Posted by
ryuzaki0
on from the chips-ain't-easy dept.
aftk2 writes "According to news.com, chip maker Transmeta - current home of Linux creator Linus Torvalds, has canned 40% (200 people) of its work force, and has shifted its goals toward obtaining profitability in 2003. No word on whether there were any penguins seen leaving the building."
Transmeta have had problems with....
by
kastaverious
·
· Score: -1, Troll
their next generation of CPU, there is some information http://short.undef.net/?kid=1027025512 regarding what they have been working on and the problems they are having.
This is truly terrible news for Linux and the tech community in general. As the employer of Linux Torvalds, the world's greatest living programmer, Transmeta was the heart and soul of Silicon Valley. Now it's reputation is tarnished and it is but a (60%) shell of its former self.
However, this isn't completely unexpected, at least by me. We bought up a lot of TM's products on Day One because of the low power consumption and high value-add. But around Day Four we noticed a lot of problems. Specifically we found problems with code path regneration, bit concordance, executing lagging on the backend busses and even voltage differentiation. That kind of low quality product eventually brings a company down.
It's too bad that Linux will get caught in the crossfire and most likely go into a tailspin, but that's the trouble when Open Source programmers go into the commercial tech sphere.
Re:Talk to you all later.
by
b0bd0bbs
·
· Score: 0, Troll
"It's better to burn out than to fade away." -- Kurt Cobain
FYI Neil Young said it first.
Re:so is transmeta dying?
by
Warped-Reality
·
· Score: 0, Troll
Sorry, I can't resist... It is now official - Netcraft has confirmed: TRANSMETA is dying
Yet another crippling bombshell hit the beleaguered TRANSMETA community when recently IDC confirmed that TRANSMETA accounts for less than a fraction of 1 percent of all servers. Coming on the heels of the latest Netcraft survey which plainly states that TRANSMETA has lost more market share, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. TRANSMETA is collapsing in complete disarray, as further exemplified by failing dead last [samag.com] in the recent Sys Admin comprehensive networking test.
You don't need to be a Torvald [amdest.com] to predict TRANSMETA's future. The hand writing is on the wall: TRANSMETA faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for TRANSMETA because *BSD is dying. Things are looking very bad for TRANSMETA. As many of us are already aware, TRANSMETA continues to lose market share. Red ink flows like a river of blood. FreeBSD is the most endangered of them all, having lost 93% of its core developers.
Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.
Due to the troubles of Walnut Creek, abysmal sales and so on, TRANSMETA went out of business and was taken over by INTEL who sell another troubled CHIP. Now INTEL is also dead(!), its corpse turned over to yet another charnel house.
All major surveys show that TRANSMETA has steadily declined in market share. TRANSMETA is very sick and its long term survival prospects are very dim. If TRANSMETA is to survive at all it will be among OS hobbyist dabblers. TRANSMETA continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save it at this point in time. For all practical purposes, TRANSMETA is dead.
Fact: TRANSMETA is dead!
-- This is not the greatest sig in the world, no. This is just a tribute.
Sorry for my previous posting being done anonymous, I didn't have my account ID handy, didn't use it for (quite) a while.
As for the 'penguins leaving the building', I might be able to give some good news (or not) to the guy. I'm still at Transmeta.
Like a lot (most?) of other companies in the business Transmeta has suffered. We've suffered just enough, IMO. We still exist and have a healthy profitable future. Crusoe processors are getting widespread, even outside the Japanese market where they were and still are king.
Essentially, some people from non-vital positions were the victim of a what happens in the general economy, and I feel for them. But the vital teams were untouched.
There will be no change whatsoever in my duties as kernel development maintainer of the odd series, I'll just keep on doing that as I've always have. No need to worry.
Re:No big deal
by
Anonymous Coward
·
· Score: -1, Troll
Please tell me why this was modded up? None of you realize this isn't Linus? For one, his name is misspelled...
