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Journal: dropped friends 2

Journal by Fishstick

if you see that I dropped you as a 'friend' please don't take it personally.

I've pretty much stopped reading/posting here (lots of distractions in personal/professional life), haven't spent any time reading JE's and I'm dropping friends and turning off notifications to my email.

User Journal

Journal: world hunger

Journal by denthijs
Its been brought to my attention that 1 kg of pork takes 18 kg of grain to produce.
I wish all those cow-lovers and tree huggers would give this as one of their primary reasons to be a vegetarian instead of the ol 'It is cruel to the animals'
World-Hunger can be solved, quite easily, by us all turning veggie.
User Journal

Journal: obfu

Journal by denthijs

map{map{tr|10|# |;print}
split//,sprintf"%.8b\n",$_}
unpack'C*',unpack'u*',
"5`#8<3'X`'#8^-@`<-CPP`#8V/C8`"

User Journal

Journal: language nazis 1

Journal by denthijs
it strikes me as odd that native English speaking people who don't speak any other language always bitch about spelling errors of mostly non english people
Somehow i think these ignoramuses don't realise how difficult it is to fully learn a different language
So to these whining nazis i want to say; stop bitching, you understood what he meant, he's trying to speak your language, you should feel honoured and impressed yet you can't look beyond your own little references....
How Sad Are You////
User Journal

Journal: blogs are bad m'kay

Journal by denthijs
blogs, filters and commercial grade vacuum cleaners are an invention of the devil.
Stop sucking satans cock and start rolling your own
desire is emptyness
User Journal

Journal: My strange dream.... 5

Journal by Fishstick

It happened last night.

My wife and I are travelling by train, returning from a vacation that included a Disney Cruise. The trip is hours long and the car is hopelessly overcrowded. All the seats are taken and there are people standing in the aisles and vestibules. My wife and I are separated, unable to find a seat or even stand together. Because of the long time standing, many of us have squeezed onto seats occupied by others -- I am pratically sitting in someone else's lap.

The train trundles into the night and I lose track of the hours. I am tired and hungry and have to go to the bathroom. Suddenly, there is a commotion and several masked men begin forcing their way through the aisle. They are carrying guns and are ordering people to get out of the way and remain quiet. They pass through the car and everyone huddles down in shocked silence. I look over to where my wife is several rows back -- she is frozen in panic.

Moments later, sounds of yelling, gunfire and anguished screaming comes from the car ahead. The gunmen now rush back through the car the way they came, knocking people over and waving there guns to get people to get out of the way. I'm still squeezed into half a seat and do everything I can to try to pull arms and legs out of the way, but one of the masked men knocks into me splattering blood all over me.

And then the train comes to a sudden stop. We all look around at each other not knowing what to do or say. After many minutes, the train starts again slowly. We continue on in the dark for was seems like hours, not knowing what has happened or what to do. It seems that we can just sit there until the train arrives at its destination.

Uniformed security/police/soldiers eventually emerge into the car, carrying weapons and leading several dogs. Some of the passengers ask what is going on. They are searching for something, but say nothing. One of the dogs seems particularly interested in me. The grunt holding the dog calls over his shoulder, "Over Here!!" and a suit and sunglasses secret-service-looking man comes over and starts looking intently at me.

"Did you see anything?"

Of couse I did -- my voice is shaking, but I try to relate what happened in as few words and as quickly as possible. There has obviously been some kind of terrorist attack or something. They pretty much left us in this car alone and just passed through on their way to and from the next car. The agent makes a few quick notes, holds his hand to his ear and then mumbles into his sleve. He asks me for my name and then moves on.

The grunts and agent make their way through the car, stopping and talking to a few others, and then disappear. The train comes to a stop once again, this time for only a few minutes before it starts again. Out the window we can see a huge fireball forming from what appears to be a pile of abandoned vehicles and other rubbish down a slope some distance from the tracks. As we move forward, the fireball connects and we feel the train lurch -- feel the heat and noise of the blast.

