Not really. The misfit point of view is often refreshing to the proles. They often embrace the misfits, living vicariously through the misfits, while being too afraid themselves to express dissent with the pack. It works out wonderfully for the misfit. It's a symbiotic relationship which ensures maximum fun all around.
When most high-school freshmen are so preoccupied with losing their virginity with only the hottest cheerleader stereotype, but never get there, it's often refreshing for them to hear from the few who've already been there...even if it was with fat chicks.
I'm walking with a hot piece of ass. I get a surprise call from a private number and answer it and put it on speakerphone, because everybody likes me and nobody hates me. The caller, a familiar person of the opposite sex, says, "You're taking her to our place, Jerry. The one where you first asked me out. You told me you wanted a baby, Jerry. Did you fuck her in our bed, too?! "
My date gasps in horror and then I have to jerk myself to sleep that night.
But seriously, some of us consider creepy voyeuristic eyes crawling all over us to be negative attention, not positive. And, like the average gutter-slut, you consider both to be the same. Just leak your own sex tape and get your own "reality" show, for fuck's sake.
Just wait until Google makes deals with local governments and/or businesses to install a series of cameras.
It'll be Street-view in real time and governments wouldn't complain as long as they have their piece of the eye. In the name of "national security," of course.
And people may or may not care, but all it takes is one voyeuristic stalker-dickhead to make your day unnecessarily pleasant.
Funny thing is, at least in places (not Texas) that don't take high school football too seriously, football is an excellent opportunity for a nerd to get into the "in" crowd.
In fact, it's how I became "cool." It didn't matter how well you played or how annoying or ugly you were, as long as you survived hell week and stuck with the team, you were in with the cool people(and, by extension, the juniors and seniors and the parties that they threw and all the pussy surrounding that whole scene). You were allowed to scream, cuss, punch lockers, high-five, whatever you had to do to shrug off the pain...as long as you took your hits and didn't cry like a bitch on the field.
Plus, a working knowledge of sports makes it much easier to bond with others and make new friends. And, of course, the health benefits. Now if only those damn San Diego Chargers would quit taking bribes and fucking up in the playoffs so I can see them win at least one super bowl before I die.
Many of my friends who have become parents also don't let their kids out the door, on their bikes or skateboards or whatever, because they're too afraid of terrorists and pedophiles or injury.
What happens instead is that kids are raised by video games and TV, which overstimulate the kids without allowing them to physically tire themselves out. That's where the drugs come in.
Bad combination, in my opinion, but I keep my mouth shut. Who am I to tell a parent how to raise their kids? I (thankfully) don't even have kids.
Tech support hero #1: Augmented reality
Thanks to James Cameron's Ferngully Furry Fantasy, tech support can now send the being of your choice to give you a hand with those annoying router problems. They've been programmed to be the minority of your choice(the one who's taking all the American jobs) so that you will rapidly become frustrated and tire yourself out trying to beat the shit out of them before you talk to an actual human.
Tech support hero #2: Support systems that know you
They try to sell you shit you don't need. Moving on...
Tech support hero #3: Self-healing and self-aware machines
Which slow themselves to a crawl running Norton 3000, the self-aware program that dosen't have time to allocate computer resources for your Mickey-Mouse bullshit.
Tech support hero #4: An easier way to replace parts
Need a new hinge for your laptop screen? Send the whole thing in to have it examined by a gaggle of third-world monkeys who gather around it in awe like a bunch of cro-magnons gathering around a fresh meteorite.
Tech support hero #5: Robots that do the hands-on support
They've all been acquired by a subsidary of teledildonics.
Tech support hero #6: Smarter peer-to-peer support
If one Indian can't solve your problems, what makes you think that a million will?!
Tech support hero #7: Virtual worlds with avatar support
*Sigh* GOTO 1
If your father punches you in a drunken fight, and you tell the cops you don't want to file charges, you better hope they want to cooperate... They can charge, or not charge, whoever they want. You have no control over it.
Samantha Geimer: "Roman Polanski had sex with me when I was 13, decades ago. I guess it's technically a crime. Power-hungry, career-climbing District attorneys:"Whhhhharrrrrrrrgarrrrrrrrrbl!" Average idiot suburban American:"Polanski BAAAAAAD! Samantha Geimer: "um...okay, I mean...he didn't tell me beforehand, but everybody who showed up at those things back then knew what they were in for. I kinda...liked it...the attention. Power-hungry, career-climbing District attorneys:"Whhhhharrrrrrrrgarrrrrrrrrbl!" Average idiot suburban American:"Polanski BAAAAAAD! Samantha Geimer:"Oh, come ON! Mick Jagger had sex with his friend's 13 year-old daughter! Pete Townshend was caught buying boy boy porn online! Don't you all still listen to the Who and the Rolling Stones?!" Power-hungry, career-climbing District attorneys:"The 'Stones rock! If only I were half the stud Mick Jagger was!" Average idiot suburban American:"The Who rock, especially in the beginning of the CSI series! Samantha Geimer: "Look, guys, give it a rest, okay? Your circus is humiliating me."
