I'm sure their research has shown that people respond better to advertising in their native tongues, or some equally self-serving privacy intrusion that's best wrapped in a facade of socio-linguistic altruism.
How do you say "Big Brother is Watching" in Assyrian?
Ghana's First Combustion Engine!
Remembering Bangalore's First TV Station!!
Behind-The-Scenes at New Zealand's First Nuclear Reactor!
Slashdot!! Where Technology is Multi-Cultural and Diverse... First!!!
I'd argue that the guy who went into debt to finance his MFA in Byzantine Art History is several times stupider, on multiple levels, than the High School graduate who apprenticed himself to a plumber at age 18.
Patents have ALWAYS been about the money. Its fiction to believe they promote the science or arts, and it has always been fiction.
Sure. Because only poor starving artists and scientists make good art and science, right?
God forbid a genius should have a payday once in a while...
Back in the Day -- as we geezers like to begin the sentences we use to talk down to you -- having that box on your desk prompt you for a password was a much more rare and curious thing than it is today. Our computer-y crap sat right there in the box by our legs, or maybe down the hall in that cold room with the raised floor with the fat bastard in it. And we would have li'l whispered conversations with the fat bastard as we passed him in the Break Room, like "I know you know my password, you fat bastard, and if I ever think for a heartbeat that you're going through my crap I will key your car and beat you like a baby seal." Our passwords were the things meant to keep our crap from the prying eyes of the sinister-but-clever sociopaths in Marketing and Accounting who would indeed rifle our desks for clues, like children's and pet names, in order to look at our computer-y crap. So selecting a password like P*/34_##FuK-U-Joey!!39* had real value. So today, when industry insists we store our computer-y crap -- which now includes bank account access, photo albums, our music collections, and christ-knows what else -- on servers spread around the world operated by even fatter bastards whom we don't see and can't effectively intimidate, it should come as no surprise the habit has stayed with us, despite being prompted for passwords every twenty minutes...
for "League of Self-Important Angry Young Men."
And thanks, I'll pass...
Can I buy a piece of tech that was not assembled by an Asian Worker making considerably less than his American Union Factory Worker counterpart? No.
Can I buy a piece of tech and still have a clean conscience? Sure. Of course.
is the solar array built using renewable energy?
No, but it IS being constructed by highly-paid union dolphins, so Greenpeace is fine with that.
Be Very Afraid: The Church of The Climate is getting it's own Armed Inquisitition.
Life Imitates Super Bowl Ad:
My Mac can get me laid so I'm not a sexually-frustrated, basement dweller like you.
Yes, but can it get you laid by a girl?
Actually, I avoid Google+ to avoid the people who use tired "cyber-phrases" like "meatspace" and rabid Google fanbois (I apologize if that's being redundant) who will sacrifice (and then try to sanctimoniously justify that sacrifice) their privacy for the latest Shiny.
...and all I saw in the demo was marked-up text.
As a marketing convention, this equivalence of HTML and code is almost as pretentious as Wordpress' notion of equating code with "poetry."
My smartphone is made from low-fat granola pieces glued together from wheat reaped by freedom-loving highly-paid yet-still-spiritualistic gay Tibetan monks who are all married to one another and turn all their after-tax profits over to Greenpeace.
Of course it doesn't work, but I feel really good about owning it and it's a great conversation-starter with the cute angry Goth chicks who hang out in my local hipster food co-op in Brooklyn.
Perhaps their efforts are fueled by a more private agenda
PERHAPS?!?!!
Great. Now I have coffee all over my monitor, thanks to you...
Because when I think "Google," I think "Oh, hey, golly, THERE's a corporation that's looking out for my rights, yes-sir-ree-bob!"
Jeezus... you fanbois are starting to get dangerous...
We are not a clone.