It had been three weeks since Ryan quit playing weapons factory. His dreams were filled with vivid imageries of his gaming past. He saw large, pixelated breasts on every woman he saw. From time to time he broke out in cold sweats, as he yearned to get his frag one once again. It brought great sorrow to his heart, knowing he had not gone out on top. He had always felt he was among the greats, among the best players the game had ever seen. He also felt he was the smoothest pimp daddy when he bought thirteen acres of prime farmland in Antartica, for thirty bucks an acre. Many thoughts were spent dwelling on the game. Going cold turkey was harder than he had imagined. Time was killed by watching television - mostly scrambled porn - and trying to get into the world record books. As he had no real talents, he went for the most white trash records he could find. For three days, he ate nothing but Taco Bell, and tobasco sauce, trying to build up the largest turd in history. When it came, it came with a fierceness. He couldn't make it to the toilet, so he simply dropped his drawers on the living room floor. When he was finished, he measured. Thirty inches exactly. Surely that had to be the record. Quickly, he got on the phone, and got the people from the record book out to measure it. "Thank you for coming," he said, when the two men from the book arrived at his house. "Please, follow me. It's in the living room." "You shit on your carpet?" one of the men asked. "I couldn't quite make it. Anyways, just come look at it. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." The three men walked into the living room, and stared in disbelief as Ryan's dog sat on his hindquarters, chowing down on the monster turd. "Kodiak!" Ryan yelled. "Bad dog!" He rushed to his dog, and reached down his throat, trying to get his shit back. He pulled many things he had thought to be lost out of his dogs stomach. Chains, whips, dildos, french ticklers, and a half eaten box of orange tic-tacs. Finally he hit paydirt. Smiling with glee, he pulled the turd out, and layed it in front of the two men. They quickly measured. "This is quite impressive, Ryan, I must say. However, it's not even close to the record," one of the men said. "Roseanne once had a forty-eight incher come out, and that was only after her third breakfast. I'm sorry." Ryan's smile dropped, and formed a pathetic frown. His heart had sunken to new depths. Even when dealing with his excrement, his best just wasn't good enough. If you can't be proud of your shit, what can you be proud of? "Well, how about another record? I could try for something else maybe," Ryan said. "I'm sorry, but we really must be going." "Please, I beg of you. I need this. I just quit playing my game, and I'm fucking losing it. I need something, please." The two men sighed in unison. "Fine. We'll give you three hours to come up with something." "Oh, thank you so much! Um, I just need to run to the store really quick, I think I have just the thing." With that, Ryan left the house, and made a mad dash to the store. Amazingly, everything went normally as he made his rounds through the vast aisles of the store, that was, until he saw a large tank of oxygen sitting in the middle of the floor. He reached his hand out, and grabbed it, pulling it behind him. A second later, he heard an elderly woman cry out in agony behind him. "My air!" the woman screamed. Ryan turned around quickly, and saw that the oxygen tank was hooked up to the elderly woman. The woman was sitting in her motorized cart, waiving her arms violently at Ryan. Being the sensitive, caring man that he was, Ryan yanked the hose off the tank, flipped Granny the bird, and ran. The old woman became furious. She berated Ryan with a barage of curse words, filling the store with phrases such as "schucks," and "gosh darnit!" Her face turned beat red, and she lost control. Thankfully she was wearing her adult diaper that day. With a foul stench of mothballs, urine, sugar free saltwater taffy, and Lord Calvert, otherwise known as Old People Smell, emanating from her, she put her cart in gear, and gave chase at the eye popping speed of 2 miles an hour. Ryan would have been in the clear, if he had not stopped to stare at Betty Crockers breasts, in the baking aisle. As he drooled, he felt a bump on his leg. Turning his head, he saw that the angry old woman had rammed into his leg. "Back the fuck off, Granny. You don't want none of this," Ryan growled. "I'll beat you silly with my cane, youngin!" That was it. He had been called youngin before, and he had let it slide. But not now, not from this old hag. He snarled, as he kicked her in the shin. "Yeah! What's up now, bitch? I'll fuckin' break your hip!" With the ferocity of a two week old sea turtle, Ryan threw a punch. The old woman hardly flinched. Realizing his punches weren't an effective attack, Ryan went behind her chair, and pushed her out of it. The instant she hit the ground, Ryan was on her, kicking her in the back. Quickly he picked up the oxygen tank, lifted it above his head, and went for the finishing blow. "Time to die, old lady Smith!" But just before he could deliver the blow, he was tackled by the security guard. "Hey! Knock that shit off!" the security guard yelled, as he held onto Ryan. "You can't be kicking old ladies in the middle of the store." "Oh come on, just one more time? Please?" "Oh, alright," the guard said with a giggle. Ryan stepped forward, and kicked the old lady a few more times. "You really should try it, it's quite fun." The guard looked around, to see if anyone was looking. After he was convinced the coast was clear, he landed a few swift kicks in the old woman's ribs. "You're right, this is kinda fun!" The two of them laughed heartily. "Hey, tell you what. Get out of here. I'll just tell everyone she had a stroke or something. Besides, who's going to believe an old lady like this?" "Hey, thanks man." And with that, Ryan fled the store. By the time the ordeal with the old woman was over, he was in no mood to set any records. There wasn't really any reason for him to be too upset though, it's not like he had killed the old bag. Three days later, Ryan snuck into the old woman's wake. It was an open casket, and there were at least two hundred people in attendance. He glanced over at the gathering around the refreshment table, and noticed many beautiful girls, all around his age. He strolled over, as cool as he could. It was his cool demeanor that helped him save face, when he tripped over his own feet, and fell. He shook it off, and walked over to one particularly good looking girl. "Hey, how're you? Wait, I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. Obviously you're doing terrible. I can't even begin to imagine the heartbreak you're feeling right now. This has undoubtedly been a nightmarish experience for your whole family. But anyways, you wanna fuck? I mean, we can go into the confession booths, maybe hide out behind the pew. It'll only take a few minutes. No, wait. Of course you don't want to fuck. You've been crying all day, the last thing on your mind is fucking. You wanna suck my dick though? That might make some of the pain go away." The backhand that landed across Ryan's face sent him flying. "So I'm taking that as a no?" Ryan spent the rest of the day asking similar questions to all of the woman in attendance. The result was always the same. Ryan sat on the bench, and sobbed. One of the girls saw him crying, and felt bad. Slowly she walked over, and sat down next to him. "Don't cry. I'm sorry I slapped you," she said. "It's just, you come off as such a pig. But obviously you're very sweet and sensitive if you can show your emotions like this." "Yeah, I'm a big baby," Ryan said, between tears. "Thank you for trying to comfort me. You wanna fuck?" The smack that followed was the final blow. He fell to the floor, and layed there for twenty minutes, without moving. Then he noticed two men standing in front of him. "Congratulations, Ryan," one of the men said. "You're officially in our record books. No one has ever been slapped by so many women in one day. In fact, you shattered the record." Ryan stood up, and smiled from ear to ear. He was ecstatic. Never before had he felt so happy. There was only one thing he could think to say. "You wanna fuck?"
Torvalds needs to be *PUNISHED* for this!
by
Anonymous Coward
·
· Score: -1, Troll
He's an economic *TERRORIST* who brought this upon this homosexual infested company. He needs to be sent to prison, have his ass stretched and raped, beaten, and set on fire.
I can't want until Lord Bush orders all of you gay filthy unChristian nerds to be burned to death.
Slashdot Mirror
their next generation of CPU, there is some information http://short.undef.net/?kid=1027025512 regarding what they have been working on and the problems they are having.
GiraffeSville, a place anyone can call home
However, this isn't completely unexpected, at least by me. We bought up a lot of TM's products on Day One because of the low power consumption and high value-add. But around Day Four we noticed a lot of problems. Specifically we found problems with code path regneration, bit concordance, executing lagging on the backend busses and even voltage differentiation. That kind of low quality product eventually brings a company down.
It's too bad that Linux will get caught in the crossfire and most likely go into a tailspin, but that's the trouble when Open Source programmers go into the commercial tech sphere.
"It's better to burn out than to fade away." -- Kurt Cobain FYI Neil Young said it first.
Sorry, I can't resist...
It is now official - Netcraft has confirmed: TRANSMETA is dying
Yet another crippling bombshell hit the beleaguered TRANSMETA community when recently IDC confirmed that TRANSMETA accounts for less than a fraction of 1 percent of all servers. Coming on the heels of the latest Netcraft survey which plainly states that TRANSMETA has lost more market share, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. TRANSMETA is collapsing in complete disarray, as further exemplified by failing dead last [samag.com] in the recent Sys Admin comprehensive networking test.
You don't need to be a Torvald [amdest.com] to predict TRANSMETA's future. The hand writing is on the wall: TRANSMETA faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for TRANSMETA because *BSD is dying. Things are looking very bad for TRANSMETA. As many of us are already aware, TRANSMETA continues to lose market share. Red ink flows like a river of blood. FreeBSD is the most endangered of them all, having lost 93% of its core developers.
Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.
