SECURITY ALERT...

Some people will decide to ignore this alert, and go and check for themselves. Artificial Intelligence is no match for Natural Stupidity. So check it at your own risk. But watch this video to see how white hat hackers are working to keep us informed.
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The infected site is FOXSPORTS.
I will not post a link to it.

Turn it up.

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IF no major Security info Breaks, This is my last post of 2009. Have a Merry Christmas. And a Joyous NEW YEAR

NEWS YOU NEED TO KNOW.

In a recent excellent report, security solution provider Trusteer Inc. details how data collected from “successful” phishing attacks on the banking sector over a three-month period could help cyber criminals pocket a staggering $9.4 million per 1 million bank customers if they took advantage of all the fraudulently obtained information at their disposal.
Trusteer’s report looks at phishing from a slightly different perspective that the one taken by the well-known Anti-Phishing Work Group (APWG), which twice-yearly publishes numbers on detected phishing Websites.
The APWG figures show that 49,084 unique phishing Websites were found in June 2009, the second-highest numbers since their data collection began. This data is based on the number of phishing sites found by the group, whether or not the sites have been accessed by Internet users.
This info comes from INTERNET EVOLUTION. And was posted by Jart Armin.
The long and short is: Your info, personally identifiable info; things like Name, SSN, Bank Account and Pin numbers, and your home address, are now the target of an organized crime syndicate, located in Russia.
It used to be that the Christmas and other holiday seasons were big times for internet insecurity. And the security world wondered WHY? Was it because the hackers new creations would have the extended off-time to spread world wide before the good guys could get a handle on it? Or was it because they simply wanted to spoil the holidays for the IT departments? While these elements may have credibility. It was the Ebenezer Scrooge syndrome at work.
Rather than go home from school to be with family, smart kids, really smart kids, were not going home. Abandoned, lonely and bored, these kids were left alone with the university's state of the art computer labs and no adult supervision. This phenomenon has not changed. But something new has been added. Rather than just taking control of you computer for fun and bragging rights. It has now become an operation, funded to give control to a powerful and serious multi-billion dollar criminal enterprise. And what is more important to know is that internet connectivity has increased exponentially. But personal computers make up less than half of those connections. Google estimates that computers account for only 30%. The other 70% are made by portable devices. Smart phones. And all those little applications that make your smart phone, so smart, were created with no thought towards security. A fact that has not been lost on the bad-guys. Add the fact that all the defenses you have erected to protect your PC, are not in place to protect your phone. And you have a recipe for disaster.
The only defense you have is your common sense. Artificial Intelligence is trumped by Natural Stupidity. Read your email on the phone. But wait to get home to your protected PC to view the new video that was attached.
If you get an email from your bank, asking you to verify information you know they already have. IGNORE IT. Also, set your PC's anti-virus to scan your smart phone as if it were any other removable storage device. There are no fail-safes for your not so smart phone. Be curious. Ask yourself Why? WHY did I win the European Lottery? I never knew the had one! They don't and you didn't enter it.

Why is my bank asking me to send them info I know they already have? It wasn't from your bank.
Why is a guy dressed like a thug giving me security advice? Because this is what the good guys look like.
Be well. Be safe. And enjoy your Christmas, or whatever you call your time off during the winter solstice.

Classic Black Friday

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 This Classic Black Friday is dedicated to my Canadian Fashonista, The NicNacManiac.  Please hangup our cell phones and watch ou for the two-wheel enthusiasts. That biker you just put in the ditch, might be someone's mom, dad, sister or brother. Or your favorite movie star. Or your church's pastor.

The list above is:

A mother and child. Andy and Barney. Buddy Holly and the Crickets. Clark Gable. Carre Otis. Clint Eastwood. John Wayne. Dick Van Dyke.

