When you feel like somebody is watching
Don’t look, but somebody’s watching us. Without turning into a paranoid pumpkin, the truth is that someone might be, if you’re in a public venue. Gone are the days when a remote camera had to be the size of a breadbox. We’re in the age of the CCD (charge-coupled device), and the lowly webcam has become an instrument of observation. Ask my antenna farm.
We left the TV tuned to a BBC documentary originally produced about two years ago, outlining the wonders of the new surveillance age. To protect; always to protect and never to restrict according to the officials who apologized. The British national rail system has (over) 45,000 dedicated cameras, and the London subway system is proud of the more than 8,000 sets of eyes that keep the criminal at bay. Or, at least, can replay a scene to help in apprehension. I’m not sure I want to watch even a subset of those monitors, but someone must.
I’m blissfully unaware of the cameras that keep an eye on my daily to and fro. First of all, my life isn’t that interesting. Secondly, I have no control over the paranoid principles of others. If my (name the level of government) wants to sow those pesky CCDs along the garden path, let them have fun. Be careful, though. I might surprise you and kick my heels in the air some day, just because I can.
I’ve mentioned my random experiments with webcams around the house. The kids have figured out that a strategically placed tissue box can disrupt the best video feed I can deploy.