Due to the troubles of Walnut Creek, abysmal sales and so on, TRANSMETA went out of business and was taken over by INTEL who sell another troubled CHIP. Now INTEL is also dead(!), its corpse turned over to yet another charnel house.
All major surveys show that TRANSMETA has steadily declined in market share. TRANSMETA is very sick and its long term survival prospects are very dim. If TRANSMETA is to survive at all it will be among OS hobbyist dabblers. TRANSMETA continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save it at this point in time. For all practical purposes, TRANSMETA is dead.
Fact: TRANSMETA is dead!
This is not the greatest sig in the world, no. This is just a tribute.
Sorry for my previous posting being done anonymous, I didn't have my account ID handy, didn't use it for (quite) a while.
As for the 'penguins leaving the building', I might be able to give some good news (or not) to the guy. I'm still at Transmeta.
Like a lot (most?) of other companies in the business Transmeta has suffered. We've suffered just enough, IMO. We still exist and have a healthy profitable future. Crusoe processors are getting widespread, even outside the Japanese market where they were and still are king.
Essentially, some people from non-vital positions were the victim of a what happens in the general economy, and I feel for them. But the vital teams were untouched.
There will be no change whatsoever in my duties as kernel development maintainer of the odd series, I'll just keep on doing that as I've always have. No need to worry.
It had been three weeks since Ryan quit playing weapons factory. His dreams were filled with vivid imageries of his gaming past. He saw large, pixelated breasts on every woman he saw. From time to time he broke out in cold sweats, as he yearned to get his frag one once again. It brought great sorrow to his heart, knowing he had not gone out on top. He had always felt he was among the greats, among the best players the game had ever seen. He also felt he was the smoothest pimp daddy when he bought thirteen acres of prime farmland in Antartica, for thirty bucks an acre. Many thoughts were spent dwelling on the game. Going cold turkey was harder than he had imagined.
Time was killed by watching television - mostly scrambled porn - and trying to get into the world record books. As he had no real talents, he went for the most white trash records he could find. For three days, he ate nothing but Taco Bell, and tobasco sauce, trying to build up the largest turd in history.
When it came, it came with a fierceness. He couldn't make it to the toilet, so he simply dropped his drawers on the living room floor. When he was finished, he measured. Thirty inches exactly. Surely that had to be the record. Quickly, he got on the phone, and got the people from the record book out to measure it.
"Thank you for coming," he said, when the two men from the book arrived at his house. "Please, follow me. It's in the living room."
"You shit on your carpet?" one of the men asked.
"I couldn't quite make it. Anyways, just come look at it. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."
The three men walked into the living room, and stared in disbelief as Ryan's dog sat on his hindquarters, chowing down on the monster turd.
"Kodiak!" Ryan yelled. "Bad dog!"
He rushed to his dog, and reached down his throat, trying to get his shit back. He pulled many things he had thought to be lost out of his dogs stomach. Chains, whips, dildos, french ticklers, and a half eaten box of orange tic-tacs. Finally he hit paydirt.
Smiling with glee, he pulled the turd out, and layed it in front of the two men. They quickly measured.
"This is quite impressive, Ryan, I must say. However, it's not even close to the record," one of the men said. "Roseanne once had a forty-eight incher come out, and that was only after her third breakfast. I'm sorry."
Ryan's smile dropped, and formed a pathetic frown. His heart had sunken to new depths. Even when dealing with his excrement, his best just wasn't good enough. If you can't be proud of your shit, what can you be proud of?
"Well, how about another record? I could try for something else maybe," Ryan said.
"I'm sorry, but we really must be going."
"Please, I beg of you. I need this. I just quit playing my game, and I'm fucking losing it. I need something, please." The two men sighed in unison.
"Fine. We'll give you three hours to come up with something."
"Oh, thank you so much! Um, I just need to run to the store really quick, I think I have just the thing." With that, Ryan left the house, and made a mad dash to the store.
Amazingly, everything went normally as he made his rounds through the vast aisles of the store, that was, until he saw a large tank of oxygen sitting in the middle of the floor. He reached his hand out, and grabbed it, pulling it behind him. A second later, he heard an elderly woman cry out in agony behind him.
"My air!" the woman screamed. Ryan turned around quickly, and saw that the oxygen tank was hooked up to the elderly woman. The woman was sitting in her motorized cart, waiving her arms violently at Ryan. Being the sensitive, caring man that he was, Ryan yanked the hose off the tank, flipped Granny the bird, and ran.
