I AM NOT A BOT Episode 8: “WannaCry”

Alpha. I don’t know how to end this.

Another quote sounds like a 1/3 idea. Like you AI’ed me this morning, dad, If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.

How about one more quiz question?

This cryptoworm was the biggest ransomware attack in history. It spread within days to more than 250,000 systems in 150 countries, including Russia, Ukraine, India, and Taiwan. Nissan Motors, FedEx, China National Petroleum, Renault SA, Deutsche Bahn, Hitachi, Sberbank of Russia, Yancheng police department in China, and the Russian Interior Ministry were all victims.

I pause my video recording. I think of hitting delete, but I stop myself from that extreme.

I look at your diary one last time.  I try to picture your younger self. I fail. My head is filled with more recent memories of you.

Three years ago, a cholecystectomy.

Six months later, mild cognitive impairment (MCI).

That Thanksgiving, with all of us visiting AZ for the first time. You didn’t cook. You couldn’t cook and you loved to cook.

That Monday, after we all left, Mom lost you at the mall.

Six months later, you crashed your car during a rare rainstorm in the desert. It turned out it wasn’t the rain. You passed out before you hit the highway divide.

You survived the crash. At least you did until –

-- I close my eyes to hold the tears. It works. I hit the red button.

Dad, I learned something recently that you would like. It is the Japanese learning principle of Kaizen, or the idea of continuous self-improvement. Essential to Kaizen’s success is a long-term commitment to consistent, incremental improvements that accumulate over a lifetime to create the highest quality of good.

I think of stopping the recording again like I’ve done all morning. But I stop myself from stopping myself.

I’m recording this time of my life just like you recorded your same time so many years ago. I was hoping you would be able to see it … to hear it … to know that I have changed directions. That I finally changed directions. 

The thing is I don’t know if I can make it in this new world, dad. I’ve talked to alumni of this program three, six months ahead. So many of them are back doing what they were doing before taking this class. Back to being real estate agents, sales … bartenders.

There seems to be no such thing as entry-level Cybersecurity jobs. Every zero day opportunity I’ve come across requires multiple years of experience. How that makes sense is one of the biggest unknown unknowns. 

I pause. I touch my laptop. I grab a pen. I poke myself in my forearm. Lightly, I think.

Is this real, dad? Is any of this real? I don’t know. Sometimes, I don’t know.

Oh, I forgot to mention, dad. There was this guy, Marcus Hutchins. A kid really. He stopped that high stakes attack I mentioned earlier. He found a kill switch hidden in the code. All he needed to do was register a web domain and he stopped all the bad. He stopped all the – 

-- I wanted to do that for you, dad. I wanted to find the kill switch and end all your suffering. But I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I …

… I want to do this for you, dad. I want to be a better person. I want to take a road less traveled. I wanted to pursue a dream like you did when you were my age. I want this for you, dad. I want to …

I want to cry, dad. I wannacry. I do. And I do. And I do.

And that’s how I know this is real. I think. I laugh. And I cry. I do all of those three things. Just like you’ve always taught me. That’s how I know I am alive. That’s how I know my love for you will endure. That’s how I know I will endure.

Omega.

I AM NOT A BOT Episode 5: “Alpha Omega”

The first thing my father wrote in his journal was about the Beatles song, “Ticket to Ride”.

Just told our Director of Nursing, Nancy, the truth about her favorite Beatles song. She thought that song was about what Paul and John encountered on a hitchhiking trip to Ryde, a town on the northeastern coast of the Isle of Wight.

I had to pervert her pollyannic pov with the fact that a “Ticket to Ride” is actually about hookers in Hamburg who needed to get health clearance documents from the government, which John dubbed “tickets”, in order to perform their “rides”.

I LOL’ed the first time I read this. I’m LOL’ing now upon my tenth. That’s because I do the same kind of music origin corrections all the time. Just last night at the bar, I told this backward-cap wearing Hobokenite that the Beastie Boy’s “Fight for Your Right to Party” is a parody song that actually makes fun of backward cap wearing frat boys who ironically love to throttle this song.

I probably should’ve held that reveal until after he paid his bill given his $1 FU very much of a tip.

My teacher disrupts yet another perfectly good distraction session with his review of Lockheed Martin's Cyber Kill Chain Model.

“Phase 1 is Reconnaissance.”

He goes on to talk about harvesting login credentials, email addresses, user IDs, physical locations, software applications, and operating system details, all of which may be useful in phishing or spoofing attacks.

I continue on with my own recon assignment. My mission to understand my father better via a review of his journal that he wrote when he was my age. On the surface, our situations could not be more different. He with a wife, two kids, and two careers. Me being 0 for each one of those at bats.

