Month: March 2014

Last summer, my industry was wounded by the death of famed hacker Barnaby Jack. In January, we learned that he died of an overdose, including a mix of heroin, cocaine and prescription drugs.

People made a lot of stupid comments back then, especially those responding to The Register‘s article. One jackass called him a loser who wouldn’t be missed.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/0LFVQpDKHk4

I didn’t know Barnaby as well as some of my infosec friends did, but I always enjoyed talking to him. He was friendly, fun and brilliant. I was a huge fan of his work, and when I think of the important business he had before him, I want to punch the idiot who called him a loser. As for whether he is missed, I know people who were pretty close to him who are still devastated.

I mention all this to set you up for an article from Metro scribe Donna Chisholm. Unlike the sensationalized crap written in January, this article does him justice.

Oh, it doesn’t skate around the dark stuff. Chisholm writes:

On a Thursday afternoon, alone in bed in his comfortable top-floor apartment, opposite The Ritz in San Francisco’s Nob Hill, Barnes died of an accidental overdose of heroin, cocaine and prescription medicines.

The scope of the tragedy is laid bare. But the balance of the article focuses on what’s really important: how he lived.

She writes of the 2010 Black Hat presentation that sent his star soaring:

He became world famous in 2010 when, at the annual Black Hat convention on computer security at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas — despite its name, it’s where the white hats gather — he showed, with all the flair of a Vegas magician, how he could remotely hack into an ATM. Bank notes flew all over the stage, his peers cheered, and Barnes stood at the podium and nearly pissed himself laughing.

She writes about his shift from ATM hacking to exploiting weaknesses in heart pacemakers and insulin pumps. “As he did with the ATMs, he first bought the devices and took them apart to see how they worked, and talked to patients about how they used them,” Chisholm explains.

Was his partying the result of a hidden pain, a hole in his soul? Perhaps. But we all have those holes. We’re all broken in some fashion. Some of us try to numb the pain with drugs. Others turn to excessive spending and binge eating. Some find the balance needed to control temptations. Some don’t.

That’s what being human is about: facing struggle after struggle, making mistakes and, hopefully, overcoming obstacles.

Barnes had his struggles, to be sure. But it didn’t stop him from doing the kind of work that will benefit countless people for generations to come.

Others will build on his work. What he started can’t be stopped. Thank God for that.

Barnaby Jack lived well. He was a blessing to those around him and a master at his craft.

That matters far more than how he died.

On March 19, 1982, the world lost one of its greatest musicians in a plane crash: Randy Rhoads.

Mood music:

The songwriting and guitar playing he did on Ozzy Osbourne’s first two solo albums — “Blizzard of Oz” and “Diary of a Madman” — is required listening for anyone who is serious about playing the instrument.

He was also something rare in Rock ‘n Roll: a humble man who was ready to give up his success and fame in favor of earning a degree in classical guitar at UCLA.

The man’s goodness as a human being and prowess as a musician has been a big influence on me. Make no mistake about that. Whenever I need the inspiration to do my absolute best — whatever the task — I put on one of those albums. The mental sluggishness leaves me every time.

Rest in peace, beautiful soul.

 

In the course of writing this blog, I get a lot of flack from some people. That’s fine, because I know I’m not always right. But there’s a certain class of people who get under my skin: those who claim to have all the answers.

Mood music:

There’s the reader who bristles whenever I write about medication for depression, OCD and other disorders of the brain. She knows the answer to just about any mental disorder, you see. It’s simple: Adopt a gluten-free diet.

There’s the fitness fanatic who thinks people talking about their weaknesses are some lower form of life. Just lift weights and adopt a paleo diet. All else is the stuff of someone who cries a lot and makes excuses for everything.

While I respect their opinions and am thrilled they found something that works for them, their one-size-fits-all school of thought is flawed.

Sure, there are plenty of cases where medication is the wrong answer. People are misdiagnosed all the time, and they end up on meds that make things worse. But there are also many others who turned to medicine when all else proved inadequate. Like me. There’s a science to mental disorder, and the meds are designed to address specific problems. A gluten-free diet may help a few people. But a universal treatment? Smoke another one.

And though a lot of people get by just fine without discussing their weaknesses, others need to talk in order to address the things that hold them back.

I will continue to discuss my challenges. Not because I want sympathy, but because doing so leads me down more useful, effective avenues. Also, the vast majority of feedback tells me it helps other people do the same.

Those who don’t agree can keep telling me so. Or they can go read something else.

Both kids have reached double digits since I last did a post like this, which means they’ve gone from cute to witty. Like their old man, that wit is delivered with a sharp tongue. Here’s what they’ve been saying and doing in recent weeks.

Like a lot of kids their age, Sean and Duncan are very much into Minecraft and Wii LEGO games. They take the activities very seriously and will frequently yell at the laptop or TV if things aren’t going their way. Sometimes I try to brighten their spirits, reminding them it’s only a game that should be fun. Other times I’ll needle them. Either way, they work hard to come back with real crushers.

Sean: “Dad, nobody likes you. I can’t for the life of me figure out what Mom sees in you.”

Duncan: “Get a life, Dad. I hear they’re good.”

Ask the kids who’s in charge of the castle, and they won’t hesitate to tell you it ain’t me.

Sean, describing his mom’s vocal level when one of us is in trouble: “When she yells ‘Move!’ all the dead people jump out of their graves and run.”

Sean: “Dad is very careful to make sure Mom gets downtime. He knows that when she doesn’t get downtime, everything burns.”

Noticing that Sean didn’t put his bowl in the dishwasher, I made him come downstairs.

Me: “Look in the sink and tell me what’s wrong with this picture.”

Sean: “You’re in it.”

We’re sitting in the orthodontist’s waiting room when a mom brings her 7 year old son in for his first appointment. The boy says he’s a little scared and “hopes the laser doesn’t hurt.”

Hearing this, Sean tells him, “Don’t worry. It doesn’t hurt till after they’re done with the laser.”

Sean’s self-portrait:

Duncan recently made his own fortune cookies. This included writing the fortunes:

The boys love to get a rise out of each other. Sean likes to use art as a weapon: