The first Emergency Broadcast System test

“Hey Tom, it looks like the front end is almost good to go.”

Johnny finished his last line of code. Excitedly, he ran the compiler to see if all was functional.

Tom nodded quizzically. A working interface was the easy part. The difficulty was reverse engineering the Omniscience API — a process which was almost complete.

What Tom, Johnny, and their crew of hobbyists were doing was going to change the world. It all stemmed from an event that occurred 50 years earlier, a moment that made Tom never forget the Emergency Broadcast System.

The Emergency Broadcast System (EBS) was an emergency warning system in the United States, used from 1963 to 1997. The EBS was established to provide the President of the United States with an expeditious method of communicating with the American public in the event of war, threat of war, or grave national crisis.

On February 20, 1971, Tom was a 7-year-old boy watching Saturday morning cartoons. At precisely 9:33AM, the EBS played the wrong tape during a test of the system. As a result, an EBS activation message authenticated with the codeword “hatefulness” was sent through the entire system, ordering stations to cease regular programming and broadcast the alert of a national emergency. A cancellation message was sent at 9:59 AM EST; however, it used the same codeword. A cancellation message with the correct codeword, “impish,” was not sent until 10:13 AM EST.

This event was a false alarm, and exposed major flaws in the system. After decades the EBS was replaced entirely by a streamlined system known as the Emergency Alert System (EAS). The difference between the two systems was drastic.

The EAS’ central control was powered by remote satellite that had the power to suspend the operations of AM and FM radio stations, VHF, UHF, and cable television. As of May 31st 2007, the EAS also forced private digital radio and satellite television broadcasters to participate.

But there were other undocumented powers the EAS had that were farther reaching. It had the ability to send simultaneous text messages to every device connected to the Internet, including cell phones, desktop computers, and gaming consoles. It could send messages to technologies considered obsolete: fax machines, teleprinters, vibroplex morse keys.

So efficient was the EAS that other nations based their own national warning systems on it. Each nation routed their own system through a dedicated satellite switch — which was a failsafe in case of any terrestrial communication jammers. Every warning system utilized the same API.

This was known as the Omniscience API.

It took 25 years for the Omniscience API’s reverse engineering to near its completion. It had to be done in secret lest the authorities got wind and unceremoniously brought it down — replacing it with a back up. For this reason, only Tom and and Johnny knew exactly what the Omniscience API was. The rest of the team simply knew they were doing God’s work.

When the reverse engineering was complete — thoroughly tested and deemed cross compatible — Tom and Johnny brought the whole crew together.

“To be compatible with as many communications mediums as possible, the message will need to have less than 100 characters. Here’s what we got.”

The projector flashed the message across the whitescreen:

This is God. If you don’t stop all your wars within a week, I’m just going to end the world.

Rashid had a question. “How do we make an allowance for a specific deity’s name?”

“There’s an insert function that automatically maps itself to the target’s higher power along with the language translator,” Tom answered, “If the target doesn’t believe in a diety, we adjust to near equivalency.”

Cindy, the beta tester, followed up. “What happens after that week passes? Assuming all the wars end: how long until tensions boil over and war breaks out again? Assuming the wars don’t end: how will the world react when there is no divine retribution — since we are not God?”

“If it doesn’t work,” Tom answered, “Either everyone’s going to have to sort out why God is allowing wars to go on, or they’re just going to have to question God altogether.”

Johnny paused for a moment to choose his words. “Of course, this is a big crap shoot. This may result in nothing, but we have to try for the good of humanity.”

One month later, a young man stirred his long island ice tea in the back of a Miama night club. “Hey remember when we all received that barrage of text messages?”

“Yeah,” his friend laughed, “I’d like to meet the guys who pulled off that prank.”

After Mark David Chapman shot and killed John Lennon, he calmly opened up Catcher in the Rye and proceeded to read it — before being apprehended. John Hinckley, the man who attempted to kill Ronald Reagan, also was in possession of the book. It is also alleged Lee Harvey Oswald was quite fond of the book, though this is disputed.

Catcher in the Rye has sold 65 million copies. Of the millions who have enjoyed the book, perhaps three have become well-known assassins. Still, we should ask: is there any merit to the book being an assassination trigger?

John Hinckley

How did famous assassins perceive Catcher in the Rye?

Of the three assassins, Mark David Chapman was the only one obsessed with it. Being a Christian, Chapman took offense to Lennon’s atheism. He saw John Lennon as a phony, because he saw God as real. By killing Lennon, Chapman hoped to save children from emulating Lennon’s godless ways. Chapman saw Catcher in the Rye as his inspiration.

John Hinckley was not obsessed with Catcher in the Rye. It just so happens that when police entered Hinkley’s residence, Catcher in the Rye was sitting on his coffee table. Hinckley, while mentally unbalanced, had an altogether different obsession: Taxi Driver. Hinkley saw himself as Travis Bickle. By killing Ronald Reagan, he sought to impress Jody Foster.

As for Lee Harvey Oswald, Catcher in the Rye was just several other books he owned. He also had in his possession Animal Farm, Das Kapital, and Mein Kampf. He was also a big fan of spy novels and science fiction.

Why Catcher in the Rye?

Catcher in the Rye depicts Holden Caufield, a 17-year-old boy who narrates from a mental hospital.  The book recounts events over a two day period that happened a month earlier.

To those who do not cope with a mental illness, the plot of Catcher in the Rye seems depressing, and it is. But by the book’s end, it is apparent that events being described are actually the happiest moments in Caufield’s recent memory. What he describes is something that he remembers fondly as joyous and happy.

He chooses not to mention present day, saying simply that he feels “sick”. Seeing, his current life as inconsequential, he feels he needs to “start applying” himself. Inside the mental hospital, he find he misses everyone: his former classmates, Stradlater and Ackley, and even Maurice, the elevator operator/pimp.

What’s striking about Catcher in the Rye isn’t how weird Caufield is, but how normal he is. Rather than being unhinged and unpredictable, Caufield is simply a boy very much like other boys. In this sense, it is easy for someone dealing with depression to identify with him.

Declassified MKULTRA documents

The Grain of Truth in the Conspiracy Theory

While Catcher in the Rye may not have been designed to turn children into cold-blooded killers, it is true that the CIA conducted mind control experiments — some of them seemingly designed to trigger individuals into asssssination mode. The most well-known of these experiments was Project MKULTRA. This project lasted nearly 20 years, and is a catalogue of unethical activity:

 The published evidence indicates that Project MKULTRA involved the use of many methodologies to manipulate individual mental states and alter brain functions, including the surreptitious administration of drugs and other chemicals, hypnosis,[5] sensory deprivation, isolation, verbal and sexual abuse, as well as various forms of torture.

The most infamous example of Project MKULTRA’s activities is the case of Frank Olson. A United State Army biochemist, Olson was given LSD without his consent. Soon after, he fell 13 stories to his death. Officially, it was ruled a suicide, but as Olson’s family points out, Olson planned to blow the whistle on moral issues he had with his research.

When Olson’s body was exhumed in 1994, cranial injuries indicated that Olson had been knocked unconscious before he exited the window. The medical examiner termed Olson’s death a “homicide”.

Why was Olson murdered? Olson’s concerns were the development of assassination materials used by the CIA, collaboration with former Nazi scientists under Operation Paperclip, LSD mind-control research, and the use of psychoactive drugs during “terminal” interrogations under a program code-named Project ARTICHOKE.

Clearly, though Catcher in the Rye probably was not the assassination trigger, it is quite probable that the CIA often does use other means for assassination triggers.

The Great Ji-Hoon Kim

“You mean to tell me there’s some sort of art to bashing someone in the face?” asked an incredulous family friend last Thanksgiving.

“Not only am I telling you it’s a science, I’m telling you it’s a beautiful science,” I replied.

I attempted to explain some of the nuances of boxing to her, but her eyes glazed over. So, I realize the challenge I have when explaining its appeal. Boxing cannot be explained, it has to be seen to be appreciated.

Yet, here I am talking about it. Boxing is a integral part of my life. It’s not the Floyd Mayweather or Manny Pacquiao’s of the world the hold my interest. My favorite fighters are the lunch box brawlers who show up for a few thousand dollars, yet give it their all every fight.