Between the lines, on the other hand, we could not be more alike.

Take basketball and the NBA for example. When I was a kid, my first hoops hero was Patrick Ewing of the ‘90s NY Knicks. Michael Jordan, his Airness, was my decade long disdain.

It seems my father’s had an equally tortuous love affair with Julius Irving. Now I don’t know if he liked that player because of his medical connect nickname, “Dr. J”, or simply because of his high flying act. Either way, despite his transcendence, Dr. J was also denied a ‘chip year after year by Celtic legends and Laker magic.

Though if I had a chance to sit with my dad and talk to him again like when we did so often when I was kid, I wouldn’t be asking him about musical origin stories or sports fanaticism. No. I would want to hear about those three weeks during the brutal winter of ’82 that he mentioned in his journal. That time when he and a few of his fellow 3rd shifters briefly turned to cocaine as a means to keep up with their exhausting work schedules.

Or I’d talk to him about his work boondoggle to Vegas in ’83, his first physician’s convention that just so happened to coincide with the inaugural AEE expo at the LV Convention Center. At the least, I would want to know more about the event flyer he hid in his journal with the double entendre notation, “thanks for coming”, written in lipstick red.

I stare down his book and all its one-sided conversations. I picture a few more hopeful quotes for the future he put in there.

“Just one small positive thought in the morning can change your whole day.”

That’s a tough one for me to follow these days, dad. Not with everything that’s going on. Not with you …

“Love your family, work super hard, live your passion.”

That’s an easy one to picture you saying. At the same time, I’m left wondering if you had a passion beyond helping others as a doctor? One beyond loving and caring for your family?

With all your star-crossed soliloquies here, it was clear your right brain was as charged as your left. Maybe you were writing this journal as an artistic outlet, a fulfillment of a dream you were never able to pursue.

I guess I will never know.

“Phase 2 of the Kill Chain is Weaponization. Where an attacker creates some kind of remote access malware that can exploit a known vulnerability.”

Your vulnerability was your overextension. The two jobs you needed to take on to take care of us. I don’t blame you for dabbling into coca. I did for a time because I struggled with a few double shifts. You double shifted most of your adult life. You worked for 16-18 hours a day, for almost two decades to support your family.

“The 3rd Phase is the Delivery or the launch where the attacker sends email attachments or a malicious link. In Phase 4, Exploitation, the malicious code is executed within the victim’s system.”

Your virus knew of your constant state of exhaustion. Knew it could nick away at your consciousness, your right brain, your left. To your credit, you held it at bay for decades, refusing to give in to it until your family was completely safe.

Eventually … inevitably you stroked out. Just as you were finally able to rest. Just a few years after you retired. Just a few months after you built your dream home in Arizona.

“Phase 5: Installation. This is a turning point in the attack lifecycle, as the threat actor has entered the system and can now assume control. Phase 6 is Command and Control where the attacker moves laterally throughout the network.”

Now your days … your final days … are to be spent bedridden. Mom is by your side, as always, dad, but she is struggling. She is refusing to accept the help you need. That she needs as well.

There is hope though. Help is on the way. Your daughter is coming to help. You knew that would happen. As is your older son if you can believe that. Both are coming to give mom relief and to convince her to accept the hospice care that is being offered.

I will be coming there too, as soon as I finish this course. You can wait til then, right dad? Right?

“The final phase, Phase 7: Actions on Objective. In this stage, the attacker takes steps to carry out their intended goals.”

You have to hang on, dad. We know we can’t stop what’s ailing you. But we can … we will … just not yet, dad. Hang on a little longer, ok?

I turn the video share off on Zoom. I then look longingly at my dad’s journal.

These pages. These entries. I am so happy I’ve found them. To find this little more of you. I know you can’t, but still I want to try to talk to you about them when I get there. So you hang on now.

I want to know why you stopped writing in this journal. Or any journal. And why you left this one book behind. Although I think I know.

On May 31, 1983, you wrote with the utmost joy that your beloved Dr. J did finally win a championship. After years taking care of a whole league with his years of iconic memory making on the court and years of admirable ambassadorship off the court, Dr. J finally achieved his ultimate goal.

On June 2, 1983, you talked about a day on the horizon, a day coming soon when you could retire from the police force, your second job.

On that day, you wrote, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.”

But if I recall correctly, you didn’t retire from your second job until much later. Not until the 1990s.. It’s one of my first memories I have of you, dad. Your retirement ceremony. I remember mom being so happy.

