Thiefhunters in Paradise

LVMPD Detective Kim Thomas

• Identity theft is now the number one crime in the world.
• Las Vegas is number one in the U.S. for ID theft; even though it’s estimated that only 20% of the crimes are reported.
• The FBI estimates that seven out of every ten stolen dollars end up in Las Vegas. There’s more money in Vegas than most places. Hence Vegas’s place at the top of the ID theft heap.

These wispy facts were spit out by Las Vegas Metro Police Department Forgery Detail’s Detective Kim Thomas at the start of his recent identity theft presentation. Then he got to the scary stuff.

I recently wrote about “profiles,” the findable bits of personal information about an individual. A utility bill constitutes a profile, though not as good of one as a loan application. Envelopes, receipts, statements, are others.

Detective Thomas emphasized the importance of shredding all documents before discarding them. Then he pointed out how something as simple as a discarded box can trigger both a burglary and ID theft. He gave the example of a resident getting a new plasma tv. A trawling thief spots the box at the curb on trash day. He watches the house and notes when it’s unoccupied. Then he steals a truck, kicks in the front door (that’s how they break in nowadays, Det. Thomas explained; no finesse involved), grabs the tv—and the pile of bills in the kitchen at the same time. “Even a box has value to someone,” he said. “Cut it up.”

We can shred.

We can break down our discarded boxes, or take them to dumpsters.

We cannot control how businesses store and discard our data. (My own little example: I went to a health clinic where patients are given forms on clipboards to fill out and return to the desk. When I returned to the unattended desk with my completed forms, I stood staring at other patients’ medical histories and Social Security numbers on the clipboards they’d left on the desk as instructed.)

Credit card data skimmer: the size of a Bic lighter.

But here’s the big thing now: skimmers. Wait! You think you know, but I’m about to describe the very latest in skimmers; not the deck-of-cards-sized box in a waitress’s apron, not the big old multi-part plastic set-ups of yesterday stuck onto ATMs. If you’re not sure exactly what a skimmer is, read the three little paragraphs of my previous post. In the old days (not very long ago), waiters and store clerks were given skimmers to swipe credit cards through and they were paid for the data they collected. But a waiter might talk if caught. A store clerk will be watched if suspected, leading police to the skim-master. And how many cards can they skim in a day, anyway?

Skimmer with keypad taken off ATM.

Old news: nowadays, skimmers are attached to the fronts of ATMs and gas pumps. Yeah, we know. But you probably don’t know how impressive the latest version is. It’s tiny: 3.5 inches long, by a half inch by a quarter inch. It’s almost impossible to detect. It contains batteries charged by an induction plate and stores data on a camera memory card. It attaches to a thin number pad overlay to capture PINs, and as a secondary method, also has a motion-activated video camera (jury-rigged from a high-end mobile phone) which is time-tagged to match up with the right credit card info. It has a bluetooth transmitter that allows remote, anonymous downloads, which means the skim-master doesn’t have to go near the scene of the crime, once the thing is installed.

About 40 of these tiny self-contained data-collectors have been recovered in Las Vegas in the past month. Probably more by now. Certainly more still out there, too.

Where do you get your gas?

Skimmer (somewhere) inside a gas pump.

Yes, they’re still stuck onto the fronts of ATMs. But they’re also put inside gas pumps. How do you open a gas pump? Use the same key that opens an RV storage locker, five bucks online. LVMPD found that one of these skimmers can be installed in eight minutes flat. Which, they figure, means the skim-master can probably do it in seven.

Edited 3/15/10 to add: Detective Kim Thomas explains how skimmers are hidden inside gas pumps in about 11 seconds. Yes, 11 seconds!

Yes, there’s more to tell.

Sorry, everyone, for the previous article, Traveling with luggage. It was posted accidentally, out of order. The next article in my credit card fraud and identity theft series is coming soon.

Halliburton aluminum luggage. Goes anywhere.