The old woman became furious. She berated Ryan with a barage of curse words, filling the store with phrases such as "schucks," and "gosh darnit!" Her face turned beat red, and she lost control. Thankfully she was wearing her adult diaper that day. With a foul stench of mothballs, urine, sugar free saltwater taffy, and Lord Calvert, otherwise known as Old People Smell, emanating from her, she put her cart in gear, and gave chase at the eye popping speed of 2 miles an hour.
Ryan would have been in the clear, if he had not stopped to stare at Betty Crockers breasts, in the baking aisle. As he drooled, he felt a bump on his leg. Turning his head, he saw that the angry old woman had rammed into his leg.
"Back the fuck off, Granny. You don't want none of this," Ryan growled.
"I'll beat you silly with my cane, youngin!" That was it. He had been called youngin before, and he had let it slide. But not now, not from this old hag. He snarled, as he kicked her in the shin.
"Yeah! What's up now, bitch? I'll fuckin' break your hip!" With the ferocity of a two week old sea turtle, Ryan threw a punch. The old woman hardly flinched. Realizing his punches weren't an effective attack, Ryan went behind her chair, and pushed her out of it. The instant she hit the ground, Ryan was on her, kicking her in the back. Quickly he picked up the oxygen tank, lifted it above his head, and went for the finishing blow.
"Time to die, old lady Smith!" But just before he could deliver the blow, he was tackled by the security guard.
"Hey! Knock that shit off!" the security guard yelled, as he held onto Ryan. "You can't be kicking old ladies in the middle of the store."
"Oh come on, just one more time? Please?"
"Oh, alright," the guard said with a giggle. Ryan stepped forward, and kicked the old lady a few more times.
"You really should try it, it's quite fun." The guard looked around, to see if anyone was looking. After he was convinced the coast was clear, he landed a few swift kicks in the old woman's ribs.
"You're right, this is kinda fun!" The two of them laughed heartily. "Hey, tell you what. Get out of here. I'll just tell everyone she had a stroke or something. Besides, who's going to believe an old lady like this?"
"Hey, thanks man." And with that, Ryan fled the store. By the time the ordeal with the old woman was over, he was in no mood to set any records. There wasn't really any reason for him to be too upset though, it's not like he had killed the old bag.
Three days later, Ryan snuck into the old woman's wake. It was an open casket, and there were at least two hundred people in attendance. He glanced over at the gathering around the refreshment table, and noticed many beautiful girls, all around his age. He strolled over, as cool as he could. It was his cool demeanor that helped him save face, when he tripped over his own feet, and fell. He shook it off, and walked over to one particularly good looking girl.
"Hey, how're you? Wait, I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. Obviously you're doing terrible. I can't even begin to imagine the heartbreak you're feeling right now. This has undoubtedly been a nightmarish experience for your whole family. But anyways, you wanna fuck? I mean, we can go into the confession booths, maybe hide out behind the pew. It'll only take a few minutes. No, wait. Of course you don't want to fuck. You've been crying all day, the last thing on your mind is fucking. You wanna suck my dick though? That might make some of the pain go away."
The backhand that landed across Ryan's face sent him flying.
"So I'm taking that as a no?"
Ryan spent the rest of the day asking similar questions to all of the woman in attendance. The result was always the same. Ryan sat on the bench, and sobbed. One of the girls saw him crying, and felt bad. Slowly she walked over, and sat down next to him.
"Don't cry. I'm sorry I slapped you," she said. "It's just, you come off as such a pig. But obviously you're very sweet and sensitive if you can show your emotions like this."
"Yeah, I'm a big baby," Ryan said, between tears. "Thank you for trying to comfort me. You wanna fuck?"
The smack that followed was the final blow. He fell to the floor, and layed there for twenty minutes, without moving. Then he noticed two men standing in front of him.
"Congratulations, Ryan," one of the men said. "You're officially in our record books. No one has ever been slapped by so many women in one day. In fact, you shattered the record."
Ryan stood up, and smiled from ear to ear. He was ecstatic. Never before had he felt so happy. There was only one thing he could think to say.
"You wanna fuck?"
He's an economic *TERRORIST* who brought this upon this homosexual infested company. He needs to be sent to prison, have his ass stretched and raped, beaten, and set on fire.
I can't want until Lord Bush orders all of you gay filthy unChristian nerds to be burned to death.