Continuing on, we now see things burning -- cars, piles of crates, trees, bushes and bales of hay, as well as other indistinguishable objects ablaze. Some of these things appear to be up on the tracks, and the train shudders as it runs into these objects and pushes them aside.

Eventually the train moves past the fires and a fast-moving waterway comes into view. We can see water spilling down what appears to be rocky steps. Cars are moving though a toll gate and proceeding to drive down though the rushing water down the steep rocky steps.

After this the train stops in total darkness at strange station. Uniformed agents appear and help most of the passengers to get off the train. Those of us questioned by the suit and sunglasses guy are left on board. We can see luggage being taken off and the people being ushered across the platform and into the station. I'm feeling in a surrealistic daze -- I look around and realize that my wife is no longer here.

The train starts up again. Now plainclothes officers appear and start calling out names. When I hear my name, I instinctively stand up and gather my carry-ons -- my work bag, a small lunch bag with a strap, and what appears to be a pelletgun with a scope. We all line up towards the open doors. The train is still moving and we can see that there is now snow on the ground (wait, it's July but this looks more like late November).

The train now reaches a switch and pulls off onto a siding and begins to slow down. A couple of people step off through the open door and tumble down into the snow and are soon out of sight of the still moving train. We see agents running back in the direction of the fallen people into the darkness.

The train comes to a stop. We are at the end of the siding and there is a small building. We step off the train, walk through the snow and into the building. There are agents here interviewing people. There is one man standing near the entrance who seems to have been there for some time. The agent questioning him is having his hop on one foot. Another agent is working behind a black curtain and has a couple of people laying on their backs on the floor.

I suddenly feel someone grab me by the ankles and the agent behind the curtain is pulling me towards him. I'm pulled down onto the floor, laying on my back like the others. The agent reaches into my pocket and pulls out my company id/security badge. He reads my name and title and looks at me for a moment with a slight smile on his face. He is older and heavy set with graying temples and a gray moustache -- he is not wearing sunglasses like the others.

After a moment, he dips a q-tip into some liquid and begins to apply it to my badge. As I watch, I can see faces being revealed under the white plastic on the back. The agent begins to name the faces, some of which are apparently middle-eastern, some with beards and head scarves. The agent looks at me as if he has asked a question. He continues to rub the q-tip on the faces, and now the beards and head scarves begin to dissapear, as if the q-tip is removing layers of paint.

"Do you know these men?"

Of course not -- I have no idea why there are images of Arab terrorists on my company badge. Up until now I have not seemed particularly worried about any of this -- I seem to have assumed that we were all going to be questioned as witnesses to whatever has happened, that I would be held up for a couple hours and then sent on my way, and that I had nothing to worry about. Now I start to feel panic that I am being set up to become involved in some conspiracy that will affect my life forever.

I want to yell out that I don't anything about this and isn't it about time they told me what's going on and can I call my lawyer -- but I know that this is what they are expecting and I know what the answer will be. This has been a terrorist attack, I am a suspect, and in accordance with the Patriot Act, I can be held indefinitely without being charged or given access to legal representation. I say nothing.

Next I am sent to sit on a bench with several other people. We can hear a TV or radio broadcast -- "This is a ABC News Bulletin!!! Reports have just come in that President-elect Kerry and John Edwards have been shot. Stay tuned for details as they become available!!" -- what the hell is going on?

After a while I am usered to a door at the end of the long room. The door opens and I find myself walking down steps into a dark room. The door behind me closes and I am plunged into total darkness. I feel my way down the last few steps and start to grope around in the darkness. Taking a few small steps, I can hear others milling around.

Next thing, I hear the high-pitched whine of what must be night-vision goggles, and I feel a warmth on my face as if bathed in sunlight, but all is still total darkness. There is a sharp pressure in my right groin, where my femoral artery runs. Hands clasp around my outstretched arms and I feel myself being pulled backwards onto a table. I do not struggle -- I feel strangely detached from the situation.

"We're sorry to have to do this to you, Jeff" -- I hear a distant, echoing voice.

"I understand," -- I hear another voice say. I realize this is me talking, but it seems far away and hazy.

