-synching talents of the print-dinosaur staffers at his local alternative weekly, the East Bay Express.

Devastatingly hilarious and hopefully untrue. Maybe it'd work on my CC campus, though ...

I already have Mann's "Hey Paul Krugman" in my head, and now this? GET OUT OF MY LIFE JONATHAN MANN

This site disturbs me at a deep and fundamental level of my being. I can vaguely sense it plumbing the dusty corners of my mind, mussing up the wiring and causing me to be inexplicably drawn in by dancing boobahs and techno music.

Do not even think about drugs of any kind right now. If you are already under the influence of some mind-altering substance, I have nothing to say to you.

I leave you with screenshots of my last couple of hours.





How far gone am I? This last one is my desktop.


Bonus: This is a children's TV show. Watch the introduction.

EDIT 4/3/09: Quick and easy way to see if you're infected, redux:

The Conficker Eyechart

From the site:

Conficker (aka Downadup, Kido) is known to block access to over 100 anti-virus and security websites.
If you are blocked from loading the remote images in the first row of the top table above (AV/security sites) but not blocked from loading the remote images in the second row (websites of alternative operating systems) then your Windows PC may be infected by Conficker (or some other malicious software).

/EDIT

Earlier tonight, my dad walked in here and warned me about the "April Fool's virus," also known as Conficker.C. I brushed this off after a quick check of my updates. Then my mother, who knows little about the ways of computers, offered me the same warning. My interest was piqued.

As it turns out, ABC 7 aired a highly sensationalistic segment about Conficker, which of course embarrassed me to no end. When these stories come about, I sometimes -- very quietly, and in the back of my brain -- balk at becoming a journalist. (I almost lost it and had to stop the video at "It may be one of the most dangerous computer viruses ever!" [Emphasis added].)

I'm not exactly technically inclined, but I do lurk around the geekier circles of the Internet. I am very painfully aware what role the media tends to play in f'ing up the details when it comes to reporting on science and technology. I've been cringing through the hype. Part of me is glad that this increases awareness of overall computer safety by offering people all the defensive tips that they should be doing anyway (a lot of antivirus company reps, who I will not link here, are jumping to offer their quotes and figures). But part of me wants responsible journalism and good solid facts.

Not that this media frenzy is entirely unwarranted. It's true that Conficker executes its call home function on April 1. It's true that no one really knows what will happen when the virus accesses its hundreds -- soon to be tens of thousands -- designated websites and (maybe) collects whatever its instructions will be from its writer.

Theoretically, Conficker could update on April 1. Part of this could hypothetically mean gathering keyloggers out to steal your passwords and bank information. But overall this "April 1" thing seems to mean that Conficker will simply activate a new algorithm that generates the domain names for the web sites that tell it what to do. But this is not its payload: it could maybe possibly download a payload, and that's what's got security experts watching closely. No one knows what it's going to do just yet.


Rick Romero, ABC7 Consumer Specialist.

Conflicker has been closely watched since its first version, Conflicker.A, came about, and the scariest thing about it so far is its ingenious evolution over subsequent versions. It sneaks in though an unpatched flaw in Windows XP and Vista or through an infected USB device or CDs (in my reading, it can even infect XP boot discs, the little bastard). Once it's in your system, there's not much you can do; it disrupts antivirus software and Windows updates, booting up in safe mode, and access to PC security-oriented websites aimed at eradicating it. It's a nasty worm all around.

I apologize in advance for my own vague understanding of this threat. I realize this leaves me open to a lot of ribbing. Sometimes I wonder if I should add some diversity to my classes and up science classes. I think my dream job might have something to do with helping the media get the layman translation for pure science out to the general public. That way I wouldn't feel so much of the "GET HEADLINE OUT THERE" pressure and I'd learn some pretty neat stuff all the time. Though I suppose this kind of publicity helps with funding for projects. I digress.

A quick and easy way to check if you're infected with Conficker: try accessing any site that offers help, like Microsoft or Symantec. The virus will block access to these sites, which makes Rick Romero's link to Microsoft's Malicious Software Removal Tool a little moot, but who knows.

Photo credit: Frants on Flickr via Creative Commons
I just spent an engrossing couple of hours going through the "Our Favorites" section at This American Life's website. TAL is a weekly radio show that showcases various stories (fiction, nonfiction, shorts, anything really fascinating or engaging) surrounding a different theme for each episode.

