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Projector Torture Test: LCD versus DLP
An anonymous reader writes "A ten month torture test of five LCD and two DLP projectors shows LCD images deteriorate during extended use." Not surprisingly, if you run an LCD projector for 4000 hours, it deteriorates... of course, if you're staring at a projecter 8 hours a day, for 500 straight days, maybe you should go outside ;)
snap
But how? I'm not a subscriber!
I think the 20 seconds is up now. Ergo...
FIRST POST!
May 1 1863 The Confederate Congress decrees that captured Negro soldiers from the Union Army are to be summarily put to death, on the grounds that they have already "incited servile insurrection."
Early Post for the Homies in SME
Its the American WAY!!
The great -- and good, I believe -- White Chief sends us word that he wants to buy our land. But he will reserve us enough that we can live comfortably. This seems generous, since the red man no longer has rights he need respect. It may also be wise, since we no longer need a large country. Once my people covered this land like a flood-tide moving with wind across the shell- littered flats. But that time is gone, and with it the greatness of tribes now almost forgotten.
But I will not mourn the passing of my people. Nor do I blame our white brothers for causing it. We too were perhaps partly to blame. When our young men grow angry at some wrong, real or imagined, they make their faces ugly with black paint. Then their hearts too are ugly and black. They are hard and their cruelty knows no limits. And our old men cannot restrain them.
Let us hope that the wars between the red man and his white brothers will never come again. We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Young men may view revenge as gain, even when they lose their own lives. But the old men who stay behind in time of war, mothers with sons to lose -- they know better.
Our great father Washington -- for he must be our father now as well as yours, since [King] George has moved his boundary northward -- our great and good father sends word by his son, who is surely a great chief among his people, that he will protect us if we do what he wants. His brave soldiers will be a strong wall for my people, and his great warships will fill our harbor. Then our ancient enemies to the north -- the Haidas and the Tsimshians -- will no longer frighten our women and old men. Then he will be our father and we will be his children.
But can that ever be? Your God loves your people and hates mine. He puts his strong arm around the white man and leads him by the hand, as a father leads his little boy. He has abandoned his red children. He makes your people stronger every day. Soon they will flood all the land. But my people are an ebb tide, we will never return. No, the white man's God cannot love his red children or he would protect them. Now we are orphans. There is no one to help us.
So how can we be brothers? How can your father be our father, and make us prosper and send us dreams of future greatness? Your God is prejudiced. He came to the white man. We never saw him, never even heard his voice. He gave the white man laws, but he had no word for his red children whose numbers once filled this land as the stars filled the sky.
No, we are two separate races, and we must stay separate. There is little in common between us.
To us the ashes of our fathers are sacred. Their graves are holy ground. But you are wanderers, you leave your fathers' graves behind you, and you do not care.
You religion was written on tables of stone by the iron finger of an angry God, so you would not forget it. The red man could never understand it or remember it. Our religion is in the ways of our forefathers, the dreams of our old men, sent them by the Great Spirit, and the visions of our sachems. And it is written in the hearts of our people.
Your dead forget you and the country of their birth as soon as they go beyond the grave and walk among the stars. They are quickly forgotten and they never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth. It is their mother. They always remember and love her rivers, her great mountains, her valleys. They long for the living, who are lonely too and who long for the dead. And their spirits often return to visit and console us.
No, day and night cannot live together.
The red man has always retreated before the advancing white man, as the mist on the mountain slope runs before the morning sun.
So your offer seems fair, and I think my people will accept it and go to the reservation you offer them. We will live apart, and in peace. For the words of the Great White Chief are like the words of nature speaking to my people out of gr
First non-subscribers post!!!111
Not a bad deal for something he slapped together in a few hours in his dorm room..
The buddha taught that everything is interdependant. So if a butterfly farts in mexico and earthquake is indeed possible in the Tibetan plateu.
tr00f!
And miss getting f1rst p0st?