THANKFUL THURSDAY

"The President of the United States in the name of The Congress takes pride in presenting the MEDAL OF HONOR posthumously to

LIEUTENANT MICHAEL P. MURPHY
UNITED STATES NAVY

For service as set forth in the following CITATION:

    For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life and above and beyond the call of duty as the leader of a special reconnaissance element with Naval Special Warfare task unit Afghanistan on 27 and 28 June 2005. While leading a mission to locate a high-level anti-coalition militia leader, Lieutenant Murphy demonstrated extraordinary heroism in the face of grave danger in the vicinity of Asadabad, Konar Province, Afghanistan. On 28 June 2005, operating in an extremely rugged enemy-controlled area, Lieutenant Murphy's team was discovered by anti-coalition militia sympathizers, who revealed their position to Taliban fighters. As a result, between 30 and 40 enemy fighters besieged his four member team. Demonstrating exceptional resolve, Lieutenant Murphy valiantly led his men in engaging the large enemy force. The ensuing fierce firefight resulted in numerous enemy casualties, as well as the wounding of all four members of the team. Ignoring his own wounds and demonstrating exceptional composure, Lieutenant Murphy continued to lead and encourage his men. When the primary communicator fell mortally wounded, Lieutenant Murphy repeatedly attempted to call for assistance for his beleaguered teammates. Realizing the impossibility of communicating in the extreme terrain, and in the face of almost certain death, he fought his way into open terrain to gain a better position to transmit a call. This deliberate, heroic act deprived him of cover, exposing him to direct enemy fire. Finally achieving contact with his headquarters, Lieutenant Murphy maintained his exposed position while he provided his location and requested immediate support for his team. In his final act of bravery, he continued to engage the enemy until he was mortally wounded, gallantly giving his life for his country and for the cause of freedom. By his selfless leadership, Lieutenant Murphy reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service."

Other honors
In addition to the Medal of Honor, his military awards and his inscription on the Hall of Heroes in the Pentagon, Lt. Murphy has received at least 4 other honors between May 7, 2006 and June 2009.

 Michael P. Murphy Memorial Park
On May 7, 2006, on what would have been his 30th birthday, Murphy’s hometown dedicated the Michael P. Murphy Memorial Park; formerly Lake Ronkonkoma Park. The park contains a black granite wall dedicated to the men lost in Operation Red Wing, with each member’s name inscribed. A black granite stone embedded in the plaza bears the picture of Murphy and his Medal of Honor.

A DAY THAT WILL LIVE IN INFAMY

 

On December 7,  1941, A Japanese Bomber pilot manned his aircraft in the pre-dawn light. His name was Mitsuo Fuchida. He took off from the deck of the Aircraft carrier Akagi, and led the surprise attack against the US Navy Pacific Fleet, located at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
During  the ensuing war years, Fuchida continued to fly -- often narrowly escaping being killed in action. After the Japanese formally surrendered aboard The USS Missouri,  in Tokyo Bay on September 2, 1945, he became a bitter and disillusioned man.
A young Christian woman, whose parents had been killed by the Japanese during the war, took it upon herself to minister to Japanese prisoners. When Fuchida heard about this story, his spiritual curiosity was piqued. He was so impressed by this woman's action, that he began reading The Bible. When he read  Luke 23:34, of  Jesus' words from the  cross "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." he clearly understood how the woman was able to forgive the enemy who had killed her family.
Mitsuo Fuchida became a lay preacher and evangelist to the Japanese people. This former warrior demonstrated the "Peace of God that surpasses all understanding." PHIL. 4:7.

Do you know this Man?

His name is Ben Hardy. Do you recognize his face? Or maybe his name rings a bell. No? You've never seen his countenance. Or heard his name before. How can this be? He should be considered a National Treasure. And yet he is almost completely unknown. He is an artist of epic proportions. Maybe another picture will give you a clue.

Here is Mr. Hardy on a vintage Harley Davidson. An ElectraGlide to be exact. The model year is unknown to me. But is in full-dress. And most certainly predates the AMF takeover of the HD Motor Company in the early 70s. Still no ideas? OKAY. He's a man who owned a Harley back in the day!!!??? True dat. But wait. There's more.

