Salut!
Good news. No one has called me a pussy since that fateful day on the 88, what now seems an age ago! Huzzah!
Today I write to express my dismay about the big Sony personal data debacle. If you've not seen anything about it then the story is here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-13192359 - and the basics are that Sony's PlayStation Network (PSN) was hacked and the personal details of 77 million people were taken. Details including: Name, Address, Postcode, PSN sign in, PSN PASSWORD, Date of Birth, and, 'maybe' credit card details.
The media is giving this quite a lot of coverage, as it should, but no-one really seems to be making a big deal about the fact it took Sony a WEEK to tell users of the service that their personal details may have been compromised. That's a week where people had access to one of my Internet passwords, my address, my DOB and (perhaps) my credit card details.
I have spent two hours this morning calling my credit card company (that took five minutes, well done AMEX, you were, as ever, truly splendid) and changing every online password I have that might be the same as the PSN one (yes I know I should have a different password for everything, but how many people can really manage that many different passwords?).
I guess the main issue I have is that there is literally no come back or consequence to Sony for this incident. Can you imagine the scandal if this was the government losing personal data (again!)? The only comeback for users of the service is not to use it at all, or to stop using Sony products - which in both cases is cutting off your nose to spite your face... it just means that you stop using an expensive piece of hardware... and stop buying Blu-Rays?
I suppose what I am getting at is that we don't live in a marketplace where you can always vote with your wallet. Companies like Sony are so big and powerful that there is really no way to stop using all their products/services as a form of protest. Let's just look at what Sony actually do these days: as well as Play Station and Blu-Ray, they do the Vaio computer range, a host of consumer electronics (TVs, stereo, MP3 players, etc), they make movies through Sony Pictures Entertainment, and publish/release around a quarter of all commercial music through the Sony BMG label.
To vote with your wallet, you'd have to stop watching a lot of films, stop listening to a lot of music, and stop buying Blu-Ray, etc. It's pretty impossible. So what's left for the consumer to do? Nothing, really... express their disapproval... and... erm... that's it. So in many ways it is the same as when the government lost data in the past, you just have to live with an apology. That's it. Frustrating eh... Especially considering the way these huge, powerful companies make you agree to terms of service documents running into tens of thousands of words, and when you accept these terms of service you do so from a position on absolute impotence. (Who actually reads those things? And could you return a product if you didn't agree to terms of service? What when the terms of service change?)
I guess that above all, the thing to remember is that the hackers caused the problem, and they are the people we should be angriest with, however... Sony controls how it manages and communicates the problem... and this could have been done a hell of a lot better. Personally, I think users of the PSN should get more than an apology (some credit in lieu of the time spent changing security details, etc?), but I really can't see 77 million people being given a £5 credit, can you?
- - - - -
Media Fail:
As an aside, I love the way the BBC felt that a journalist for a computer gaming website was the best person to include in the story to advise on what PSN account holders should do. He basically said 'well, if nothing dodgy has happened in the last week, don't worry'.
Now, I'm sorry, but that's just moronic. If you hacked 77 million sets of personal data would you be able to use each set of data for fraudulent activity within 7 days? Processing 11 million attempts a day? No. This could run for bloody years... and the data is likely to be sold on creating wave after wave of potential problems for people who had PSN accounts.
The right person for advice on what to do about credit card data going missing is not a computer games journalist. It's a security expert at a bank or credit card company. This was very sloppy lazy journalism by the BBC. Tut tut.
- - - - -
That's all from me - the earth shatteringly exciting 'principles for music buying' post I know you are desperate to read will have to wait until I can be arsed thinking about it properly. Now I have to go pot some tomatoes! LIVING THE DREAM MY FRIENDS! WIN!
Onwards!
Levin
Wednesday 27 April 2011
Friday 8 April 2011
The trip home from work...
Hi All,
Afraid I shall be leaving you on tenterhooks as regards whether I bought the Rival Schools LP on CD or digital for a little bit longer. I have something quite strange and not all that pleasant to write about: my trip home from work...
I got on the 88 from outside work at about 1730 and noticed that there was a chap talking to a young woman I assumed he didn't know. He asked her 'so where are you from', and they were talking in what seemed a pretty normal way. In short, it was all seemingly pleasant and nice enough. I thought to myself at the time that it was an interesting approach to flirtation or meeting new people, but hey, fair play, no harm in talking to someone, is there. So the bus gets onto Parliament Square and Dare by the Gorillaz comes on shuffle and I'm catching up on Twitter as is my normal routine on the way home, so far, so ordinary... and then...