"Switched at Birth" struck me as particularly poignant (it's also the first on the list, heh heh). It tells the story of two women who learn that they were switched at birth -- from one of the mothers who knew about it for over four decades before telling either of them.

What's also striking to me, though is the photograph accompanying the story on its page. My sister recently came home from a friend's house carrying a large flat rate USPS box full to brimming with photographs, postcards, and newspaper clippings from the early 1910s through the 1970s. Piecing together this family's life -- the births, birthdays, and deaths -- gave me goosebumps. I spent hours in that box, finding in turns the library card, social security card, draft card (for the Vietnam War), letters and clippings, and the obituary of a 26-year-old veteran from Lancaster who died in a car accident.

There are road trip shots, Rose Parade shots (in front of Vroman's, circa 1972! There's a head shot, battered and torn, with some film credits and a physical description handwritten neatly on the back, an airbrushed portrait, a 30th anniversary Disneyland parking stub. There's so much that I feel like I should keep quiet about them until I'm ready.

I may post some of the less identifiable photographs at a later time. Right now it's just an odd and emotional concept to me. One day, your whole family can fit into a box of photographs. Our generation will have simple data that will be wiped off this planet as quickly as I could take a lighter to this box in my living room.

It's hard living in Southern California if you're a non-driver. My oddness in this became more pronounced when I started my commute to Walnut, which at first seemed to me a most suffocatingly suburban city and an unwalkable wasteland. The area surrounding Mt. SAC isn't bad, I'm sure -- I probably just see the blankness of Grand and the endless parking lots saturated with cars and not the wilderness and (maybe) the walking-distance destinations tucked into some undiscovered corner.

I hate driving. It's been on my mind for the last few weeks, now that I'm cramming for the DMV test and practicing. I've been asked by a lot of people why I despise it so much. Why is it that you take the bus to school so far away? What on earth do you do for 90 minutes on those horrible smelly things? It's an honestly innocuous question, but it gets me every time. I bristle and get defensive. It's irrational and rude but I hate to have to justify myself for what is, to me, such a personal decision.

Maybe it's because I don't support myself as my Mountie compatriots do, but I'm keenly aware of what a financial burden my driving would have on my family. I'm always (maybe egoistically) astounded by the costs otherwise perfectly reasonable human beings just get accustomed to: gas, insurance, and maintenance of a vehicle just don't make financial sense when some if not most people can easily do without a car altogether. My bus pass costs $36 a month, and even then I feel guilty asking my parents for that money when I'm already 18 and still at home.

I'm not advocating public transportation for everyone, though. The biggest costs I incur on the Metro are time and, I'll admit, my sanity. I'm probably just desensitized to the stresses of a 90 minute public-transport commute and the constant friction with other people on the bus as the drivers in this world are to the concept of traffic.

I've seen some awful things on the Metro, and my claustrophobia's forced me to (rather rudely) push past the crowd to jump off the bus at my stop, gasping and shaking and near tears. I'm not terribly social and being around so many people is really overwhelming sometimes, especially when the collective mood is tense after a long workday when everyone is tired and grimy and hateful. I came come from school sobbing for the first few days at Mt. SAC.

Driving is another process entirely. I can't jump out of the car when I'm on the 10 feeling the same sense of restlessness I get while on any road. On the bus I can read. I can catch up on my podcasts and listen to the news. I can do my homework and guarantee myself one-and-a-half hours of continuous studying without the distraction of Internet.

There's also the little matter that I cannot kill anybody by simply boarding a bus. Sometimes I feel like people completely fail to understand that they are accepting a shitload of responsibility by taking the wheel of a fascinating bundle of potentially deadly and complex machinery. I'm working toward being a good driver by compensating for my lack of peripheral vision (I'm nearsighted and I wear glasses) and for my own mental problems (I zone out and have trouble paying attention to what other people are doing. Imagine this applied to the friggin' road!), but I seriously doubt that I can master it and not do something stupid and avoidable at some point.

Peer pressure has given in, though. It's increasingly obvious that I need a car if I'm going to be here for much longer, and I cannot hope to find a walker's paradise until I get my act together and move out into the world. I'm learning the workings of driving itself and it's not fun. I'll tolerate it, though; who knows -- maybe I'll find that having control over something on my own will heal rather than harm.