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Re: Pain in the Butt Sobig -- and So AnnoyingBy Rick Horowitz
Aren't you just the slightest bit curious about that movie? Sorry -- about "That movie"? Wouldn't you like to know exactly what's been "Approved"? Aren't you wondering if it might be "Your Application"? Is it rude to ignore a "Thank you" from a total stranger? How about several dozen of them? "No." "No." "No." "No." "No." And "Are you kidding?!" But that's just me. It turns out I've been grappling with those very same questions. In fact, I'll bet half the country has been grappling with those very same questions. Not to mention the pressing matter of "Your details." Not to mention the equally pressing matter of "My details." And is there anyone out there unmoved by the prospect of a "Wicked screensaver"? Welcome to Virusville, and Worm World -- those twin Shangri-Las of interconnectedness, where you're never more than a click away from massive e-mail assault. This time it's Sobig. Before Sobig, there was Blaster, and Nachi. After Sobig, there'll be something Sobigger -- trust me. Aren't you thrilled? Isn't this how you always dreamed it would be? Tons of junk followed by tons of even more junk, dropping out of the sky and into your computer at 98 or 99 or 101 kilobytes apiece? Clogging your lines, slowing your circuits, testing your software, trying your patience? And I'm one of the lucky ones. My computer's been receiving all this sludge, but it hasn't yet been infected by it. Which is to say, it hasn't yet been kidnapped, brainwashed and turned into yet another sludge distributor. Still, my computer's virus checker has to peer into every one of these files to see whether it's safe to let it out among us common folk. Meanwhile, that little magnifying glass down at the bottom of the screen tries to keep me distracted. Fat chance. It takes my pokey little machine (it's loyal, but it's pokey) almost a minute to make it through each of the suspect files. There are dozens -- sometimes hundreds -- of new files every time I check. I figure there are more pleasant ways to spend all those minutes. Getting rid of ear wax, for instance. Walking on hot coals. So -- cagey devil that I am -- I started downloading my e-mail through an alternate server on a much faster computer right next door. Cagey devils that they are, I was soon getting messages warning me that I'd filled all my allotted storage space on the alternate server, and that if I ever wanted to see a piece of e-mail again, I'd better start deleting files, pronto. Which, from the looks of things, I'll have to do every few hours for the rest of my life. The pity of it is: I love getting mail. Loved getting mail, I should say -- the whole idea of it. Always did. Even if it wasn't my mail. When I was a kid, I'd wait in the lobby of our building for the mailman to show up, and I'd watch over his shoulder as he dropped each piece into its cubbyhole. When our regular mailman went on vacation, I'd do more than watch: I'd help. I'd point the substitute carriers to the proper slot for every last piece in their piles. I'd like to think they were grateful. I'd also like to tell you I outgrew the fascination -- but I can't tell you that. When I was in college, our mail was delivered at a certain time each morning, and I'd be there, rain or shine or snowdrift, when they opened those post office doors. One morning, though, I happened to pass by the place a second time, and I noticed another piece of mail in my box. This was wonderful enough in its own right -- more mail for me! -- but best of all were the possibilities it suggested: mail arriving at any hour of the day! It was the 1880s all over again. It was also, in its own hint-of-the-future way, the 1990s -- the e-mail years -- only a thousand times slower, and somebody had to lick the envelopes. It was still better than this. Even a month ago was better than this! Ever think I'd be nostalgic for penis-enlargement ads? Posted 8/28/03. Get
longer-lasting laughs right here at "Rick's"!
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Rick Horowitz