Kim-Amidu, Part I

The fight between Ji-Hoon Kim and Yakubu Amidu was one such fight. The two of them cannot be more dissimilar.

Kim comes from South Korea, a economic powerhouse that is home to several multinational high-tech corporations. It is a nation that once produced several elite level boxers, but has since seen a drop off in talent.

Amidu hails from Ghana. Indeed, it is a third world country located in West Africa, but it is also the world’s third fastest growing economy. Ghana continues to produce top level boxing talent, including Joseph Agbeko, Joshua Clottey, and Osumu Adama.

In many ways, these fighters represent a new reality of boxing. Boxing talent comes from around the world. It is has become globalized — yet talent continues to come to America in pursuit of a dream.

In part of of Kim-Amidu, we see a back and forth in momentum. Both fighters go full bore offensive.

Kim-Amidu, Part II

As you see, Kim and Amidu are not what you would typically see on a top shelf Pay-Per-View fight. They are not beautifully defensive fighters like Floyd Mayweather, nor do they have the calculated blitzes of Manny Pacquiao.  Rather, Kim-Amidu was a great display of brawling.

By “brawl”, I don’t mean that either fighters were sloppy or lacked skill. Brawling is a legitimate, long storied style in boxing. Some of the most famous boxers in history were brawlers including: Micky Ward, George Foreman, and (the fictional) Rocky Balboa.

Brawling, as a style, seems deceptively simple. A brawler moves forward into the killzone, absorbs punishment, then trades with their own (often) harder, more powerful punches. Of course, there’s more to it than that. Brawling is about foot positioning, forcing your opponent onto his heels, and maximizing torque for hooks and uppercuts.

Kim-Amidu, Part III

What made this fight so fun to watch was that both Kim and Amidu were willing to trade — both being convinced of his ability to out-punch, out-muscle, and out-last the other.

At any moment, either Kim or Amidu could have thrown the knockout punch, the equivalent of a home run swing that kept the verdict of the fight out of the judges’ hands. But in the end, both fighters were standing — doubtlessly due to their grade A chins.

Sadly, By virtue of their willingness to trade all too often, both fighters won’t have long careers in boxing. We will be lucky to watch a few more displays of chutzpah on Friday Night Fights. Perhaps one of them will get a crack at an alphabet championship, but both will probably fade into obscurity.

At least they gave us this fight — a fight that entertains. More importantly, it’s a fight that deserves to be seen.

What sane girl has sex with a stranger who, out of the blue, asks her up front if she’d like to have sex?

I went to Philadelphia for one weekend and met Holly. It was during Karaoke at McGillin’s Olde Ale House near the Avenue of the Arts. When I asked her if she wanted to have sex, I did it on a lark, totally expecting her to say “No!” When she said, “Yes!” — I thought I couldn’t let this “opportunity” (Ha ha!) go to waste. So, she came back to the DoubleTree hotel with me.

How things got creepy

Holly was a short, curvy fireball with straight dark brown hair. She had ridiculous curves, which looked ridiculous due to her height but still very sexy — owing to her well-endowed chest. That night, she wore a low cut red top, a short skirt, and obnoxious heels.

Before we left the pub, we finished up drinks and got to talking. It was here that I initially realized something was not right with Holly:

• She told me she was going to be famous. I asked her, “For what?!” — but she wouldn’t tell me.
• She was overconfident about her intelligence. I told her Mayans built pyramids. She corrected me and said, “Honey, only Egyptians built pyramids!” I later showed her on Wikipedia a Mayan pyramid. Her response: “Wikipedia is not accurate.”
• She copiously performed the “duckface” because of the supposed inherent sexiness (see picture above)

Still, Holly had me revved up. She promised to “rock” my world, and make me feel sensations I never felt before.

But one thing became apparent once we got to my hotel. She did not know how to treat a man. Here’s a demonstration of what she thought was the correct way:

Imagine these pit bulls as Holly

After we were finished the deed, we did the usual things: relax, cuddle, have conversation. I briefly left the room to go to the hotel lobby to buy cigarettes. When I returned, I saw something truly insane.

