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ICANN At-Large Study

Posted by michael on from the gerrymandering-and-poll-taxes dept.

perp writes: "ICANN has published the draft of its At-Large recommendations. It's long, but it looks like they're trying to raise the bar for at-large membership by requiring at-large members to a) pay a fee and b) be a registered domain holder. Their comments about all the non-committed at-large members who "enrolled only because it was easy" gave me a laugh; it took three days of trying for me to register." The draft also proposes slashing At-Large board members from 9 to 6. But there are some good points in there about organizational issues.

15 of 114 comments (clear)

  1. fp by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    fp

    1. Re:fp by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

      The Russians are tapping your phone, right?

  2. money by jchapman2004 · · Score: 0, Offtopic

    everyone wants more money.

    gr....... greed these days

  3. cesorware.org by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    I tried registering censorware.org, but someone is cyber-squatting on it.

    I wonder who??



    *cough*michael*cough*

  4. CALL FOR GOATSE ! by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    CALL FOR GOATSE

    1. INTERNATIONAL TROLL CONVERFERENCE

    15.-17. September 2001

    At Slashdot first post

    AGENDA

    15. September - Main topic: frist post

    * Anonymous vs. login frist posts
    * 20 secs - enough for frist post content ?
    * Frist post ASCII art
    * History of frist post from 12. century to the year 2001

    16. September - Main topic: historic trolls

    * The dawn of time: Natalie Portman and hot grits
    * Is Ogg dead ?
    * Stephen King: dead forever
    * BSD is dying: endless agony and sibling trolls
    * The brave defenders of truth: linux gay conspiracy

    17. September - Main topic: new developments and future trends

    * ASCII trolling: forever or until next slashcode release ?
    * High moderated thread invasion
    * The deleted post conspiracy
    * Goatse redirection - the missing link

    Please make all your goatse submissions until 12. September 2001.
    All papers will be accepted, because our reviewers didn't want
    see any more open anuses.

  5. Three by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic
    Three.


    My wife was loafing in the courtyard with a cigarette, where I didn't expect to
    find her, but there she was. Smoking. And what had the doctor said? She
    relinquished the thing to my fingers and then I crushed it under my foot. Then
    I bent and kissed her.


    "Come
    with me," I said.


    "Where
    are we going?" she asked, still abashed.


    "To
    the university bookstore," I said. I want to show you something.


    "What
    is it?"


    "It's
    in a book," I said. "You'll see."


    We left the courtyard and started for the bookstore, passing the other students
    who were enjoying the spring day's late moming. A lot of them were smoking -- I saw her eyes light up. They were loafing on the steps and walkways, on any
    horizontal surfaces. If they sat alone or if talking to each other, they looked
    comfortable. The whole world seemed satisfied with itself. It was finally
    spring, after all.


    We crossed the street calmly. With deliberation from curb to curb, as we do.
    There was no rush -- it was our lunch break; we had an hour.


    Then we walked into the bookstore and went downstairs where the textbooks
    are.


    "Here,"
    I said, and I turned down an aisle and found the textbook called Human
    Embryology. "Here," I said. "Look at this."


    She turned away from me, put the book on the shelf, and began to page through
    it. Flip, flip. She became puzzled and glanced at me.


    "What,
    have you been studying up already?" she asked, smiling.


    And then she got to the pictures. Fear and alarm shot through her; her eyes
    widened. I had felt that same fear when I saw the pictures myself, when I'd
    stumbled on them without a clue and without waming. I had walked around with
    that fear for days, and now I shared it with her.


    The first picture was of a fetus that had not made it, that the world was happy
    not to admit. Because it had no head, and hardly any limbs. The body had been
    squeezed inside the mother, twisted by the sacs inside, and couldn't grow.


    The second picture was of a fetus that had a head but it was a head that was
    barely legible as a head. It was at the top of the picture, on the top of a
    trunk, flanked by two arms. But the head was twisted up as if wrenched by some
    slow and deliberate force -- obliterating the features of the face -- you can depend on forehead as much as eyes and mouth -- and the skull was a mass of deformed bone and protruding brain. This fetus also
    had not survived.


    The third picture was of a fetus with a normal body whose face was malformed.
    Unlike the second, this fetus had features. But the eyes were small and deeply
    set, and the jaw widened and elongated. The upper lip was separated beneath the
    nose. The nose was thick and long. The face was like a rodent's face. This
    fetus was also a stillborn.


    These fetuses had been mangled by life even before they were living.
    Circumstances beyond them had shaped them, and no one had ever known them, even
    for as much love as their mothers and fathers had had.


    My wife's face was ashen and she gripped the shelf for support as she closed
    the book. "That's
    all I can look at," she said.