"Thank you for your cooperation"

The next thing I know, I'm waking up in my bed, sweating and having to pee badly. I am totally disoriented, not knowing if it was a dream or if it was real. I feel stiff and groggy. I turn my head and see the clock radio is 4:00 -- out the window I can see the very beginning of pre-dawn light and I can hear birds starting to chirp. I have been laying flat on my back with the covers fully pulled up -- very unusual for me. I usually turn over on my side and throw the covers off my upper body, leaving my hips and legs covered.

I'm starting to come to myself, remembering what day it is and what has happened the previous day. Yesterday was Wednesday and I remembered that I've been having trouble sleeping the last few nights. I had taken a couple Advil and eather a bowl of cereal right before turning in early to try to catch up on lost sleep. I lay in bed, now realizing it was a dream and trying to remember as much as possible. I had read somewhere that if you sit up right away and move around after awaying from a dream, you were less likely to remember it all than if you lay still and try to recount the dream.

This is the first time I've tried to write down a dream in detail. I'm not exactly sure what it all means.

What would happen (constitutionally) if a President-elect and his Vice-President were assasinated after the election but before the Electoral College officially voted and he was inaugurated?

User Journal

Journal: Eric Idle's FCC song (w/ special message to Veep) 5

Journal by Fishstick

This is probably not new, but I stumbled across it for the first time yesterday while googling for news about the VP's little outburst on the Senate floor. Seems strangely appropriate.

Reminded me of the story during the last election when Dick and Bush forgot the mic was on and called a reporter a "major-league asshole", if memory serves.

Now, I'm of the opinion that it doesn't really matter if the pres and VP use profanity towards the press and political rivals, and that it seems silly to focus any time on that issue when there are so many other glaring deficiencies that can be the subject of cable news shows and editorials. I just find it all entertaining.

Anyway, here's the lyrics from Eric's delightful little ditty...

Here's a little number I wrote the other day while out duck hunting with a judge, QUACK

Fuck you very much the FCC
Fuck you very much for fining me
Five thousand bucks a fuck so I'm really out of luck
Thats more than Heidi Fliess was charging me.
So fuck you very much the FCC
For proving that free speech just isn't free
Clear Channel's a dear channel
so Howard Stern must go
Attorney General Ashcroft doesn't like strong words and so
He's charging twice as much as all the drugs for Rush Limbo
so Fuck you all so very much

So fuck you very much dear Mr. Bush
for heroically sitting on your tush
For Halliburton, Enron, all the companies who fail
Lets send them a clear signal and stick Martha straight in jail
She's an uppity rich bitch, but at least she isn't male
So fuck you all so very much

So fuck you dickhead Mr. Cheney too.
Fuck you and fuck everything you do.
Your pace maker must be fake
You haven't got a heart
As far as I'm concerned your just a pasty faced old fart
And as for Condolezza she an intellectual tart
So fuck you all so very much

So fuck you very much the EPA
For giving all Alaska's oil away
It really is a bummer
When I can't fill my Hummer
The ozone a no go zone now that Arnold's here to say
The nuclear winter games are going to take place in LA
So fuck you all so very much

So what the planet fails
Lets save the great white males
And fuck you all so very much

QUACK

Hardware

Journal: Computer dust is toxic 1

Journal by Fishstick

Associated Press is carrying the story that "Toxic dust" found on computer processors and monitors contains chemicals linked to reproductive and neurological disorders, according to a new study by several environmental groups.

"This will be a great surprise to everyone who uses a computer," said Ted Smith, director of the Toxics Coalition. "The chemical industry is subjecting us all to what amounts to chemical trespass by putting these substances into use in commerce."

Well, I submitted this as a story and, surprise, it was rejected -- guess it needed some sensational, controversial, if not completely accurate title:

Is your computer is making you crazy and sterile just like Hitler?!! ...sometimes slashdot reminds me of the national enquirer ;-)

User Journal

Journal: When they break down the door....

Journal by Fishstick

I grew up listening to "Celebration Day", among many other Zepplin songs, but never registered this lyric until this morning as I was listening to the radio driving in...

