Big brother nightmare

I HAD THE strangest dream last night. Maybe it's because I'm in the middle of having my house reroofed, or maybe it's because of all the readers I'm hearing from who seem strangely insecure about Homeland Security. But I guess I'll leave the interpretation up to you ... .

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Suddenly, loud crashing noises seemed to be shaking the house to it foundations. Fearing another California earthquake was about to bring the roof down around my ears, I stumbled to the front door only to discover a bespectacled young man standing there with a clipboard. Behind him crews of workmen were bringing up additional ladders to clamber onto my roof.

"Palladium Security," the young man nodded as I opened the door. "We're here to install your TCPA home protection hardware." Before I could say anything, a dozen workers flooded through the door and fanned out into the house. I told the Palladium man that I didn't remember ordering a security system, but he assured me there was no mistake. "You're definitely on the list," he said, nodding adamantly.

When I asked the Palladium man what kind of features my new security system would have, he put great emphasis on its anti-terrorism capabilities. Once every house had TCPA hardware installed, al-Qaida wouldn't be able to make a move without the authorities knowing about it instantly. He spoke about it with such visible pride I made a little joke about how he was acting as if he designed it himself. He didn't find that amusing though, noting that Palladium software was an integral part of the whole system.

I was curious about what TCPA stood for, but the bespectacled young man's answer was a little slurred. It sounded like he said Trusted Computing Platform Alliance, but that couldn't be right. For one thing, my computer was about the only thing in the house they didn't touch. "We've got that already," the Palladium man nodded knowingly at my system.

On the other hand, they spent a great deal of time with my television set, attaching all kinds of TCPA devices to it. The man from Palladium explained that my TV would in fact become the server for many of the security devices that were being installed in the house. Because of that, they needed to provide it with a new remote control. That was great by me because the old remote control got squashed between the sofa cushions. But when I asked for the new remote control, he just snickered.

"You're not very technical, are you?" he said, nodding violently. Why would I need a remote control, he asked, didn't I already live here? The remote control would actually be located somewhere in Hollywood, where a group of patriotic Americans headed by Jack Valenti had volunteered to make sure Americans weren't exposed to any terrorist-inspired content. He hastened to point out that this would give my TV many extra features. If I needed to go to the kitchen or the bathroom during a commercial break, for example, the TV would automatically pause to make sure I didn't miss a minute of paid advertising.

In the meantime, all of the appliances in the house and even the closet doors had been set up with TCPA-reading devices by the busy workmen. They looked like bar code readers, and the Palladium man told me that's exactly what they were. Food, clothing, drugs, cosmetics, and the like should all be scanned before being put away, in order to make sure the product were safe and uncontaminated by terrorists. If a product came up on the suspect list, I should throw it away and immediately go the TV set to select an approved replacement product.

Somehow it didn't seem to me that any of this had a lot to do with security or terrorism, and I told the young man that I wanted them to uninstall it all. But that was not an option, the young man said. Under what he called the Hollings Mandatory TCPA Security Act, all devices connected to the power grid, telephone systems, cable TV, etc. had to be protected in order to safeguard the national infrastructure. Otherwise, sinister forces might use my microwave oven to burn one of Palladium's TCPA readers, for example. "Our technology is licensed, not sold, so we have to have a way of making sure our intellectual property rights aren't abused," he nodded forcefully.

To show there were no hard feelings, the Palladium man handed me a card key. "Your new house key," he nodded, "go ahead and try it out." I put the card key in the newly installed slot by the front door, and received an ugly buzz for my trouble. The bespectacled man, who for some reason didn't look so young anymore, explained that just meant I had to go to the TV and go through the key activation process. I wouldn't have to do this every time I used the key card, he said. Re-registering would only be required if the system detected some suspicious activity, such as exceeding my monthly quota of exits.

Exits? That's when it hit me -- the Palladium crew had installed the TCPA key card slot on the inside of my front door, not the outside. In fact, the locks on all the doors were now only on the inside. Wasn't that a mistake?

"No," the Palladium man nodded vigorously, although he seemed a bit perplexed. The idea that the locks might go on the outside did not seem to have occurred to him. It was just a matter of trust, he said. After all, why would anyone but a terrorist want to be able to leave their house at any hour without detection? That I would even care about such a thing was evidence that ...

And then I woke up as my real-life roofers started pounding again. Weird, huh? What do you suppose that it means ... other than that I should lay off the midnight burrito snacks, that is?