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(Displaying 20 posts, skipping the most recent 20.)
I don't post here much any more. I have combined my livejournal and nerdblog into The Fishbowl, using the ever-nifty Movable Type. You may add the syndicated feed to your friends list, either add fishbowl_all for (rather badly munged by LJ) full posts, or carlfish for excerpts and links.
This blast from the past showed up on my iPod's random play last night. For some reason I couldn't just let it pass, so to speak.
Take it away, William Burroughs.
( more...Collapse ) (discuss/posts:1)
‘Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig, farting out the words. It was unlike anything I had ever heard.
This ass talk had sort of a gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell.
Last time I was shopping for a compact digital camera, I took Ang’s advice and got a Canon PowerShot A610. The A610 turned out to be an absolute corker: you just point it at things, press the button and it bangs out one great photo after another. I don’t think it’s possible to take a bad shot with it.
Anyway, the time has come to sell the PowerShot and get a new model. The only complaint I have with the A610 is its size. It’s just a little too big to stick in your pocket when you’re going out drinking, for example. Is it possible to get a more compact camera without sacrificing the just-takes-good-photos-ness of the A610? If so, where’s best to look?(discuss/posts:32)
I normally run a mile from net.memes like this, but I couldn’t resist posting this one for obvious reasons.
(11:33 pm) So a couple of weeks ago, everybody was up in arms over Knut, the baby polar bear who apparently, "animal rights activists" wanted put down.
At the time, I expressed my opinion that the whole thing was a media beat-up, the facts were probably a lot less sensational, and the whole thing was part of a pattern in the media to vilify progressive viewpoints (environmentalism, feminism, animal rights) by over-representing their most crackpot fringe.
Lo and behold, it was even worse than that. The guy being demonised for wanting poor Knut dead was being totally misrepresented. He had previously taken legal action against a different zoo to try to stop them killing a sloth that had been rejected by his mother. After losing that case, he made the mistake of trying to bring attention to the fact that the law was being applied inconsistently. Hey presto, he's a bear-killer!
Three cheers for our sensationalist, uncritical, increasingly centralised media. (discuss)
Ordering a sandwich is a flow control problem.
If you provide too much information at once, you’ll overflow the buffer of the person serving you. This will cause an unknown amount of information to be dropped on the floor, and for safety you’ll have to start again from scratch to ensure no ingredients are missed.
You can just treat the whole thing as a challenge-response protocol. In fact, this is the best thing to do when approaching a new sandwich server, as there are subtle variations in the order of serving. (Are they going to ask for butter? When are they going to ask about salt and pepper?). But challenge-response wastes time, as you pay double the cost of the latency between you and the person behind the counter.
Once you know the order in which the data is required, though, the trick is to keep the pipeline full without (a) overflowing the buffer, or (b) emptying the buffer and dropping back to challenge-response.
Estimating the buffer capacity of someone serving you your sandwich, however, can be tricky.
I’m not sure what I find funniest about Conservapedia.
Perhaps it’s the claim that British spellings are a sign of liberal bias on Wikipedia. Or the fact that all the entries read like high-school book reports. Or that the original article for “United States of America” defined it as: “The United States of America, or just “America”, is the country we live in.” Or wacky stuff like redefining “faith” to mean “Christian faith”, and then using that definition to prove that, Q.E.D., no other religion can be based on faith.
I’d like to think the whole thing is a troll, but there seems to be far too much work gone into the site just for the sake of a joke.
Maybe it’s just further proof that, as Stephen Colbert said, reality has a well-known liberal bias.
(Tip of the hat to Danny Ayers)(discuss/posts:1)
(11:30 am) Stolen from what seems to be two thirds of my friends list...
Please leave a 14 word comment on this post that you think best describes me.
Just 14 words, no more, no less (with one exception, see below).
The 14 words in question should be: "Charles is fucking awesome, and I wish everyone in the world was like him." Women are allowed an extra six words in their comment, to add "I want to bear his children".
When you are done, copy and paste into your journal just how intensely cool I am.