She hears them talk of new ways
To protect the home she lives in,
Then she wonders what it's all about
When they break down the door.

This struck a chord -- so much so that I had celebration day playing in my head all day. I talked to one of my cow-workers who said songs stuck in your head often mean there is something on your mind that the lyrics bring to mind. One way to get rid of the stuck song is to read out the lyrics aloud and then ponder what subconscious thought you might have wafting through your transom.

It turned out to be simple. I must have been watching some news program over the weekend where Ashcroft was talking about the Patriot Act.

She hears them talk of new ways to protect the home she lives in (discussion of the measures in place to help in the "war on terror").

Then wonders what it's all about when they break down the door (sounded like a good idea at the time to expand law enforcement's powers to fight domestic terrorism, only to find out that those powers are now turned on you as the police raid your home without a warrant).

Idunno - just the way my brain's interpreted this, I guess. Anyway, the song is unstuck now.


Her face is cracked from smiling,
All the fears that she's been hiding,
And it seems pretty soon ev'rybody's gonna know.
And her voice is sore from shouting,
Cheering winners who are losing,
And she worries if their days are few
And soon they'll have to go.

*My, my, my, I'm so happy,
I'm gonna join the band,
We are gonna dance and sing in celebration,
We are in the promised land.

She hears them talk of new ways
To protect the home she lives in,
Then she wonders what it's all about
When they break down the door.
Her name is Brown or White or Black,
You know her very well,
You hear her cries of mercy
As the winners toll the bell.

* Chorus

There is a train that leaves the station
Heading for your destination,
But the price you pay to nowhere has increased a dollar more.
Yes, it has!
And if you walk you're gonna get there
Tho' it takes a little longer,
And when you see it in the distance
You will wring your hands and moan.

User Journal

Journal: Last, ever, journal entry 5

Journal by heironymouscoward

This is my last ever journal entry.

HeironymousCoward is signing off.

The news today that criminal gangs have been spotted selling botnets, the day after the FCC considers spyware to be a valid model for software producers...

In case there is any doubt at all, let me summarize the near furture of the Internet in two words: Robber. Barons.

The installed base of computers and their hooks into modern society represents an incredible resource. You can look at crime from many angles, but the one that I prefer is the biological/ecological metaphor of the parasite. For every "normal" species, there are 3-4 parasite species. The evolution of life has been largely driven by the need to fight off opportunistic parasites.

The Internet, representing the infrastructure on which the modern information economy is hosted, has almost no defenses against parasites. Large swathes of it are monocultures, and the number of successful invasions of this monoculture is on an upward curve that shows no sign of slowing its rate of increase.

Historians know that the present is never framed in terms of arguments of the past. The future is never framed in terms of arguments of the present.

We look today at the Internet as a vast market opportunity, and debate how companies like Microsoft can be allowed to exploit this market without harming it. We argue about the relative merits of alternatives. We predict their growth and discuss strategies.

It's all irrelevant. Tomorrow's Internet will be concerned with only one thing: fighting the war against the invasion of the body snatchers, the infinite armies of parasites that infest every single susceptible computer.

Let me make this concrete. You want to use the Internet? Start by paying a small fee to your local security service provider. And hope he does his job. If his protection does not keep you safe from the others, your network access and data will vanish randomly. The good news is that someone, somewhere will be back with your data, for a price.

It will take only a generation for common criminal behaviour to turn into formalized protection, and from there into a form of taxation on all commerce.

We could sit back and watch this happen, except that during this process, governments will not sit still. Huge task forces will be assembled to protect the national interests and fight the criminal gangs. Wish it was that easy. For every success, ten new gangs will spring up, more vicious, more creative. The anti cybercrime task forces will spend huge amounts of money on the fight, will lobby for extra powers, will use increasing force and aggression.

Caught between the increasingly organized and motivated criminal gangs, and the symetrically developing cybercrime task forces, will be the citizenry of the world, as usual. We will watch as our liberties are infringed from both sides. We will complain but no-one will listen. And we will pay, one way or another.