Gradually louder voices from in front of me... and it sounds very much like the young lady is not appreciating the attention she is getting from the bloke who was talking to her earlier. So I turn my music down and start to listen in, by which point she is saying 'I don't even know you', 'get off of me' and 'I can't even understand you'... not good, eh... Now at this point I may have been being a bit slow, and shamefully the question 'should I do anything' comes into my head and I am weighing this all up, before the woman to my left says to the lady in front: "Are you alright?" and her reply is "I think I am being harassed", and another woman says "You can come and sit down here". But the woman can't go anywhere... I'm taking my headphones out at this point and putting my phone away, and I look more closely and this chap is talking to her in a low voice, and seems to have her hand or wrist in one of his hands, with the other hand, somewhere near her right knee. He's been propositioning and perhaps intimately touching a woman he doesn't know. He is basically sexually harassing her, keeping her trapped in a window seat and not letting her get away or move.
Now I reacted as quickly as I could when it was clear he wasn't going to move, I tried to play it all calm, and I put my hand on his shoulder (fairly firmly, I guess) and said 'excuse me mate, can you let the lady up to go and sit somewhere else?' Polite, but firm, yeah? Nothing too strong, he has a simple out and can save a bit of face. If he lets her out, calls me a wanker and shuts up, things have been resolved in a just-about bearable way. Does he do that? No.... the next few seconds went something like this (contains swearing!):
Chap: "Sit down you fucking pussy. Sit down before I smash your fucking glasses into your fucking face. Fucking pussy."
We're evidently dealing with one of London's most refined and charming gentlemen, aren't we...
I am in the back right corner of the bus, one of the other young female passengers is in the back left corner, and the chap in question is now blocking both of our exits, as well as keeping the lady next to the window. What's more, it's at this point I realise that sum total of the other people on the bottom floor of the bus are two other young women (I guess mid thirties) and two other ladies in their late 50's/ early 60's. I'm dealing with this on my own, clearly.
Levin: "Just let the lady go and sit somewhere else and there's no problem, is there mate?"
Chap: "Fuck you. Sit down. Sit down. Last Chance. Sit down you fucking pussy. I smash your face. Sit down."
I stay stood up (#MACHO MACHO MAN, #I NEED A HERO, etc...). Arms by my sides, palms flat and open. Very clear body language saying that I don't want a fight; your move, buddy. Chappy moves towards me, jolts his torso forward as if to swing at me and stops (a good couple of feet away from me). "You pussy. Sit down. I smash your face. Sit down". My heart is pumping, big adrenaline hit. This is the scary bit. Ancient and hard-wired biological reactions are at play.
I stay stood up. More eye contact. The woman he had never met who he was feeling up on a bus at 1735 on a Friday evening manages to get past him and walk towards the driver.
Levin: "Driver! Driver!"
Chap: "Driver, driver, whats the going to do you fucking pussy!?!?"
We reach a bus stop. The lady starts talking to the driver. He's bound to stop the bus, right? The last thing he'll do is just let her get off and leave what looks (and sounds) very much like a just-about-to-occur punch-up to occur, yeah? No. That's exactly what he does. Chappy is giving it more lip, but now he has moved towards the middle of the bus and there is a chance for the other women on the bus to get away from him, and for me to move near an exit. But I'm not stupid. I'm not turning my back to him. He fronts up to me and starts giving it all the verbals again, mixed in with the jolt-towards-me-as-if-he's-about-to-hit-me malarkey. Nice, eh.
Chap: "You fucking acne face. Sit down you fuck. Fuck you. Pussy"
(For the record. I don't have and never have had acne. I pride myself on my skincare regime. Anyhow, this chap is clearly not only a first class dick, he's also not very observant.)
Levin: "Can you just let me past, mate?"
Chap: "Fat fuck. Fuck you. Pussy. Give me something. Now."
(He's gesturing to my iPhone)
Levin: Fuck off.
At this point, after basically five minutes of this, by which point I have four women lined up behind me so they are out of his way (none of them spoke to the driver though, thanks ladies) and I am just about to come to my stop. I stare at him, the bus stops. Two of the ladies get off behind me, and I back away... and step off the bus.
Right now, not even three hours after it, it just seems so surreal. I am being sarcastic about it and adding a few (half-arsed) jokes into this blog, all of which completely betrays the fact that it was scary as hell. I really, genuinely, thought I was going to end up in a fist fight on a bus. The last fight I had was when I was 8. This guy was fucking mental. He was half my size, and (not trying to be a dick about it or brag) I would have fancied my chances... but bloody hell... what in Dawkins' name was that all about. What an insane, deranged, sick, disjointed guy.