    "That's
    all there is," I said.


    She looked at me. "So,
    this is what you're afraid of," she said.


    "This
    is what you're afraid of too," I said.


    "Think
    of those poor mothers," she said. They were afraid just like we are, afraid.



    Three.



    She was loafing in the courtyard with a cigarette, where I expected to find
    her. She beamed her smile out on everyone, and on me when I arrived. She's my
    new friend, and our mutual trust builds slowly, like that of new friends.


    "Come
    with me," I said, with a mischievous cant to my voice.


    "Where
    are we going?" she asked.


    "To
    the university bookstore," I said. I want to show you something.


    "What
    is it?"


    "It's
    in a book I just found," I said slyly. You'll see.


    We left the courtyard and started for the bookstore, passing all of the other
    students who were enjoying the spring day's late moming. They were also loafing
    on the steps and walkways and verandas -- they
    sat wherever they could: the tired, older students in frayed flannel, the girls
    sitting with their fluttering dresses pulled up their thighs, the boys in shorts and baseball caps, the Socialists handing
    out free newspapers that no one would take, the Christians handing out
    tracts.


    My new friend, this beautiful woman, has a fine way of walking with steps that
    almost go nowhere. Yet she gets where she is going because she is buoyed by the
    glances of the people who watch her walking, and she does not dispel this
    energy by looking back. She wanted another cigarette and almost stopped to ask
    someone for a light, but I told her to cut it out.


    Somehow she knows they are looking at her. Don't ask me how. In the courtyard,
    on the steps, crossing the street, I am invisible as wind. No one looks at me,
    that's a fact I know.


    Then we walked into the bookstore and went downstairs where the textbooks
    are.


    "Here,"
    I said, and I turned down an aisle and found the textbook called Human
    Embryology    . "Here," I said. "Look at this."


    She turned away from me, put the book on the shelf, and began to page through
    it. Flip, flip. She became puzled and glanced at me. "I
    don't understand," she said, "I don't know what I'm looking for."


    And then she got to the pictures.


    Her confusion made her more beautiful, if it were possible for her to be more
    beautiful. Against the background of her self-assuredness, this puzzlement stood out, revealed a vulnerable place.


    The first picture was of a fetus that had not made it, that the world was happy
    not to admit. Because it had no head, and hardly any limbs. The body had been
    squeezed inside the mother, twisted by the sacs inside, and couldn't grow.


    The second picture was of a fetus that had a head but that was only barely
    legible as a head. It was at the top of the picture, on the top of a trunk,
    flanked by two arms. But the head was twisted up as if wrenched by some slow,
    deliberate force -- obliterating the features of the face -- you can depend on forehead as much as eyes and mouth -- and the skull was a mass of deformed bone and protruding brain. This fetus also
    had not survived.


    The third picture was of a fetus with a normal body whose face was malformed.
    Unlike the second, this fetus had features. But the eyes were small and deeply
    set, and the jaw widened and elongated. The upper lip was separated beneath the
    nose. The nose was thick and long. The face was like a rodent's face. This
    fetus was also a stillborn.


    These fetuses were ugly, even monstrous. But they were also innocent, pure,
    quiet.


    Her face was twisted up as she closed the book, and her body had fallen. She
    gripped the shelf for support. "That's
    all I can look at," she said, her face ashen.


    Her beauty was destroyed for the day. When we went outside and walked past the
    students, no one looked at her; we walked slower then, and I often had to wait
    for her.


    "That
    was repulsive," she said. "That was really disgusting. I've just lost my appetite
    for lunch."


    "Let
    me help you," I said. I felt that we could trust each other now.


    "I
    can't believe you did that," was all she could say. "I can't believe what you
    just did."



    Three.


    Just a few hours after we left my bed, she was loafing where I expected to find
    her, in the courtyard with a cigarette. She played with her smile when I came
    up, fixing it as I bent to kiss her. Her lips were warm, slightly adhesive; I
    liked that. She wiped them off.


    "Come
    with me," I said to her.


    "Where
    are we going?" she asked.


    "To
    the university bookstore," I said. "I want to show you something."


    "What
    is it?"


    "It's
    in a book I just found," I said. "You'll see."


    We left the courtyard and started for the bookstore, passing all of the other
    students who were enjoying the spring day's late morning. But who knew how long
    it would last? There were pretty girls who sat in groups on the steps with
    their dresses pulled up all their thighs, even prettier drenched in the
    sunlight. Some people carried short umbrellas stuffed into their backpacks -- rain was predicted. The sun was never out long enough when you'd just finished
    the cold winter.


    The Bible preacher who usually stands on the corner was gone.


    We walked into the bookstore and went downstairs where the textbooks are.