Still, I wonder. Did you ever get to spend more quality time with mom? Did you get to follow your passion? Your dream? Whatever you were talking about in ’83?

After a long pause in between entries, on September 6, 1983, you wrote your final entry. You wrote that mom revealed to you that she was pregnant with me. You said you couldn’t believe it at first, then followed with how excited you were. That you wanted to call me Julius -- or Julia if I were to be a girl.

Mom obviously won that name game battle. But, dad, you are going to win the war. If I ever have a kid, you can be damn sure Julius will be your grandchild’s name.

You just gotta … just hold on for me, dad. I can’t wait to tell you about your future grandson, Julius. Or Julia if a granddaughter.

You just … please, dad. It’s almost over.

Alpha. Omega.

I AM NOT A BOT Episode 4: “(Un)Knowns”

“Every story is a love story,” my father wrote to me this morning.

Each day for the past year, my father has sent me a famous quote, a one line … uh … life lesson … spiritual reminder … fortune cookie horoscopic thingee … I don’t know exactly what you call it. All I know is that they are nice connects in a time when our connects have become fewer and farther between.

My teacher Rumsfelds on, “The Johari Window places all your Cybersecurity threats into four quadrants. Can you name them?”

Before he can finish asking, Edamame types into the Zoom chat,

“I. Known Knowns

II. Known Unknowns

II. Unknown Knowns

IV. Unknown Unknowns”

ZaeZae posts a big smack of lips on Discord.

NotSoShi replies, “Lol. Quit it!”

“Now can anyone give me an example of each?”

“Hold on. Before Mr. Known-It-All sucks up all our participation points,” ZaeZae jokers on Zoom, “Let me take a shot.”

Smiles are seen across our Zoom boxes.

“All the main malware disruptions we’ve been studying -- Distributed Denial of Service, Phishing Emails, Ransomware – those are Known Knowns.

“On the other hand, those big surprises, those Zero Day exploits, are examples of Unknown Unknowns.”

Edamame breaks in via our Zoom chat, “Don’t forget about your Black Swan Events.” He provides this add as much for the knowledge share as to playfully jab back at ZaeZae.

“This guy!” ZaeZae Discords along with a big cry face emoji.

“What’s a Black Swan Event?” NotSoShi asks over Zoom.

JZ99 jumps in, “It’s like the Solar Winds attacks we were discussing last week.”

“That’s right,” our teacher confirms. “Those major, months in the planning, precisely executed, big scores.”

My zoom box smiles when I remember a great line my dad sent me recently …

“Good timing is invisible. Bad timing sticks out a mile.” -- Tony Corinda

NotSoShi types a question wrapped in a statement, “The difference between a Known Unknown and an Unknown Known always messes me up.”

Another Known Known is our teacher following our big questions with this question, “Does anyone want to tackle that?”

Even our Discord line stays muted.

“One is hidden, the other is a blind spot,” I say out loud before I even know I am saying it.

“Good. Care to expand on that?”

This is followed by more silence.

I know that he’s talking to me. And despite me elevating my morning Adderall intake, my mind starts to drift away as I hear Stromae‘s “Santé'' sounding off on my Spotify playlist. I trigger away to my current relationship with my father.

My parents moved to Arizona five years ago. That physical detachment was the beginning of the end of my relationship with my dad.

The move was quite sudden, at least to me and my sibs. I’m sure it was a more complicated decision, but they said they simply wanted a change after living in the same house in New Jersey for over 30 years.

ZaeZae picks me up, “A Known Unknown is a vulnerability you are hiding from bad actors. An area you know you are weak, yet have no idea how to solve based on the tools, resources, and talent in your stable at the time.”

I try to refocus on the Zoom boxes, but I can only think of my parents. Were my parents hiding something from me and my sibs? Were we their bad actors?

My sister is definitely not a bad actor. She is everything you want from a daughter. A Pediatric Nurse Practitioner. Caretaker of her family. Caretaker of our family. Never a complaint whispered.

Alpha.

My brother on the other hand –

“-- Unknown Knowns are far more dangerous,” ZaeZae continues. “These are blind spots. In this window, the analyst is either uncertain of an infection or totally unaware of an infection.”

Omega.

That’s my big bro in a nutshell. He literally has tried to be an actor. And he literally was one of the baddest I ever saw. But my parents never saw it that way. They’ve never seen any of his flaws that way. At least my dad never did.

My teacher adds, “These blind spots are usually the result of a lack of event log resources that could provide such intel.”

“Log everything,” Edamame follows on the Zoom chat.

My focus shifts to the years-worn, leather bound journal on the corner of my desk. I open it and sift through it while reminiscing on its journey to me.