I’m sure it sounds obsessive to mention the necessity of onboard watchfulness when you fly. The likelihood of theft while on an aircraft is low, granted; but it’s unpredictable, and that’s the problem. If you’re carrying valuables, say cash, jewelry, even credit cards, you may as well continue with your precautions. The risks are to the carry-on items you can’t see: those in the overhead compartment can be ransacked practically under your nose—or above your nose. Those under the seat in front of you are vulnerable if you sleep or leave them while you get up. [Read Kayla's experience, below.] I want to stress that these are low-probability scenarios, especially if you’re not traveling alone. Your degree of precaution must harmonize with your comfort level and the value of the items you carry.

Sadly, suitcases are occasionally compromised while in the airlines’ possession. The odd unscrupulous employee needs only the moment of opportunity. It’s well-known that most luggage locks are next to useless. Keys are generic, and even combination locks have certain pressure points which free latches.

Bob and I believe in hard-sided luggage. The ones we use are aluminum, made by Zero Halliburton. They’re not for everyone, being both heavy and expensive. But when our bags were forced with a crowbar or other tool somewhere on the nether tarmac of the Miami airport, the locks and hinges held tight. Shiny scars in the seam, as if gnawed by a metal-eating mouse, were the only evidence of serious tampering.

Who's throwing your luggage around?

As we watch our silvery Halliburtons trundle off toward baggage handlers in Lusaka, in Santiago, in Mexico City, filled with sound and video equipment or perhaps with our favorite shoes from Florence, we’re eternally grateful for and confident in their sturdy locking mechanisms. Even more so after trying desperately and failing to break into our own locked suitcase when it jammed once in London.

Of course bags like these do call attention to themselves and an argument can be made for using inexpensive luggage. One world-traveling couple we met swore by the cheap stuff. After repeated thefts from their Louis Vuitton cases at Heathrow airport, they resorted to department store brands, buying new bags every year or so. A small price to pay, they say, given the cost of their trip and value of their belongings. That’s their argument, but I don’t buy it. I say buy the best bags you can find and afford and use their locks [whenever possible].

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Three (part-e): Getting There—With all your Marbles

Theft on a plane

“Kayla,” a 15-year-old girl, told me how her wallet was stolen on a cross-country flight. Her mother and sister supported Kayla’s story. The thief was a 35ish woman sitting next to her. In the middle of the flight, the woman bent down and pretended to be digging in her purse. But Kayla felt something and looked, and could see that the woman was digging in her (Kayla’s) purse. Kayla said she was too scared to say anything. The woman got up and went to the bathroom. Kayla checked her purse and found that her wallet was gone. She told her mother. Then she and her mother told a flight attendant. The flight attendant found the wallet in the bathroom, missing only Kayla’s cash. Kayla was still too afraid to say anything to the thief. When the plane landed, the woman just left.

A little background, as reference for my next post:

A skimmer is a battery-operated device smaller than a deck of cards with a slot for swiping credit cards. It reads and stores data embedded in the magnetic strip on the back of the card. Restaurant waiters are the typical recruit, given the contraption and requested to swipe each credit card as they take customers’ payments. At the end of the shift, the data collector shows up with a computer and downloads the skimmer’s memory, which might hold the information from a hundred or more cards.

This is effective data collection; and the waiters—for the data collector solicits many of them—may not even understand the purpose of the exercise for which they receive a nice little tax-free chunk of change. Restaurant and service station employees are reportedly earning over $100 for each credit card they skim.

Meanwhile, the customer has no way of knowing that his credit card has been skimmed. Some privacy advocates and security experts recommend that you never let your credit card out of your sight. I find this advice impractical to the point of impossible, but it’s a question of compromise: convenience in exchange for risk. Each of us must decide where to live along that scale. While I might hand my credit card over to a waiter for processing, you might decide to follow him to the charge machine and supervise the transaction.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Nine: You’ve Got a Criminal Clone

• • • Yeah. That was then. Wait ’til you read about now!

A former mortgage broker put 40 boxes of customers’ personal information into a Las Vegas dumpster. It was December 2006, but we all knew enough about identity theft already to know better. The Fair and Accurate Credit Transactions Act of 2003, effective in 2005, requires the proper disposal of consumer report information and records, as does state law.