I have all sorts of feelings going on after the event. I have been having to manage my breathing on and off since it happened to control the effects of the adrenaline. It was scary. I know I did the right thing. What else could I do. As a big brother to a little sister, I still remember having to elbow and shoulder barge men with wandering hands at gigs when my sister and her friends were young and in the mosh pit. Men can be fucking idiots.
I had to get involved and stop him, he wasn't going to leave her alone. When I got home and relayed the story to my wife this evening, she said that because of me there is one woman who got home tonight with more faith in human nature. That's a result in anyone's book, I guess. But I am feeling a bit shaken and stressed and angry. Angry that other people didn't talk to the driver. Angry that the driver didn't stop or call the Transport Police. Angry that, after I got off that bus, there were other people in that space with him. Angry that he might well hit on or start touching up the next young woman who got on the bus a few stops down the line.
This kind of experience brings out the Daily Mail in you, the fear, the anger, the frustration and all sorts of other unpleasant feelings you normal never deal with in a day. I can't remember ever feeling like I would smack someone in the mouth given the chance... right now, part of me kinda wishes I could have a free swing our idiotic protagonist. But I am a (relatively) rational person, I've been commuting to London for about ten years now, so lets call that a total of 4,000 journeys, on average in enclosed spaces with 20 people, so that's 80,000 people - only one of them has been an absolute idiot. In other words. This sort of thing doesn't happen every day. It's just all a bit raw and odd and, well.. what would you have done... answers below!
Enough for now while I process this a bit more and have another shot of bourbon ;-)
Onwards!
Levin
PS - I bought Rival Schools and Elbow on CD. I will put a post on my 'Principles for CD/ Digital purchasing' in a future post that I can guarantee will feature less of me describing how someone spent an age calling me a pussy.
Afraid I shall be leaving you on tenterhooks as regards whether I bought the Rival Schools LP on CD or digital for a little bit longer. I have something quite strange and not all that pleasant to write about: my trip home from work...
I got on the 88 from outside work at about 1730 and noticed that there was a chap talking to a young woman I assumed he didn't know. He asked her 'so where are you from', and they were talking in what seemed a pretty normal way. In short, it was all seemingly pleasant and nice enough. I thought to myself at the time that it was an interesting approach to flirtation or meeting new people, but hey, fair play, no harm in talking to someone, is there. So the bus gets onto Parliament Square and Dare by the Gorillaz comes on shuffle and I'm catching up on Twitter as is my normal routine on the way home, so far, so ordinary... and then...
Gradually louder voices from in front of me... and it sounds very much like the young lady is not appreciating the attention she is getting from the bloke who was talking to her earlier. So I turn my music down and start to listen in, by which point she is saying 'I don't even know you', 'get off of me' and 'I can't even understand you'... not good, eh... Now at this point I may have been being a bit slow, and shamefully the question 'should I do anything' comes into my head and I am weighing this all up, before the woman to my left says to the lady in front: "Are you alright?" and her reply is "I think I am being harassed", and another woman says "You can come and sit down here". But the woman can't go anywhere... I'm taking my headphones out at this point and putting my phone away, and I look more closely and this chap is talking to her in a low voice, and seems to have her hand or wrist in one of his hands, with the other hand, somewhere near her right knee. He's been propositioning and perhaps intimately touching a woman he doesn't know. He is basically sexually harassing her, keeping her trapped in a window seat and not letting her get away or move.
Now I reacted as quickly as I could when it was clear he wasn't going to move, I tried to play it all calm, and I put my hand on his shoulder (fairly firmly, I guess) and said 'excuse me mate, can you let the lady up to go and sit somewhere else?' Polite, but firm, yeah? Nothing too strong, he has a simple out and can save a bit of face. If he lets her out, calls me a wanker and shuts up, things have been resolved in a just-about bearable way. Does he do that? No.... the next few seconds went something like this (contains swearing!):
Chap: "Sit down you fucking pussy. Sit down before I smash your fucking glasses into your fucking face. Fucking pussy."
We're evidently dealing with one of London's most refined and charming gentlemen, aren't we...
I am in the back right corner of the bus, one of the other young female passengers is in the back left corner, and the chap in question is now blocking both of our exits, as well as keeping the lady next to the window. What's more, it's at this point I realise that sum total of the other people on the bottom floor of the bus are two other young women (I guess mid thirties) and two other ladies in their late 50's/ early 60's. I'm dealing with this on my own, clearly.