At the behest of my parents, my sibs and I sold or dumped everything in their old house – everything besides the two suitcases of clothes and one modest crate of memorabilia that my parents brought west with them.

I personally drove 16 donation boxes to my sister’s hospital and other care centers of her choosing. One of the boxes, overstuffed with books, burst open like a pinata on my last run. So I had to hand deliver each medical book, each travel book, and each self-help book my parents had amassed over the years to the Salvation Army.

However, due to this fiasco, I found and saved this pages-curled, coffee-stained notebook that now resides on my desk. This journal I kept. My father’s journal. A relatively short, but poignant record that he wrote, ironically, while he was the same age I am now.

Of course, at that time, he had two kids and had two jobs. Which means he didn’t have time for dissertations, just some streams of consciousness – short stories mixed with all kinds of one-liners. The one I love the most is …

“The two most important warriors are patience and time.” – Leo Tolstoy

I know I should give it back to my dad, but I justify that inaction with the idea that he left it behind for a reason. Besides, what’s the point these days?

There are no pages on me, unfortunately. I was not born yet. Yet every time I read it, I feel like he is talking directly to me.

Or better yet, I sometimes think I am an alternate universe version of him. At the same age I am now, he was married with two kids and two jobs. I am single. Carefree. Careless. Nothing weighing on me besides my own expectations.

I close the notebook. The window to my father’s mind. A window to my own?

Decades prior, my father wrote the following, which I can only hope sums up the life he is living today, “All my dreams will be fulfilled at the proper time.” – Lailah Gifty Akita

Unknown Unknowns.

I AM NOT A BOT: Episode 1 “fr”

How many pics have a boat in it, I am told to ask myself.

click

click

click

…

click

Almost missed one. How do you almost miss a boat?

Dear decoder kings, a bot cannot click on three non-sequential, patternless boxes. So you don’t need to have me self-debate whether a dingy has the same constitutional properties as a yacht. Alpha. Omega.

Although I do admire the business model of making us prove we are not artificial. That we are, in fact, real. In a ChatGPT plagiarizing, Crypto-exchange world, I feel my real is becoming as abstract as Manet’s “Lilies in a Haystack at Dusk”. Or is that Monet?

I finally Zoom into my Cybersecurity class, already in progress. I hear the teacher ask the cohort,

“A security analyst identified some potentially malicious processes after capturing the contents of memory from a machine during an incident response. Which of the following procedures is the NEXT step for further investigation?

A. Data Carving

B. Timeline Construction

C. File Cloning

D. Reverse Engineering”

JZ99 jumps into the Zoom chat and types, "A. Carving = Memory.”

Unbeknownst to our teacher, a few of us have a concurrent Discord chat that trolls our class’s progress, or lack thereof in this case.

Various “X”’s, buzzer sounds, and frowny faces emote that we disagree with JZ99.

Our gal from Nepal quick clicks into the Zoom chat, “Data Carving is what you do to get the evidence. Reverse Engineering is what you do NEXT with this evidence.”

"CompTIA out to obfuscate again,” Edamame Discords.

NotSoShi adds, “Can’t you just ask us if we know what Data Carving is?”

ZaeZae subtracts, "CompTIA sucks.”

This last response gets a series of supportive finger points and “fr” responses. I’m one of the pointers, even though I feel myself drifting away from this online conversation.

The class continues. My self-diagnosed ADHD, on the other hand, carries me to my origin story.

I didn’t have a big a-ha moment when I decided to take this path less traveled that is Cybersecurity training. Somewhere between the pouring of the ½ oz of maple syrup and the mint leaf garnering on my umpteenth, ticketed Mojito, I simply decided that this was no longer the way.

I admit I do miss toasting the newlywed couple and their wedding party with a line of Love Bites. And, yes, few things in life are more intoxicating than pouring a party of 21’s their first Bikini Martinis. I also wish I could cocktail an Old Fashioned for my father again, but as he would say, “Your body knows when it’s time to go before any clock could tell you.”

This is why I have about two dozen tabs open on my screen today. Everything from the “Advent of Cyber” with TryHackMe to “Certified Breakfast” with Andrei Ciorba to Hacksplaining.com at the ready for translation purposes. All with Tash Sultana’s Tiny Desk performance on Youtube serenading this session, which somehow helps me stay attached to this new task and purpose.

I smile as I see that ZaeZae has once again incited our Discord crew. And once more, he garners finger point after finger point of support.

I smile wider, knowing that I made the right move.

Despite not really knowing what ZaeZae is talking about, I top off this conversation with my own ...

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