The boxes were found and put into safekeeping, probably before any documents were stolen from them. The Las Vegas Sun reported that the boxes contained “tax returns, mortgage applications, bank statements, photocopies of credit cards and drivers’ licenses, at least 230 consumer reports, and other documents containing sensitive consumer information.” Only now is the Federal Trade Commission charging former mortgage broker Gregory Navone with violating the Act.

Five gone-bust mortgage brokers dumped documents at around the same time—five that we know of. We can assume that many others dumped docs too, or deserted their premises complete with documents, which were left for the bad guys to find. No wonder Las Vegas is at the forefront of fraud and identity theft.

Bob and I recently spent many hours with a tweeker (meth-addict) during one of her clean and coherent spells. I’ll call her Kristin, because I can’t use her beautiful, real name. The time was just between her release from jail and her next bust. She had a job, her family had taken her back in and were supportive, and she was poring over a university catalog. She was full of hope and determination.

But the boyfriend…. Still in prison, a meth-cooker and ID thief, due out soon, demanding daily phone calls to keep his girl tied to the old life…

Right. He got out and Kristin disappeared. Back into the cycle of drugs and ID theft. We could have cried for her, this pretty 21-year-old. She was smart, but not strong enough to resist the lure of meth and easy money.

When she was high, she told us, she knew she’d never be caught; she was too clever. She knew she was going to get caught; she was always looking over her shoulder. Confident and paranoid.

In those hours we spent with Kristin, she told us how she used to “get profiles.” A profile is information about a person. It doesn’t have to be much because with a little goes a long way. With a little, you can find the rest.

Her favorite way to get profiles was out of dumpsters located behind businesses. She’d also get quick-credit apps from insiders in casino booths, who’d allow her to take a few off the top on the way to the shredder. Car registrations were good, too, easily found in glove compartments.

With the profiles, she created IDs. First simple ones, just good enough to allow her to purchase the special inks and papers needed to print government IDs. She had the precious printer, but supplies for it are regulated. For Kristin, easy to get around with a simple fake ID, a sweet smile.

With her newly minted IDs and profiles (for herself and her pals), Kristin and her team leased cars. Cadillac SUVs, to be specific, whatever they’re called. They always drove the latest models. They had an endless source of identities, cash, and credit.

They lived in motels, where they set up their mobile meth labs. Kristin, just the clean-up girl in the operation, got too close to the fumes once and got chemical burns on her face, neck, chest, hands, and arms. She was scabbed over for a year. She pointed out the scars, and the thick makeup she wore on her face to minimize them.

In a moment of desperation, Kristin once grabbed the profile of a wealthy family friend from her father’s home office. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she told us how she destroyed the man’s credit—and her father. Because he knew. She was ashamed of herself; mortified. Now she recognized that she was out of jail on an incredibly lucky break. She was going to study to become an architect. She was going to return to ballet.

Kristin’s back at it again, getting profiles, getting cash and credit on other people’s good histories, wreaking havoc. She and how many others?

Many people tell us they’re afraid to shop and bank online. But these activities are not a big factor in identity theft. The real threat is out of our hands. It’s how others keep our information. Big businesses with databases. Small businesses with manila folders. Mom & pops with a property to rent and an old box of rental apps (as I recently found in my garage—and shredded).

One man’s garbage is another’s fortune. Kristin and her friends are ready to exploit that old, forgotten information.

But there’s worse. Much worse. I’ll write about that soon.

A Portuguese pickpocket

Thieves are thick on Lisbon’s two main tourist trams, 15 and 28. Within five minutes of arriving at a tram stop for #28, we’d pegged a pair of pickpockets. One carried a flat messenger bag and a newspaper, the other carried a jacket in the sweltering heat.

They stood well away from the gathering crowd waiting for #28. I was among the crowd; Bob watched from across the street, then down the block.

When the tram eventually lumbered along its tracks toward the stop, it was as if a director had called “action!” The waiting passengers tried to anticipate its exact stopping point; the two thieves moved in; Bob got into line; I kept to Bob’s right, camera aimed at his back pocket; one pickpocket threw his jacket over his left arm and went for Bob’s (prop) wallet; the other pickpocket got behind me, trying for my purse.

Slowly, we all mounted the tram stairs. I knew the thieves hadn’t succeeded, because they boarded also. If they’d gotten anything they wouldn’t have; but they still thought they had a chance.