[ Meanwhile, in a dark alley in Petaluma, California ] Shadowy figure:"Look, you got the money, or not? Chris Hansen:"Do you know who I am? I used to be famous! Come on, man, gimme the rock... Shadowy figure:" Better start suckin'... [ First the sound of a zipper, then a horrible mixture of tears and slurps...]
Yeah, it reeks. It smacks of a script and a teleprompter, or perhaps that mysterious bulge George W. had on his back during that televised debate. A later comment:
SCO is a copyright case. While copyright litigation can also cause problems, there's a fundamental difference: you don't infringe copyright inadvertently. Theoretically you could, but practically you won't just by coincidence write a significant number of lines of code the same way someone else did. But patents are broad and you can infringe them totally unknowingly. That's why programmers who make independent creations never have to worry about copyright but unfortunately do have to worry about patents.
At least other companies have the balls to initiate their own action, rather than chickenshittedly throw money at a proxy because they themselves have stolen code and numerous violations on their hands.
On a related note, I got some pussy around 9pm Pacific time. I opened 'er up like a Christmas present. Wait, what was Florence_Nightengale selling again? Sorry, bro, I already use MySQL.
Speaking of drivers, I bought an HP printer with claims to support only Mac and Windows. Lo and behold, turns out there is a 'NIX driver, HPLIP, that is very similar to typical Windows drivers in that it is a unified center of settings and even shows the HP logo in Ubuntu's taskbar.
Familiar-feeling stuff like that goes a long way toward spreading desktop Linux adoption. Yet, for some reason, they don't simply add it to their standard driver CD.
He's already been compromised. CIA operatives intercepted him in his hotel room, doped him up with rohypnol and scopolamine, and hypnotized him into destroying the credibility of himself and Wikileaks.
Now Wikileaks will fade into obscurity forever...st least until they unearth the whereabouts of batboy.
Don't forget about churches. In churches (as compared to schools and workplaces) people are crammed much closer together and handholding / hugging are often implicitly mandatory.
Ah. [Hannibal Lecter tone] what your condition sounds like, to me, is Unabomber syndrome.
It is not purely physical, it is psychosomatic. You were the best, academically, in grade school and high school. You were smarter and more gifted than your peers were, and so you could control and anticipate any situation, within reason, which was thrown at you. You felt the security of your parents behind your back, their resolute hands on your shoulders, their encouragement being the electromagnetic force in the railgun which propelled you forward.
But now, things are different. You are thrown in situations most unfamiliar, and this time there is nobody to pat you on the head or hold your hand. You're no longer a unique snowflake. Many of your classmates are quicker, more intelligent, and more savvy, and they threaten you. You are no longer the top dog, and you're quaking in your sandals at the prospect of your being reduced to one of those mediocre proles which you used to lead.
Every place you go, everywhere you turn, someone else is movin' in, And they're makin' time.
And it's gettin' underneath your skin, Whoa, whoa!
Doesn't it hurt? Jealousy, baby! Doesn't it burn? Jealousy?
Doesn't it consume your soul? Makin you lose control, Jealousy!
Nothing to be said, Nothing to be done, Someone else is in your place,
And you won't forget it. And it's hittin' you right where you live, Whoa, whoa!
All at once, you're wild and runnin', Runnin' blind,
Revenge, revenge, revenge Is the one thing on your mind,Whoa, whoa!
Doesn't it hurt? Jealousy, baby! Doesn't it burn? Jealousy!
Doesn't it grab hold of you? Breakin' your heart in two Jealousy!
Oh, please. The problem here is yuppies, yuppies, yuppies who never had any real life experience, who never felt any real pain, who grew up living in boring and sterile households, who were able to procreate. The thing called life that happens occasionally has finally caught their simple minds off-guard, and they're flailing around looking for the first thing to blame.
...and you are one of them, with your FUD about schools being hotbeds of sickness and filthy lucre. This isn't the ol' chicken-pox-in-preschool thing, and had many of these people actually been able to develop an immune system in the absence of obsessive Lysol-spraying and disinfectant-mopping, this wouldn't even be an issue. Man, it's like you morons think that occasional sickness is the exception, not the rule. Looks like all those sensational news scares and andvertising have penetrated into your minds.
Which is why I believe that any Joe-user program which processes documents or media should offer a checkbox and.or dialog explantion offering the user to strip the metadata from saved documents or media. Before any of you say, "stripping is already available", keep in mind how many co-workers don't even know what cookies are.
There is a small bench in front of one of the grave markers at the local cemetary.
When you sit on the bench, you see that the grave marker, runnig the length of the bench, lies where the feet would rest. One one side of the marker is an adult-sized pair of shoeprints, on the other side is a child-sized pair of shoeprints.
The grave marker instructs the sitter to sit down and tell the deceased child a story.