(10:20 pm) We're spending tomorrow at a management training course of some kind. I decided I would entertain myself by attending clad in my brand new "Now Cluster-Fucked" Confluence 2.3 shirt, and amusing facial hair.
From today's Crikey:
Only through Eau Rouge do a Grand Prix driver's eyes roll over white. Only at Imola's Acque Minerali does a lone Ferrari flag wave from the scarlet roof of a private nearby house. Only on the exit of the Beckett's complex in rural England has a racer pulled 12G in less than four seconds. Only at Suzuka does a driver actually prefer to round "the spoon" than order another room service fruit juice from the calm of the circuit hotel.
Warn your heart to stop racing, however, because the Formula 1 of the very near future is a lot different.
Already, Imola has been replaced by a purpose-built circuit in an emerging market designed by German architect Hermann Tilke. Gone, too, is Austria, replaced by a purpose-built circuit in an emerging market designed by German architect Hermann Tilke.
Ditto Suzuka. Ditto Nurburgring and Hockenheim, who now share because they can't afford the annual race fees. Ditto France and Britain, because billionaire Bernie Ecclestone always gets his way. Ditto Belgium, whose organisers know the feel of the F1 supremo's axe all too well.
So a heads-up Bernie, we don't know the difference between Tilke's Turn 8/China and Tilke's Turn 5/Malaysia, but we do know the difference between Acque Minerali and Eau Rouge.
There's something uninspiring about knowing that the crests in Turkey were concocted with computer-aided-design software, but we love the fact that Spa-Francorchamps turned left before Blanchimont because racers in the 1920s had to jink to avoid a tree.
We don't care if the hospitality suites at Toyota-owned Fuji are better suited for the high-rolling Japanese guests, but we do care that the dated and awesome Suzuka is no longer on the calendar.
Bernie -- we do care.
I don’t normally do this sort of thing, but since Mike (who tagged me with this one) is responsible for signing my pay-cheques, I thought it politic to not be the one to break the chain. So here goes:
Five things you may not know about me...
I shall tag all of you with this meme, my dear readers, to do with as you wish.(discuss)
Last night, I dreamt I could fly.
A part of me knew I was dreaming. I climbed onto the window-ledge, felt the wind blowing, and jumped into the Sydney skyline. I wasn’t so much flying as gliding, a controlled fall, the air rushing around me, stopping my plummet, holding me up as I swept across the sky. It was truly exhilarating.
I believed that anything I collected while I was dreaming would be waiting for me in the morning, back in the waking world. So I landed on roof of one of the big department stores in the city (the computer and electronics department, luckily, is on the top floor).
Back on the roof, trying to gather my swag together for the flight home, I felt guilty. This was stealing, after all. I packed my stolen goods back into their respective boxes and put them back. So now I’ll never know if, when I woke up, they’d really have been there still.
In some other part of the night, I was hanging out with the Australian cricket team.
In my dreams I can fly, but I still can’t bat or bowl to save my life.(discuss/posts:1)
I was channel-surfing last night, and on my way past one of the half dozen or so sports channels, my ear caught a familiar, rousing tune. It turned out to be the entry music for some Muay Thai boxer, over which a hyper-excited Australian announcer was shouting:
And here he comes to the ring, to the sound of O Fortuna from Carmen Barina!
For future reference, in case any sports reporters are reading this weblog…
(12:48 am) In a meme stolen from zhaneel, I present: guess the movie quotes! Many of them will be blindingly obvious to anyone who's been to the cinema in the last twenty years. A few may be less obvious. One might only be recogniseable to people who went to school with me.
Googling is strictly prohibited. Cthulhu will personally drag anyone who googles the answers straight into the abyss; no passing go, no collecting $200.
Guess in the comments. Credit will be awarded after the fact on a whimsical basis.
Section one: Violence
Just in front of us in the crowd at yesterday’s baseball game were dozen or so young lads and lasses, all dressed in green t-shirts with “Add me” on the front, and their myspace IDs on the back. Well, all except this guy:
(8:51 pm) Charles makes lighthearted post suggesting that certain jokes may be played out. Livejournal humour forum goes apeshit in response.
I win at teh intarnets. (discuss/posts:7)