Bob and I were both using new video cameras, and we both missed the shot. I had the better opportunity. Perfectly positioned, I saw everything. But I didn’t press the record button hard enough (though I thought I did). I missed the money shot.

The thieves moved to the back of the tram, where another pair, a man and a woman, joined them. It looked like they planned to work together. We were pretty sure they would try to block a departing passenger and pickpocket him on the stairs. Bob wanted to be that passenger, but I wanted to wait and see how their game played out.

A good samaritan warns of her city's thieves with a laugh.

Meanwhile, a woman looked at me with a big, friendly smile. “His wallet,” she said, patting her hip, “it’s dangerous…that way.” Laughing, she pointed her thumb behind her toward the back of the tram. To Bob she said “In her pocket is better.”

As the tram trundled on, I wondered why one of the pickpockets moved on my purse.

Signs onboard don't help boarding passengers.

It’s made of thick, rough leather, has a narrow opening high in my armpit, and a deep shape. It would be impossible to get into—unless the man had a razor blade. Even with a blade it would be a challenge, but the cutpurse wouldn’t necessarily realize it. Not particularly stylish, the purse is perfect for thiefhunting. I found it in Beijing.

Two Portuguese pickpockets in Lisbon

Too soon, the tram came to the end of its line and no one departed in front of the thieves. As the team of four dispersed, Bob accosted the original pair. We learned that they’re Portuguese, as was the third man, while his female partner was Bosnian. One of the thieves got busy on his mobile phone and wandered off—we guessed he was speaking with the third man.

Portuguese pickpocket's technique.

We kept up a conversation with the second, who was willing to talk. He demonstrated his technique, nipping the wallet between his first and second fingertips.

Bob and I waited for the next tram to go back. So did the foursome, smoking, separated, cautious, on the grassy area at the end of the line. We got on; of course they didn’t.

The old elevator tower: scene of many crimes.

We learned that pickpockets are also active on the stairs around the old elevator tower, despite the presence of security guards. We didn’t spend much time there. Worse, gang activity has increased dramatically over the past year, with immigrants arriving from the favellas of Brazil. Car-jackings are commonplace, even in the city center. Graffiti was everywhere.

Not all graffiti is this colorful. Many buildings are this dilapidated.

The whole city is crumbling. Peeling plaster and missing tiles made for some interesting textures on the walls. Unfortunately, Lisbon can’t pull off the elegant flaky-paint look the way Venice does. Lisbon just looks terribly dilapidated, its glory days over, deteriorating as we watch. Its structures are still grand, but they’re dressed like homeless derelicts, with the same empty-eyed glower, all dignity and self-respect burned off by neglect.

What I have always loved about Lisbon (and other Portuguese cities) are the sidewalks; and these, I’m happy to report, are still immaculately maintained. Black and white mosaics of smooth marble cubes, they are still neat, level, and polished to a slippery shine. The designs are different wherever you walk, some simple geometric shapes, some extravagant patterns, even signs of the zodiac. I’ll post about the making of these mosaics later.

Lisbon's lovely marble mosaic pavements.

Next day, same place. Waiting for tram 28. We’re melting in the heat and up shuffles this guy, with a thick, dirty sweatshirt tied around his waist, and a messenger bag. Not too obvious, is he? When the tram neared he dragged himself into position, and stared blankly up at the shouting driver. The driver was not shouting at him; he was saying something about a broken door, that the tram was going out of service. No one got on. Our man trundled away, like a tram off its tracks, with no discernible destination.

Anyone look suspicious here?

Are your drinks vulnerable?

Drink-drugging as a means to theft and/or sex is not new, but on the rise. It’s increasing in Colombia and known to be an M.O. in Russia, Hong Kong, Thailand, Ecuador, and many other countries. I didn’t expect to see Tokyo on the list, but there it is. Sad.

I forgot where I heard this, but it’s funny: When given a drink by a stranger, say “It’s one of my country’s traditions to trade drinks with the host.” Hard to imagine doing that.

Anyway, it’s a good idea to keep this in mind when offered food or drink by a stranger. And try not to leave your food or drink unattended.