Here is a picture of the business he owned. HARDY'S MOTORCYCLE SERVICE. It was located at 1168 East Florence Avenue, Los Angeles, California. The building still exists. But Mr. Hardy's Bike shop has been gone for who knows how long?
So let's investigate the facts we know so far.
1. We have a man.
2. We have a man who rides a Big twin Harley.
3. We have a man who owns a motorcycle repair shop in California.
Lets assume some facts from the evidence I've given you so far and the historic events surrounding them. All of the picture were made before 1969, When AMF took over Harley. In the early to mid 1960s America's motor company was in trouble. Much faster bikes were part of the British invasion that most people remember as the advent of "THE BEATLES" and "THE ROLLING STONES." Not only were the radio waves filled with mop-top music. But the highways were filling up with TRIUMPH, BSA and NORTON motorbikes. The faster Brit bikes were easily out running the HOGS, in sales-rooms and on drag strips.
But most Harley riders were extremely loyal and dedicated owners. And rather than abandon ship, they began to customize their bikes in ways that would make them more competitive with the Brits. The thrust to weight ratio needed to be improved. The easiest way to accomplish this was to remove, or "CHOP" off all the things on a bike that weren't needed to go fast. Things like front and rear fenders, could go. The turn signals, gone. The clunky front drum brakes, gone. The mirrors and the big, heavy, spring loaded seats, gone. And mufflers, gone to the scrap pile. A minor alteration to the front frame geometry, with an extended front fork, and the bike would bounce and soften the blow to the rider, that occurred from changing out the seat.
Quite naturally this cultural revolution began in 1960s California. And the American Chopper was born.
So we can assume Mr. Hardy was a custom bike builder, from the mid 1960s. You say you don't know any Chopper builders by name. How about Billy Zane, Indian Larry, Arlen Ness, or this TV persona, Paul Teutul Sr?

You would have had to spend a significant amount of time locked away to not have heard any of those names. Especially Mr. Teutul, of Discovery Channel's Orange County Choppers fame. But  to have heard of Ben Hardy, you'd be an extremely rare connoisseur of motorcycle trivia. But to never have seen his art creation, you would have had to die before 1969, or have been from another galaxy.
Mister Hardy took two old 1949 police motor cycles, purchased at auction for $500.00. And turned them into an icon for a generation. In fact his art work is one of the world's most recognized items. More famous than anything done by Peter Max. Or the Campbells Tomato Soup Can painted by Andy Worhol.
The1949 Harley Davidson Hydraglide looked like this before Mr. Hardy worked his majic on them:

Classic lines and a Panhead engine that many restorers try to achieve. You couldn't get near one of these today, in  this condition for less than $30,000.00. Yet in 1968, California police departments were dumping them for what a decent leather jacket goes for today.Yet when finished with his inspiration, the creations Mr. Hardy released, is now priceless.

This is one of the two motorcycles, or more correctly called CHOPPERS that Benl Hardy made.
The original "Captain America" Bike.

And this is the other. The BILLY BIKE." These bikes appeared in the seminal motion picture "EASY RIDER." And mounted by Peter Fonda an Dennis Hopper, they thundered into the hearts and minds of youths in search of real AMERICAN FREEDOM. Bolstered by an eclectic sound track of the era's most Avant Garde, music, Topped off by Steppenwolf's Anthem of the 60s "Born To Be Wild", a  new generation took the stage. Often copied, but never duplicated, Ben Hardy started a quest for freedom in our youth that still exists to this day.
And now you know the best of the story.

It's called Christmas...

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In the days of my youth...