Shit just got real

Sitting down in the bathroom, Holly was rummaging through the trash. She apparently had found the used condom I threw away — and was attempting to untie the knot.

“What are you attempting to do with it?” I asked.

She wouldn’t say.

“Go on,” I insisted, “There must be an explanation.”

“I wanted a keepsake,” she answered.

It was a lie. Whatever she was doing, she didn’t want me knowing about it. All goodwill for Holly went out the window.

Unfortunately, it was 3AM and there was no way I was getting rid of her. She stayed the night, though I got no sleep due to anxiety. If I fell asleep, what would she do?

The next morning, she insisted on me buying her a pancake breakfast. I obliged, and suffered through her attempts to play awkward footsie as well as reading “sexy” messages she kept writing on my napkin.

Believe me, when I left Philadelphia the next Monday morning I thought I heard the last of Holly.

A story worthy of Paul Harvey

And now for the rest of the story…

On Reddit today, it turns out someone else knows Holly. At first we both, thought there could be more than one crazy girl in Philly named Holly. But then, we compared notes. As it turns out, Holly is even crazier than I figured:

The end of my friendship with Holly came when she went through my phone and saw texts to my boyfriend that weren’t umm…really for the public eye, something about bending me over (she didn’t know we were dating and the three of us were “friends”) she had a huge crush on him (he hated her, since she was crazy and all) and she dragged him out of his apartment and yelled at him for 5 hours and called him a cheating bastard (that’s right, she fabricated a whole relationship with him that he wasn’t aware of) and said shit about his family. We stopped talking to her and she started stalking him (driving around his apartment, following him to class, hung around at the gym, friended his friends on facebook) and told people that I was a slut, and that he was a cheater.

It looks like I dodged a bullet just by virtue of leaving Philly the next Monday morning!

When I was a child, I thought a video camera was following me everywhere, and my story was being broadcast on someone else’s television. I thought the reason I couldn’t see the camera was for the same reason the characters on television couldn’t see the camera either.

It was only later that I realized no one was watching me on television.

It was only recently that I realized Google is watching everything I do on the Internet — so we’ve come full circle.

Here’s how I’d describe the experience:

• Person being exorcised was a small college girl, no more than 110lbs.
• She started talking in a deep, throaty, menacing voice lower than a typical man’s.
• Her eyes kept rolling to the back of her head.
• The girl had crazy brute strength. She threw a big football player 6 feet. After that, it took six strong men to hold her down.
• She was talking in a glossolalia

Apparently, this episode was triggered by traumatic childhood events. Honestly, it could be she was just dealing with mental health issues. That kind of thing, though cannot account for what I saw this girl do.

I don’t know how someone who’s never exhibited any athleticism in her life could magically start contorting herself like a circus freak, nor do I understand how someone so tiny could suddenly become a championship power lifter.

Here’s what I do know, though.  She seemed better for it. That year, she met her future husband. They’ve been together for 11 years, and now have two lovely daughters.

On a typical foray into Burns Bog, I encountered a hippie-type fellow by a creek. He was shaking uncontrollably, almost in a convulsion — but he seemed all too aware of the creek.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The water,” he replied in a panicked voice, “It’s going to eat me!”

“Why don’t you just walk away from the water?” I inquired further.

He seemed ponderous for a moment. “Because if I do that, it will sense my vibrations and attack!”

I thought that was funny, then walked off. 20 minutes later, I came across a bucket — and had a brilliant idea. Filling up the bucket with water, I walked back to the panicked man.

Walking towards him, he seemed more frightened than before. But that didn’t stop me. I dumped the whole damn bucket of water over his head.

“AHHHHH!” he screamed.

Then he rolled over, and he started violently shaking. He was shaking so hard, his eyes rolled back. Immediately he started gargling as though he was drowning.

Just then, another bearded dude — this one with glasses — popped out of the trees.

“What the hell did you just do?!” he screamed.

“I was just having a little fun with him!”

“FUCK!!! YOU LITTLE SHIT! Jimmy was just coming down from his acid trip!”

I felt something well up inside me — I knew I did something horrible. And I ran the fuck away never to return.