Can you identify this thief?

Loot ‘n scoot: Through my police friends, I learned of another devious M.O. resulting in theft from hotel rooms. The thief simply poses as a guest. Wearing pool attire, she enters a hotel room that has a housekeeping cart at the door, as if she’s just returning to her own room from the pool. She tells the maid that she forgot her key, starts looking for it, and dismisses the maid. I suppose her beach bag is big enough for all the goodies she grabs, and she scoots out in her swimsuit looking as innocent as can be.

Maid left hotel room open and empty.

In another version, a female thief gets a nearby housekeeper to open a hotel room door because she’s carrying a heavy load. She may or may not have spotters on the lookout for guests returning to that floor.

In both cases, the security of our belongings is in the hands of the maids. How well are they trained? How much discretion do they have? When should they break the rules in order to be nice? When should they bend the rules in anticipation of a nice gratuity? What about temporary workers during the hotel’s high season—do they receive as thorough training? How many of us have approached our room only to find that we forgot our key, or the key doesn’t work, and a nice service staff member volunteers to let us in?

Hotel policy is one thing; compliance is another. How do you react when you find that your key doesn’t work (for the third time), the front desk is far away (giant hotel), your feet hurt and your arms are full and you’re dead tired, and the maid with a master key says “I’m sorry. It’s for your own security.”?

The burglars described in the recent police bulletins were females of average height and weight, 50ish and blonde. Nicely generic. The maid may believe she’s seen the impostor; and perhaps she has. Should she risk offending the “guest”?

Perhaps the maid should be required to ask the name of the guest and match it to a list. Yeah, a list on a clipboard left on the cart, that the thief’s accomplice copped a glance at. Perhaps the maid should be required to snap a photo of the guest “for your security.”

As a very frequent hotel guest, I have many times returned to my room to find the door left open by housekeeping staff “just for a minute” while they run to do something else. This always infuriates me, as there’s usually a laptop or two left out, as in the photo here, not to mention other valuables. But this is simply housekeeping error, and with proper training, can be corrected. The impostors described above are skilled social engineers, harder to protect against.

Bruce Schneier is currently blogging from SHB09, the Second Interdisciplinary Workshop on Security and Human Behavior, at MIT. I doubt if discussions covered “tricking hotel maids,” but what a complicated and interesting subject. I would have liked to be a fly on the wall there. Instead, I can read articles by the presenters.

One view from Grand Hotel St. Bernardin in Portoroz, Slovenia

The Slovene driver sped along the autostrade, disco crackling on the radio, fast-chomping gum, taking and making phone calls as if he runs another business. Beautiful coastline, like Italy next door. Construction in progress everywhere. Violet lupine and red-orange poppies brilliant along grassy roadsides.

The driver dropped us at Grand Hotel St. Bernardin in Portoroz. Our suite overlooked the Adriatic from three balconies. I could almost see Venice—or where Venice should have been across the sea.

We were in Slovenia to perform and lecture at Microsoft’s industry conference introducing windows 7. Instead of the usual rushed “play-and-run” routine, we scheduled four days in Slovenia in order to do extra events there, for Microsoft and for ourselves.

As Mac users, we felt like peacocks in a flock of pigeons, but we were quickly proved wrong by many furtive glances of attendees and IT staffers as they peeked at iPhones partly pulled from their pockets.

Like a giant iPhone.

First was rehearsal for Bob’s keynote session, open to the conference’s 2,000 attendees. Here was a highlight of the trip for me: an uninterrupted opportunity to play with a Surface Table, aka Big-Ass Table, which sat on stage. Its smooth multi-touch interface allowed me to use both hands to draw and manipulate objects, while Bob and a couple of stage hands simultaneously played on the table.

I’ve been fascinated by the multi-touch user interface ever since I saw Jeff Han’s TED talk —the first TED talk I’d ever seen. (Now I try to watch one or two every night—at least once in a while. I go on binges.) It’s the same technology as CNN’s “Magic Wall,” and FoxNews’ “Bill Board;” like a giant Apple iPhone. Fun to play with.

The Surface table, with technology developed by Jeff Han.

The youngest IT staffer I spoke with, 19 years old, confided in me after chatting and playing on the table together.

