Seven Days of Spam (Diploma Mill spam)

Discussion in 'General Distance Learning Discussions' started by uxu, Jun 4, 2001.

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  1. uxu

    uxu New Member

    This appeared in the LA Times - I thought it's worth a read:
    http://www.latimes.com/business/cutting/features/lat_junk010503.htm

    Seven Days of Spam
    A writer responds to e-mails making big promises but finds himself no richer, smarter or sexier after all the effort.

    By DAVID COLKER, [email protected]
    WES BAUSMITH / Los Angeles Times

    In a single week, fabulous treasures were mine for the asking.
    Great wealth. University degrees. A hunky body. Pristine credit. Bigger breasts. Snoreless nights. Enhanced sexual endowment. Sure-fire stock tips. And a potion to make me irresistible to both men and women.
    In other words, I got a week's worth of spam, the unsolicited junk e-mail that clogs inboxes with incredible bargains, miracle cures and unbelievable schemes. In a single seven-day period, a total of 107 spams found their way into my three e-mail inboxes. Most Internet users don't get quite that many, but longtime participation in message groups, numerous online purchases and a wide array of e-mail contacts has made me an easy target for those who harness huge volumes of electronic addresses for commercial purposes.
    The sheer volume of spam sent out over the Internet is overwhelming. A recent study by the European Union Commission determined that so much junk e-mail travels through the world's wires that it eats up an estimated $9.5 billion a year in connection costs.
    The term "spam" derives from a Monty Python skit in which a restaurant serves nothing but dishes loaded with Hormel's much-maligned luncheon meat. As a customer struggles to order a meal without Spam, a chorus of Vikings breaks into a repetitive song of "Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam," which drowns out every other conversation in the restaurant.
    Indeed, spam has become so ubiquitous and despised that many people don't even bother to open it.
    But I did.
    Some hawked mundane products, such as out-of-date software programs, golf balls and pagers. But the vast majority offered either get-rich-quick schemes or sexual fulfillment. All I had to do was follow directions. And pay fees, of course--ranging from about $30 to $2,000.
    I answered many of the spams, receiving in return sales pitches via telephone, CD-ROM, video cassette, streaming audio and more e-mail.
    In the end I did not get rich. I still work here.
    Here's how things shook out.

    Diplomas
    "Obtain a prosperous future, money earning power and the admiration of all," read the e-mail that offered a university diploma in the field of my choice without my ever stepping into a classroom or taking a test.
    I called the number on the e-mail and it was returned by Danny Ramalotti, who said he was calling from Glencullen University in Dublin, Ireland. "We give you full credit for your knowledge and life experience," he explained. "You can have either a bachelor's, a master's, an MBA or even a PhD."
    But how do they judge my life experience and knowledge?
    "We accept your word," Ramalotti said.
    Where was this guy when I was 18?
    All it would cost--including a cum laude if I "qualified"--was $1,900, and I would have the diploma in 10 business days. "If you went to Harvard, they would charge you $75,000 for the same thing," Ramalotti said.
    But at Harvard, you actually have to satisfy curriculum requirements before getting a degree, I said. Ramalotti sighed, taking pity on my naivete. "I have been in education for 40 years and I tell you, all the universities do this," he said. "They just don't talk about it."
    He provided a Glencullen Web address, which contained information about the school's academics and pictures of students studying, going to campus sports events and generally aglow in an atmosphere of higher learning.
    The only problem is that Glencullen does not exist.
    "We went looking for the street address given on the site, but there is no such street in Dublin," said Harry Browne, education supplement editor for the Irish Times newspaper. The paper did recent stories on phony Irish university degrees.
    Other tip-offs: By law, there are only seven educational institutions in Ireland allowed to call themselves universities, and none are Glencullen. The site says students are covered by the national health plan, which does not exist in Ireland. Finally, "I've been on every campus on Ireland," Browne said, "and I didn't recognize this one."

    ...continued at http://www.latimes.com/business/cutting/features/lat_junk010503.htm
     

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