Levin: "Just let the lady go and sit somewhere else and there's no problem, is there mate?"
Chap: "Fuck you. Sit down. Sit down. Last Chance. Sit down you fucking pussy. I smash your face. Sit down."
I stay stood up (#MACHO MACHO MAN, #I NEED A HERO, etc...). Arms by my sides, palms flat and open. Very clear body language saying that I don't want a fight; your move, buddy. Chappy moves towards me, jolts his torso forward as if to swing at me and stops (a good couple of feet away from me). "You pussy. Sit down. I smash your face. Sit down". My heart is pumping, big adrenaline hit. This is the scary bit. Ancient and hard-wired biological reactions are at play.
I stay stood up. More eye contact. The woman he had never met who he was feeling up on a bus at 1735 on a Friday evening manages to get past him and walk towards the driver.
Levin: "Driver! Driver!"
Chap: "Driver, driver, whats the going to do you fucking pussy!?!?"
We reach a bus stop. The lady starts talking to the driver. He's bound to stop the bus, right? The last thing he'll do is just let her get off and leave what looks (and sounds) very much like a just-about-to-occur punch-up to occur, yeah? No. That's exactly what he does. Chappy is giving it more lip, but now he has moved towards the middle of the bus and there is a chance for the other women on the bus to get away from him, and for me to move near an exit. But I'm not stupid. I'm not turning my back to him. He fronts up to me and starts giving it all the verbals again, mixed in with the jolt-towards-me-as-if-he's-about-to-hit-me malarkey. Nice, eh.
Chap: "You fucking acne face. Sit down you fuck. Fuck you. Pussy"
(For the record. I don't have and never have had acne. I pride myself on my skincare regime. Anyhow, this chap is clearly not only a first class dick, he's also not very observant.)
Levin: "Can you just let me past, mate?"
Chap: "Fat fuck. Fuck you. Pussy. Give me something. Now."
(He's gesturing to my iPhone)
Levin: Fuck off.
At this point, after basically five minutes of this, by which point I have four women lined up behind me so they are out of his way (none of them spoke to the driver though, thanks ladies) and I am just about to come to my stop. I stare at him, the bus stops. Two of the ladies get off behind me, and I back away... and step off the bus.
Right now, not even three hours after it, it just seems so surreal. I am being sarcastic about it and adding a few (half-arsed) jokes into this blog, all of which completely betrays the fact that it was scary as hell. I really, genuinely, thought I was going to end up in a fist fight on a bus. The last fight I had was when I was 8. This guy was fucking mental. He was half my size, and (not trying to be a dick about it or brag) I would have fancied my chances... but bloody hell... what in Dawkins' name was that all about. What an insane, deranged, sick, disjointed guy.
I have all sorts of feelings going on after the event. I have been having to manage my breathing on and off since it happened to control the effects of the adrenaline. It was scary. I know I did the right thing. What else could I do. As a big brother to a little sister, I still remember having to elbow and shoulder barge men with wandering hands at gigs when my sister and her friends were young and in the mosh pit. Men can be fucking idiots.
I had to get involved and stop him, he wasn't going to leave her alone. When I got home and relayed the story to my wife this evening, she said that because of me there is one woman who got home tonight with more faith in human nature. That's a result in anyone's book, I guess. But I am feeling a bit shaken and stressed and angry. Angry that other people didn't talk to the driver. Angry that the driver didn't stop or call the Transport Police. Angry that, after I got off that bus, there were other people in that space with him. Angry that he might well hit on or start touching up the next young woman who got on the bus a few stops down the line.
This kind of experience brings out the Daily Mail in you, the fear, the anger, the frustration and all sorts of other unpleasant feelings you normal never deal with in a day. I can't remember ever feeling like I would smack someone in the mouth given the chance... right now, part of me kinda wishes I could have a free swing our idiotic protagonist. But I am a (relatively) rational person, I've been commuting to London for about ten years now, so lets call that a total of 4,000 journeys, on average in enclosed spaces with 20 people, so that's 80,000 people - only one of them has been an absolute idiot. In other words. This sort of thing doesn't happen every day. It's just all a bit raw and odd and, well.. what would you have done... answers below!
Enough for now while I process this a bit more and have another shot of bourbon ;-)
Onwards!
Levin
PS - I bought Rival Schools and Elbow on CD. I will put a post on my 'Principles for CD/ Digital purchasing' in a future post that I can guarantee will feature less of me describing how someone spent an age calling me a pussy.
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