By the time the war is over, after 20-30 years or so, there will be little difference between the forces of law-and-order and those of the underworld. The rule will be: if you want to do business, you pay. If you can't pay, go and work for someone else.

That is what I predict will happen.

Now, there is a simple and obvious way to prevent this. I'll let you figure out what that way is, and why it's not going to be.

Personally, I'm retiring to start a microbrewery.

Hasta la vista, friends.

User Journal

Journal: Wait for it... (or dont!)

Journal by heironymouscoward

Price of download single (3-4 minutes high quality music): $0.99.

Price of downloaded ringtone (30 seconds radio quality): $4.00.

Why? Because phone manufacturers don't allow mobile phones to play MP3 ringtones. Why not? Because they also profit from the ringtone business (Nokia sells ringtones and logos in Europe).

The music industry already makes more from ringtones than singles...

Hence I present you with the next greatest concept in consumer-from-business theft... RINGTONE PIRACY!! Yes, 12-year olds will be hauled before the judge for illegally swapping ringtones. Modchips that allow mobile phones to play "illegal" MP3 songs (But, yer 'onor, I own the CD!) will be banned in all civilized nations.

Just wait for the Slashdot headline "Ringtone pirates sentenced to 12 months".

Or don't. You read it first here.

User Journal

Journal: I am a Lemming 1

Journal by Fishstick
  1. Grab the nearest book.
  2. Turn to page 23.
  3. Find the fifth sentence.
  4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

But Uranus in Pices is capable of countering the Aquarius cool, detached, intellectual sensibility with tremendous passion and an unfathomable depth of heart-felt emotion.

Source: Susan Miller, The Year Ahead 2004

*the only reason this was the "nearest book" is a cow-worker dropped it by today with a passage on Libras highlited and said "Read this!!! It is soooo you!"

Thanks to elmegil for showing me that I am in fact a Lemming.

*one of my all-time favorite games, BTW.

User Journal

Journal: Futurewars 7

Journal by heironymouscoward

Some wars of the future...

1. Microsoft vs. Free Software

Microsoft using patents to try to send free software developers to jail. Use and distribution of "unlicensed" source code becomes a felony. Software producers gain the right to inspect systems for unlicensed software. Outcome 1: free software becomes a historical curiosity, something that "might have become something" but could not survive in the face of a serious onslaught from vested interests. Outcome 2: vested interests realize that they have more to gain by allowing free software developers to do the hard work, and the patent issue becomes a historical footnote.

2. The Fanatics

Silently, a small group of fanatics is building a global network of hundreds of millions of computers. These computers run their software, do their bidding, but are doing so unknown to their nominal owners. The fanatics have tested a series of techniques, starting with large scale proof-of-concept DDoS attacks on popular web sites in 2001. They concentrate now on expanding their domain of control, only stopping now and then to launch 5000, 10000 computers against the small amateur web sites that try to fight them. Via worms, viruses, and spyware, they have a simple mission: control more than 50% of the Windows Internet, and then sell this capacity to the highest bidder. Want to bring down your business rival? That can be done. Want to incapacitate a foreign country? It can be done. Want to spy on your citizens? Possible, and easy. The fanatics have been infiltrated by the agents of state authority but the sheer power of the network they are building seduces and corrupts so that these infiltrators are themselves now among the most fanatical. One might say that there is a war going on between the fanatics and the general public. But the real war is between the original fanatics, and splinter groups, who find the agenda too slow, too pedantic. "Strike now", they cry, "show the world our power!" The young radical fanatics have started to piggy-back the original network with their own infectious software. Another splinter group has already sold its services to a wealthy sponsor, who plans to launch what can only be described as a terrorist agenda, bringing down large parts of the Internet simply to draw attention to his political cause. The original fanatics are aware of the competition and adapt their software daily, finding ways to detect and kill parasites that don't belong to them. This is war between three, perhaps even more groups, for control of the Internet at a level that few people even realizes exists.

To be awake is to be alive. -- Henry David Thoreau, in "Walden"

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