    "Here,"
    I said, and I turned down an aisle and found the textbook called Human
    Embryology. "Here," I said. "Look at this."


    She turned away from me, put the book on the shelf, and began to page through
    it. Flip, flip. She became puzzled and glanced at me. "I
    don't understand," she said, "I don't know what I'm looking for."


    And then she got to the pictures.


    I'd often seen her make such expressions, but only momentarily -- flashes
    of something she couldn't keep. Such emotions always destabilized her and took
    something away from who she was. Her confusion suited her fine.


    The first picture was of a fetus that had not made it, that the world was happy
    not to admit. Because it had no head, and hardly any limbs. The body had been
    squeezed inside the mother, twisted by the sacs inside, and couldn't grow.


    The second picture was of a fetus that had a head but it was a head that was
    barely legible as such. It was at the top of the picture, on the top of a
    trunk, flanked by two arms. But the head was twisted up as if wrenched by some
    slow and deliberate force -- obliterating the features of the face -- and the skull was a mass of bone and brain, deformed and protruding. This fetus
    also had not survived.


    The third picture was of a fetus with a normal body whose face was malformed.
    Unlike the second, this fetus had features. But the eyes were small and deeply
    set, and the jaw widened and elongated. The upper lip was separated beneath the
    nose. The nose was thick and long. The face was like a rodent's face. This
    fetus was also a stillborn.


    These fetuses were ugly, even monstrous. They were innocent but they were also
    deliberate. Both she and I standing there were reminded of the extremes that we
    did not have to go for beauty.


    I don't know if I'd convinced her that she was more beautiful than she thought,
    because her face was ashen and she gripped the shelf for support, flipping the
    book closed. "I
    can't look at any more," she said.


    "Actually,
    that's all there is," I said.


    "That
    was repulsive," she said. "That was really disgusting. I've just lost my appetite
    for lunch."


    "Let
    me help you," I said.



    "Oh,
    you've helped me already just fine," she said. "Just fine."


  6. Congratulations to VA Linux and Slashdot by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    Your stock price just hit an all-time low today!


    Sincerely,

    Eric S. Raymond - Surprised by Bankruptcy

    1. Re:Congratulations to VA Linux and Slashdot by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

      I love watching VA die. Just something about those VA fucks that makes me enjoy watching them slowly sink into oblivion. I mean they had a moronic business plan from the start, now it's even more ridiculous. Haha. Just becuase it is (or was) a Linux company doens't mean i can't laugh at it like all the other lame ass eCompanies to die a nasty death.

  7. Taco! by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    Slashdot is dying. It is now run by us trolls. Please turn in your login and password immediately for a smoother transition. Thank you.

  8. Re:Ever... by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    this article looks like shit

  9. Re:This post is a GPL violation! by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    This is actually funny.

    Bravo.

  10. sucky slashdot code by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    Problems:

    *People can post just characters thousands of lines long and fuck up the entire system.

    *The moderation scheme is totally screwed. good posts are not getting moded up, bad posts are not getting modded down. Mod points just don't seem to exist. What little points there are are used to get rid of the thousand line junk character posts. The only posts going to 4 and 5 are slashdot editor buddies.

    *Slashdot.org refuses connection 1/3 of the time now instead of 1/4.

    *Error messages out the ass.

    Don't use the new slashcode. It really sucks bad.

  11. Loki isn't dead. by daniell · · Score: 0, Offtopic
    If I uderstand it Loki may be dying but it isn't dead. It can still sell and develop; but it can't come up with money to pay debts, so it took legal action [Chapter 11] to buy time.

    My logic is: Did you ever play Quake III Arena? Maybe you wanted to? If the answer is yes to either, now is a great time to legally own a legit version of Q3Arena at the cheapest price you'll ever find... and as a bonus, you'll be helping out a linux game developer with a good record for quality games. You know that once you have a legal pak0 and CD Key you can run Q3 on any of: linux, win32, macOS 8-9, MacOS X, and um... yeah. See ebgames.com at the low price of $10, why not also get Decent 3? $4 shipping, in stock now, you'll have it in 2 days.

    If you're /really/ modivated to help loki, go to their loki store and give them a better profit margin.

    Okay that was a bit off topic; maybe if I tossed in a "the devil is in the [code] defects" I'd get a sympathetic funny rating from those who like bad puns. You know who you are...

    -Daniel

  12. Test by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

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  13. Moderation by Anonymous Coward · · Score: -1, Offtopic

    Everything is moderated which is why it seems like moderation is slowing down some. I mean it used to be trolls would get slapped down to minus-one in just a matter of a couple of minutes. Now it seems like it takes a long time something like 10 minutes or more before trolls are slapped down.