Sony Axes eVilla, Offers Refund

Matey-O writes: "C-Net is reporting Sony's dropping of the BeOS powered eVilla internet appliance. Saying it wasn't performing as planned. Am I the only person who LIKES having a small internet terminal in the kitchen/family room?" Apparently, yes. I suspect that laptops with wireless cards are filling the role that web appliances were supposed to fill.

Comments

fp again

[Anonymous Coward]

fp again

Taco Saiz:

[Anonymous Coward]

Taco Saiz: "No more first prosting"

wireless laptops in the living room

[frknfrk]

this not only affects these internet appliances, but computer desk and chair manufacturers as well. I have this nice desk and ergonomic chair in my office, but I -never- sit there because I can sit on the La-Z-Boy with my wireless laptop. When my wife started law school, I made sure she had a nice desk of her own to sit at with her laptop and books. Of course she has a wireless card now also and there is competition at the La-Z-Boy.

What's your favorite?

[Anonymous Coward]

Which Desktop do you use????

KDE
GNOME
Motif
Windows 98
Windows 2000

Re:What's your favorite?

[Anonymous Coward]

Personally, I enjoy using CP/M.

Re:What's your favorite?

[Anonymous Coward]

K

Lameness filter encountered. Post aborted!
Reason: One character. Hmmm. Gee, might this be a troll?

Re:What's your favorite?

[Anonymous Coward]

WindowMaker. Forget all that bloated shit you mentioned.

Re:What's your favorite?

[Anonymous Coward]

Please keep your bizarre masochistic fetishes to yourself.

fuXXor cRaPdOt

[Anonymous Coward]

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."

Halflife for linux

[Anonymous Coward]

I submitted this, but it was rejected!@# Stupid slashdot. Anyway, the news is that Loki has begun a port of halflife, and there's even a demo! Counterstrike will be supported, but it's not enabled in the demo.

Halflife Demo

Goatsex!

Re:Halflife for linux

[Anonymous Coward]

That is soooo cool! I can't wait for the full version to come out.

Re:Halflife for linux

[l3377r0lld00d]

That's actually as close to a Linux port as you're ever gonna get...

Junk character post

[Anonymous Coward]

I'm trying to post the goatse.cx ascii art, but the lame(ness) filter keeps saying "Junk character post". I know how to get around the compression filter, but how do you get around this one?

Re:Junk character post

[Anonymous Coward]

The softest thing in the world dashes against and overcomes the
hardest; that which has no (substantial) existence enters where there
is no crevice. I know hereby what advantage belongs to doing nothing
(with a purpose).

-- Lao-Tze

Sony eVilla

[Anonymous Coward]

Imagine a Beowolf Cluster of THESE!!!

� �]|ll||ll|[

[Anonymous Coward]

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Don't Get Your Ribbon Cables in a Crunch

[Anonymous Coward]

Tired of thin skinny cables?

Introducing the ALL NEW GOATSE IDE cables! They're BIG, THEY'RE ROUND, and you can fit LOTS of DATA through them. Order yours today at goatse.cx

Re:....EVIL is GOOD

[Anonymous Coward]

Just ask JonKatz about 15-year-old boys.

it was a piece of crap

[Anonymous Coward]

who the hell needs something like this, quick answer: nobody. It was doomed to fail, the product was a total joke.

Know what I mean?

[Anonymous Coward]

!

what is happening with Slashcode:

[Anonymous Coward]

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.

holy moly

[Anonymous Coward]

my ass feels like shit today.

FUCK YOU

[Anonymous Coward]

FUCK YOU piece of shit

Mahogany

[Anonymous Coward]

But you lamers wouldn't know about that, would you?

Note to self...

[wiredog]

Gotta buy milk on the way home from work.

Re:This post is a GPL violation!

[Anonymous Coward]

L33t.

Here's an Idea

[Anonymous Coward]

Try using some toilet paper.

Or better yet, take a bath you nasty shit.