To this day, I don’t know what happened to that guy.

Image via Wikipedia

Being a Canucks fan is an act of masochism. For 40 years, the Canucks have been the equivalent of psychic cat of nine tails.

Yet, I can’t quit the Canucks. Believe me, I’ve tried. The last straw was in 2003 when the Canucks gave up a 3-1 series lead against the Minnesota wild.

After that series, I said, “Never again” — never again to the personification of failure, a team that cannot understand the concept of winning.

So what happened to me?

Metamorphosis

At 28-years-old, I tipped 200lbs for the first time. With a 5’8″ height, I was fat. Something drastic needed to be done. That something was a drastic exercise regiment.

Image via Wikipedia

I became a boxer. My goal was to remake myself as an assassin with my fists, an archetype of manliness, a whirlwind of not just physicality — but one who can will himself into being.

I ran and skipped; I did push-ups, sit-ups and squats; I learned to put the entire weight of my body in my fist and deliver a ricochet of kinetic energy. My body ached. After months of desperation, I finally gained muscle mass and depleted fat.

An Act of Empathy

When you take up sports, it’s easier to understand achievement. Bernard Hopkins‘ championship win over Jean Pascal was significant. It was all the more significant because he was a 46-year-old man who defeated a respectable title holder 18 years his junior.

Similarly, the Canucks season this year is as significant. We now have a team who is the best  — with more wins than anyone else. We have a goal scorer in Daniel Sedin, with his brother Henrik his equal playmaker.  We have the immense physicality in Ryan Kessler, the lock-in defense of Kevin Bieska, and the elite goaltending of Roberto Luongo.

The Canucks are now a legendary team. It’s a team that’s the opposite of heartbreak. It’s a team that has tasted the edge of elimination in Round 1 of the play-offs, and pulled off wins against all odds. Certainly, the Canucks may not appeal to everyone — but if you cannot respect achievement, you cannot respect the metaphysical nature of sports.

A Time for Reckoning

Image via Wikipedia

The 2011 Stanley Cup Finals is emotionally tiring. The Canucks won two close initial games, then were destroyed in Games 3 and 4 by scores of 8-1 and 4-0 respectively. Then in Game 5, they managed a 1-0 win.

Here in Vancouver, there was hope that they’d do the sane thing and win Game 6. However, the Canucks never do things easy. Within a four minute frame in the first period, the Canucks let in four goals. It seemed like another blowout. Yet, the Canucks continued peppering Boston with 38 shots — managing to scored two goals. The final score of Game 6 was 5-2.

Everything now comes down to Game 7. The hopes and dreams of an entire city rest on their shoulders.

But whoever wins, whatever the results, one can surely appreciate the best Stanley Cups series in recent memory: one in which nothing has come easy, nothing is a foregone conclusion, nothing is ever predictable.

Related articles

• Despite Lopsided Score, Vancouver Canucks Fans Still Packed In Streets (sbnation.com)
• Fastest four goals in final push series to limit (theglobeandmail.com)
• Dejected fans look forward to Game 7 (theprovince.com)

Image via Wikipedia

If you are unaware of what Canadian culture is, blame CanCon. What is CanCon? A CRTC requirement that a certain percentage of content broadcast in Canada must be at least partly written, produced, presented, or otherwise contributed to by persons in Canada. Apart from the CBC, CanCon is rarely responsible for forging a unique Canadian cultural identity.

Nor is it mean to. CanCon exists for purely political reasons — and is ironically destroying real Canadian content.

CanCon Explained

Musicians that receive airplay on Canadian radio usually achieve success in the United States before they are allotted time. For example, Arcade Fire had no commercial radio airplay in Canada until months after the band was widely anointed rising stars in American music media.

With television, the results are more dubious. Canadian networks frequently fulfil Cancon requirements by airing series filmed in Canada but intended primarily for the lucrative United States market. One such production is Stargate SG-1. Few of Stargate’s creative people were Canadian. Canadian involvement was purely financial.

Image via Wikipedia

The Real Problem with CanCon

Most Canadians see CanCon as a quirky-but-benign bureaucratic rule that’s just… there. Unfortunately, CanCon is killing Canadian content. Telcos and broadcasters invoke CanCon requirements to battle back the evil Internet Horde of Progress — in order to protect their revenue streams.