“I’ve got such a headache,” he baited me.

“Why?”

“I had to load windows 7 on 32 netbooks this morning. Fifteen of them wouldn’t work. I had to take them all apart and replace cables and stuff, then put them back together and reinstall 7.”

Poor boy.

The keynote, scheduled to last two hours, ran an entire hour over. Bob (eventually) shared the stage with Slovene actor and comedian Džuro (somebody help me with his last name). Little video here.

When the whole hotel internet went down during the Microsoft conference, everyone wondered: server overload? hackers? Where’s the IT guy? Booths, demos, work, everything ground to a halt. Embarrassment all around.

30 journalists, Bob Arno, and Ed Gibson.

A long interview with the national paper, Dnevnik, resulted in a two-and-a-half page spread we’ve been told reads well. A google translation of the Slovenian turns up some hilarious lines: Reporter: “You can dance monkey dance? Bob: “Whatever Let it be loud and crazy.” Reporter: “Men in adjacent table…has bag at feet. You can steal now?” Bob: “Can.” [and he did] “in 15 seconds… embarrassment evident by redness of face.”

And Bob supposedly said “People like the sheep shearer,” and later: “Ah, no. Not like this, as we are now. You should fuck in you or something.”

Remember the children’s game of telephone, or operator? Well, call this translation. From Bob’s Swedish to his English, from the reporter’s English to his Slovenian, and finally through Google’s processor.

Microsoft had arranged for Bob to appear at a press conference with its chief security analyst, Ed Gibson. When asked about some of windows 7′s new security features, Gibson quipped: “I’d demonstrate for you, but we don’t have two hours for windows to boot up.” I wouldn’t repeat that had Mr. Gibson not said it to 30 journalists. Short videos here and better, here.

Campari aperitifs at Italian happy-hour.

Duties done, we drove to the Italian city of Trieste, just half an hour away, for sunset cocktails on the piazza. Campari aperitifs are de rigueur, as are cigarettes. (We stuck with just the cocktails.) We got a table before the joint became standing room only. Utterly pleasant, and time for passeggiata afterwards, in the right mood.

Piran: reminded me of Venice

Despite my sarcasm, I want to emphasize that Slovenia is a lovely destination. The country’s terrain is beautiful, as are it’s coastline and views. We walked to Piran, the nearby town, which resembled Venice without the canals, crowds, or cruise ship passengers, and possibly lacking a fraction of the charm.

We found our hotel’s massive restaurant dismal and oppressive with overly formal appointments and stuffy service. Heavy curtains and high window sills obstructed a gorgeous view; and given the glorious weather, the windows should have been open. Fake plants are a turn-off.

Fresh, simply-cooked bounty of Slovenian seafood.

But nearby Barka restaurant, on the harbor, was perfect in every way: patio, menu, views, quality, good Slovenian wine, and a casual-but-correct wait staff. Once we discovered it, we returned for every meal.

Leaving out of Trieste airport, a huge 20-minute-storm cancelled our flight. Waiting in the airport restaurant until an evening flight, we watched three armed policia step up to the bar for drinks.

At the end of this trip, having visited Italy, Slovenia, and Paris, we returned home with no stamps in our new passports. Perhaps these will last longer than the previous ones did.

Pianist Stephen Kane

When my friend, Stephen Kane, described what he witnessed on a recent afternoon in Buenos Aires, I begged him to write it down for me. Following is his account.

Bad action in Buenos Aires

Prior to my first visit to Buenos Aires I was warned about the mustard/ketchup gag. As you’re walking, carrying a shoulder bag, someone sneaks behind you and squirts mustard or ketchup on your back. The accomplice later offers to help you clean it off. You remove the bag from your shoulder to do that and then it disappears along with the thief. So I felt particularly foolish when it almost immediately happened to me. I noticed I had been squirted but just kept holding my bag tightly and walking until I was safely out of the area. I have been back to Argentina many times and, thankfully, have never been threatened with robbery again.

So I suppose I was due for one particularly eventful day. I wasn’t the victim but the witness of two different scenes.