I learned everything I needed to know about being a man the hard way. My father packed up and left home when I was 9. This was a time when divorce was a terrible social stigma. And children were supposed to be damaged by the loss of a parent. Actually this was the best day in my young life. The terror was gone. Well not completely gone. But gone enough to make life worth continuing. So with no example to follow I was left to find out what manhood was about on my own. I preferred the scientific method. Experimentation! Try different things and see which worked best. I found that friendship often ended in misery. So I avoided making friends for the most part. I did have some friends. The friends I made in my youth are still friends today. Friends that I would try to take your breath away to defend. But this isn't a story about fighting. I have been in more fights than you have said the word. I'd be lying if I told you I won every fight I was in. But I didn't stay this pretty by not being very good at it.
Even though this is not a story about fighting. It is hard to tell a story of my life that doesn't have a fight in it. No this is a story about my aversion to chocolate. One of the bloggers I follow and exchange witticisms with, The Dutch Doughnut Girl, asked me why I hate chocolate. Thus the motivation for this story.
On my eighteenth birthday the people who had endeared themselves to me threw a party.
Back in 1970 North Carolina, liquor by the drink in a bar was illegal. You could drink beer until you couldn't walk. But a rum and coke was tantamount to heroin possession. Many counties in the Tarheel State were dry counties. No alcohol. Period. I lived in Onslow County. It was a wet county, and the legal drinking age was 18. We could get beer and wine from the local MOM&POP grocery, gas-station. But if you wanted hard liquor, you had to get it from the ABC package stores or a moonshiner. The package stores sold bottles of booze in every size shape and flavor. But there was a stiff hard nosed county employee running these stores. And they must have had some specialized training to spot phony ID. And a smash and grab was out of the question. Those stores were harder than Fort Knox. And the clerks were armed. And because the moonshiners were diametrically opposed to long haired hippie-boys, My first taste of whiskey came at age 18. August 28, 1970, My closest forty friends and I gathered at a beach cottage on Emerald Isle, North Carolina, and indulged in libations of the hardstuff.
Because of the proximity of the stormy Atlantic, the house was up on pilings approximately 25 feet in the air. This was before all the Damn Northern yankee carpetbaggers had begun to migrate into the pristine Carolina coastal plains, so there were no neighbors to be disturbed by our revelry. The music was blaring, force fed a pile of LPs on a record changer. There was a low-stakes poker  game at the dining table. Couples dancing in time to the constantly changing beat coming from the HI-FI. And discussions, of significant events of our time, in small groups around the big room. After having had my fill of a tirade from some liberal idiot, I went and sat on the middle of a large couch. Directly in the middle of some of the hardest, real, live tough guys to ever strut through the Old North State. I was barely settled into the Naugahyde, when an arm reached in from the periphery an slammed down a fifth of Seagram's Seven on the coffee table directly in front of me. The light danced through the amber liquid. And I sat staring at it. The music and the card game distorted all other communications. But my concentration on the bottle was broken by money being slapped down next to the bottle and the crystal clear words "I double dog dare you." I gazed in disbelief at the money.A $20.00 bill. The room grew deathly silent. The wagers at the table had stopped. Someone scratched the record while lifting the tone arm out of play. All the dancing fett froze in place. Everyone was looking and listening to me.
The only sounds were the distant surf, my heartbeat, and money hitting the table top. Big money, serious money for 1970. At least $140.00 cash. I was familiar with the "Dare you" system. I had played that game many times before. Both as the dared and the darer. But this wasn't a dare. This was a bet. Then an unfamiliar voice said what everyone else was thinking. "Well?"
So I picked up and uncapped the bottle. Put it to my lips. Took a deep breath and tipped it up. The first sensation was not taste. It was burning. All the way down my throat. 3, 5, 8, 11 gulps and the burn became numbness. My eyes filled with tears. I began to exhale into the bottle and the liquid came down faster. I blocked the opening with my tongue and took another breath through my nose. And chugged again. The last of the SS drained into my mouth and I swallowed. I dropped the empty on the hardwood floor, and scooped up the cash. As I stuffed it into the pocket of my 501 button fly Levi's, three things happened simultaneously.
1. The room erupted in expletives; Dang, Crimenedly, Monkey-scratcher, Maggot-Farmer, Cheese and Rice, Cheese and Rice Allrighty.
2. I stood up.
3. The numbness was replaced with a very uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar warmth.
Then the room did something quite unexpected. It took one complete 360 degree turn to the left. And then took a hard lean to the right. Like a boat in deep water. The roll took me to the right, and gravity pulled me to the door. Fortunately the glass slider was open. Unfortunately, the screen was not, and I went right through the screen out onto the balcony that doubled as a front porch. The railing did its job and kept me from going overboard in to a 25 foot free fall to the dunes below. As I leaned on the railing, looking down at the fall I almost had, I noticed a couple sitting in the swinging bench directly below me. Another familiar sensation arose, my mouth watered instinctively. And I yelled to the couple below "Look out." But all they did was look up. And I purged the potent potable from my body. There was no food in me so only warm whiskey pelted the female. Pasting her beautiful jet black hair to her head. This sight didn't turn me to stone. It should have. Because it had all the contrasts of Medusa. An angelic countenance, surrounded by what had just formerly been a serious buzz awaiting absorption in my stomach. For some reason this struck me as the funniest thing I had ever seen. And I started laughing. Shelley shrieked in horror. And Ray jumped to his feet. Pointing at me, he was screaming something. But I couldn't hear him over my own laughter. They both raced up the steps to confront me.
I tried hard to regain my composure. But the more I tried to stop laughing, the harder I laughed. Ray was furious, and Shelley was crying. And I was laughing like a baby playing peek-a-boo. Then I saw it. He threw it from his hip. Yes he telegraphed the punch. But this message was gonna come through loud and clear. I remember thinking "Man, this is going to hurt." And then it landed. On the left side of my face, between my ear and my cheek bone. If that had hit my nose, blood would have sprayed everywhere. If it had hit me on the point of the chin, I would have seen a bright flash of light and toppled backward over the waist high rail to the dirt, 25 feet below. As it was, my head jerked to the right. But there was absolutely no pain. And now I was hysterical. As I roared with laughter, Shelley grabbed Ray by the hand and dragged him down the stairs. They got in their car and Shelley drove it away. The whole time they were in eye shot, Ray stared at me in utter disbelief. That was my first encounter with hard liquor. And the last time I got drunk enough to be unable to defend myself. Almost 40 years later, and I still get chills when I see a Seagram's label.
So what has this to do with chocolate? Or my aversion to it? Well rewind, 5, 6, 8 years and I was ten years old. Remember I told you earlier that the Seagram's had given me familiar sensations? Those sensations became familiar to me one day after mowing lawns for money. I had worked hard all day. And I had made an enormous amount of money for a ten year old. I had about $7.50 in my pocket. And the gas for the mower had cost less than $0.40. So I had over seven dollars in pure profit. I was a capitalist from that day forward. But what to do with my windfall? The toy store in Western auto? Or the Dairy Queen? Even though I didn't know what the words were  for my feelings at that time. It seemed sophomoric and pedestrian to blow my earnings on toys and ice cream. What would a man do? So I went to the Piggly Wiggly. But not to the candy aisle. I searched the store for half an hour. Searching for the perfect reward. RC Royal Crown Cola? Nope! An entire bag of Mother Goose Potato chips? Nope! A box of Moonpies? Close. But still Nope! Then like a search light probing the darkness, it beckoned to me. The label's lettering and color were familiar. But the package was not. It was a can. The label read "HERSHEY'S CHOCOLATE SYRUP" 16oz.
So I made my purchase and carried it home. I was a happy miser. Once in the house, I made a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a church key. And locked myself in my room to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Alone and undisturbed. I used the church key to poke the two triangular holes in the can top. One for drinking. One to vent. Then, in the same manner as described above, I emptied the syrup can into my stomach in three large gulps. It took a bit longer to start. And it lasted much longer once it got going. But the Hershey's syrup had the exact same effect on my body as the whiskey had 8 years later. To this day a single Chips Ahoy cookie will give me the precursory feelings that culminate in projectile vomiting. The lessons learned were; God takes care of drunks and fools. And too much of anything can devastate something you should otherwise enjoy.
Until next time; KEEP IT BETWEEN THE DITCHES. And your knees.

If you're gonna tell a lie. Tell a whopper.

You have been lied to. Antropogenic Global warming is a farce. Not a fact. This is not just a figment of my right wing fanaticism. Or just my opinion. Last week a hacker broke into the email system of the University of East Anglia's Climate Research Unit, and released 1000's of emails documenting the conspiracy. This isn't a post from my friends at Fox News. This comes directly from reporters at the Wall Street Journal.

Consider the case of Phil Jones, the director of the CRU and the man at the heart of climategate. According to one of the documents hacked from his center, between 2000 and 2006 Mr. Jones was the recipient (or co-recipient) of some $19 million worth of research grants, a sixfold increase over what he'd been awarded in the 1990s.
Why did the money pour in so quickly? Because the climate alarm kept ringing so loudly: The louder the alarm, the greater the sums. And who better to ring it than people like Mr. Jones, one of its likeliest beneficiaries?

Read all the facts at: THIS VERY INTERESTING VERSION OF THE FACTS. I guess not all hackers are evil...