Who is this Internet Horde of Progress I refer to? Netflix.

According to telcos and broadcasters, Netflix should be banned from Canada because it does not fulfil CanCon requirements. Never mind that Netflix catalogue of Canadian content is massive, or that it is easy to procure — a certain percentage of Netflix content is not Canadian!

So here we see that CanCon is not about Canadian content — but about keeping competition out of Canada so the media cartels (as Kemp Edmonds likes to call them) can continue to thrive.

Image via Wikipedia

CanCon’s Destructive Rampage

If we’re going to apply a rule, it should be consistent. If the media cartels are successful at utilizing CanCon to ban Netflix from Canada, they might as well ban YouTube. Better yet, they might as well ban the Internet since it is doubtful even 5% of its content is Canadian.

Yet now, Canadians already cannot access Hulu or Pandora due to CanCon. What has been the effect so far of the ban? Piracy — not because Canadians refuse to compensate creatives for their work, but because their work is being censored.

You would think  piracy would incentivize Canadian telcos and broadcasters to create innovative Intenet channels to consume content. However, they would rather protect current revenue streams by pretending the Internet doesn’t exist.

Personally, I would rather not pirate — partly because it’s more convenient to pay $7/month for instant streaming than it is to torrent. However, if Netflix is banned and the CanCon status quo is upheld, Canada will become a nation of pirates.

If this happens, Canadian artists will not produce new work — since they will not get paid.

Related articles

• CanCon rules for Netflix? Here are some other bright ideas. (macleans.ca)
• Fake CanCon (macleans.ca)
• Canadian Broadcasters: Regulate Netflix Like TV (gigaom.com)

The Google I/O conference arrived, and with much fanfare, the Chromebook was announced. Usually, if I dislike something, I give it a few days to consider its use before I assume further judgement. But in the Chromebook’s case, I feel the same way I felt two days ago: confused. Namely, I just don’t get why anyone would buy this thing for $349 – $499.

Compare what you can get for the same price, and the Chromebook seems like a bad deal.

Chromebook vs. Windows Netbooks

For $249, I can get an entry level 10″ netbook with Windows Starter Edition. Two years ago, I bought an HP Mini for that price, and still use it. All this time, I’ve stored honeymoon pictures, creative writing documents, and music. When I go on vacation, I leave my Macbook and Nexus S at home — but my HP Mini comes with me.

Here’s where my HP Mini outshines the Chromebook: forget about taking your Chromebook to Haida Gwaii or Malta. Forget about bringing it on an airplane. Forget about decent computing without an Internet connection. For $100 less, I can get a computer with more features.

Chromebook vs. iPad

The lowest priced iPad costs $499. Like the Chromebook, it has limitations compared to a Windows netbook — namely, it’s lack of real multi-tasking. But seeing how I can install Garageband and Photoshop on the iPad, that’s forgivable. Both these apps does not require Internet access, and more importantly, I can store all my files on my iPad!

Google admits the Chromebook isn’t necessarily built for apps like Photoshop, but at its current price, shouldn’t it? If I’m limited to only using glorified web apps, shouldn’t the price of the Chromebook be significantly less? Docked to a keyboard, an iPad is an adequate machine for daily use — even with its many limitations. I’m not so sure about the Chromebook.

Chromebook versus Android

The most puzzling aspect of the Chromebook seems to be that it competes with it’s other platform. The Motorola Atrix, which costs $199.99 on a two year contract, comes with a webtop application — which converts the smartphone into a traditional desktop interface when plugged into a laptop dock. Here too, I should point out a weakness. Without the handset plugged in, the laptop is useless.

Again, it seems to have more functionality to me than the Chromebook. I can store apps locally on the Atrix as well as files. More ominous for the Chromebook, the Atrix integrates just as well with Google Apps. At a competitive price, I can do everything the Chromebook does with as much Google Apps integration — the additional advantage of not being so dependant on the cloud.

Maybe there’s something about the Chromebook I’m missing, but compared to competitive products, I just don’t see what the big deal is.