I was having Saturday lunch in a cafe on the corner of Corrientes and Florida. I was sitting at the window and had a very clear view of the crowd of people and traffic at the intersection. If I hadn’t been looking in the right direction I’d have never seen it happen. It was much too fast; so fast that nobody nearby realized it had happened until it was over. A tall, beautifully dressed girl was standing with her boyfriend waiting for the light to change so they could cross the street. Mixed into the traffic speeding down Corrientes was a large motorcycle carrying two men. The cycle suddenly stopped right in front of her and the man on back jumped off. He grabbed the girl from behind, putting one of his hands over her mouth to keep her from screaming. With the other hand he grabbed her necklaces and purse. By the time she was able to even make a sound and alert her boyfriend the thief was back on the cycle with his accomplice and speeding away in escape. But the event wasn’t finished. Someone standing nearby actually did see the robbery and managed to capture a picture of the thieves on a cellphone camera. I watched as they all summoned a policeman and showed him the photo of the cyclists. Of course, during the discussion that followed, the victims were much more animated than the policeman. After pleading with him for several minutes they eventually gave up and went on their way. So did the crowd. So did the policeman.

Petter, a thief in Lima, told us that one member of his team always carries a knife.

After lunch I walked a few blocks down Florida and turned into a small, uncrowded side street. I noticed a commotion in Continue Reading »

Slovenia Twitter-bird?

I (@bobarno) recently wrote about my reluctance to use Twitter and the pros and cons of sharing information with everyone who might be a follower. Not about the benefits of twittering, which I fully appreciate and understand, but about my own reservations and the extent of my own involvement. My concerns were competitive intelligence repercussions, and maybe my own desire to be as spunky (in a tweet) as I try to be on stage.

Well, this is obviously a timely subject matter, faced by many busy executives. In the last couple of weeks conversations with like-minded entertainers, speakers and bookers have all raised similar concerns. On May 27, Molly Murray-Threipland (who often writes about twittering in The New York Times), made the observation that it isn’t teenagers who are the largest tweeting group, but the 45 to 54’s.

Just three weeks after I wrote my own blog post, Business Week (May 21) dedicated its main theme, cover page, and several articles to the same issues. The two lead stories were Learning, and Profiting, from Online Friendships and Web 2.0: Managing Corporate Reputations.

In Managing Corporate Reputations, Gina Poole, vice-president of social software programs and enablement at IBM—that’s right, her life centers solely on how to train and harness IBM’s employees’ twitter posts—said, “You’re building your social reputation, so you don’t want to be a frivolous or an uninteresting person,” and the article summarizes “while many see Twitter as a place to indulge one’s inner self, IBM wants employees to “add value” in all their online postings.” Of course that’s seen from the perspective of the corporation and its concern of corporate image and identity.

On being perceived as mundane versus a source of brilliant repartee with deep content, take look at Kevin Mitnick’s tweets. Kevin (@kevinmitnick), one of the world’s most famous or infamous hackers, depending on your point of view of anyone who has served time in “the box” (prison-slang for a full-board vacation, courtesy of the U.S. government), twitters occasionally and has many followers. Kevin is an astute ‘social engineer’ (maybe one of the all-time best), a great observer of human behavior, and equally funny (privately at least); but Kevin does not share his latest skill sets or pen-testing exploits in his tweets. A follower (of Kevin’s) recently complained: “You never tweet anything interesting! Just your travel schedule. Tell us what you’re working on. something! Unfollow.” Kevin replied “Sorry I don’t meet your expectations of tweeting interesting stuff meniscuss—maybe i should tweet your passwords—hehe.”

Of course what they really want is some insight in “hacking” so that they can do what Kevin does, for fun or profit. High-profile pen-testing is a murky world and probably very profitable for those with the ultimate knowledge base. The hackers at the top of the food-chain have strong relationships, globally, with the ‘bad guys.’ Is it conceivable that Kevin, or someone like Kevin would tweet: “in St Petersburg today hanging with Dmitri Androsov & the Hell Knights Crew, & we’re working on some cute BackTrack exploits.” Not a chance! Acknowledging sources, or anything that would let your readers deduce your ‘deep’ friends would have to be restricted.

That’s like me asking a pickpocket in Barcelona Continue Reading »