Really? Let's get sentimental: As somebody who lost my mother* as a pre-teen, I will defend my position by saying that different people cope with bereavement in different ways, one of which is humor which may seem inappropriate at the time. Even now, I insist that my friends treat me the same as everybody else as far as "I fucked your mom**" jokes go. My humorous yet realistic response to those jokes shows my strength and my ability to cope with trauma in a healthy manner.
As a supplement to the above, I advise submitter - I've been there as a kid, as a pre-teen. Whatever you do, do not force the issue with your children. When your wife passes, do not force your wife's memory upon them and insist that everybody constantly juggle her memories in each others' faces. Let them be sullen and withdrawn if they want to. They will recontextualize at their own pace, in their own ways. Attempting to shove their dead mother in their faces may be misguided and akin to pouring lemon juice on a wound. Just be supportive of each other and don't force anything.
And later, when you begin to find romance again, do not force your kids to call her "mom." Nobody will ever replace mom.
* It would be easier if I knew that she died. But, in the throes of schizoprhrenic psychosis, a product of an old-skool "tough-love" family who kicked their children when they were already down, she was last seen attempting to kill herself. She was erroneously released from the nuthouse on her own recognizance, never to be seen again.
** My friends sometimes tell me that they fucked my mom. I tell 'em that it must be the reason that they smell like malt liquor and piss, etc.
This is a good idea that I gleaned from Married...With Children.
Have her cremated, then pour her ashes in your charcoal grill. Have a family and friends-only memorial barbecue, so that with each bite, her essence will live inside you forever.
I know that my post is blatant visibility whoring, but why call him former editor Scuttlemonkey?! Did he move on to greener pastures, is he a casualty of the economy? Did he piss off too many readers? Did he beat up Rob Malda during a drunken heated Android vs. iPhone argument?
Bah, that Marijuana stuff's for hippies and gangsters.
The top-heavy distibution of wealth in the U.S. requires more of a real executive's drug, cocaine, which is not grown here. But I can tell you where it comes from, and how it gets here!
Slashdot Mirror
Not really. The misfit point of view is often refreshing to the proles. They often embrace the misfits, living vicariously through the misfits, while being too afraid themselves to express dissent with the pack. It works out wonderfully for the misfit. It's a symbiotic relationship which ensures maximum fun all around.
When most high-school freshmen are so preoccupied with losing their virginity with only the hottest cheerleader stereotype, but never get there, it's often refreshing for them to hear from the few who've already been there...even if it was with fat chicks.
Yep, I enjoyed living in L.A. when the Lakers had Kobe, Shaq, Gary, and Karl. I'm such a filthy whore.
But then I went back to my nerd roots and stuck up for the underdog. And where are the 69'ers and the Oakland AIDS'ers now?
I'm walking with a hot piece of ass. I get a surprise call from a private number and answer it and put it on speakerphone, because everybody likes me and nobody hates me. The caller, a familiar person of the opposite sex, says, "You're taking her to our place, Jerry. The one where you first asked me out. You told me you wanted a baby, Jerry. Did you fuck her in our bed, too?! " My date gasps in horror and then I have to jerk myself to sleep that night.
But seriously, some of us consider creepy voyeuristic eyes crawling all over us to be negative attention, not positive. And, like the average gutter-slut, you consider both to be the same. Just leak your own sex tape and get your own "reality" show, for fuck's sake.
Just wait until Google makes deals with local governments and/or businesses to install a series of cameras.
It'll be Street-view in real time and governments wouldn't complain as long as they have their piece of the eye. In the name of "national security," of course.
And people may or may not care, but all it takes is one voyeuristic stalker-dickhead to make your day unnecessarily pleasant.
Funny thing is, at least in places (not Texas) that don't take high school football too seriously, football is an excellent opportunity for a nerd to get into the "in" crowd.
In fact, it's how I became "cool." It didn't matter how well you played or how annoying or ugly you were, as long as you survived hell week and stuck with the team, you were in with the cool people(and, by extension, the juniors and seniors and the parties that they threw and all the pussy surrounding that whole scene). You were allowed to scream, cuss, punch lockers, high-five, whatever you had to do to shrug off the pain...as long as you took your hits and didn't cry like a bitch on the field.
Plus, a working knowledge of sports makes it much easier to bond with others and make new friends. And, of course, the health benefits. Now if only those damn San Diego Chargers would quit taking bribes and fucking up in the playoffs so I can see them win at least one super bowl before I die.
He also promises that Firefox 4 will be "one generation ahead" of other browsers in relation to Javascript speed."
The browser vendors' fetishistic obsession with Javascript speed is most irritating.
Many of my friends who have become parents also don't let their kids out the door, on their bikes or skateboards or whatever, because they're too afraid of terrorists and pedophiles or injury.
What happens instead is that kids are raised by video games and TV, which overstimulate the kids without allowing them to physically tire themselves out. That's where the drugs come in.
Bad combination, in my opinion, but I keep my mouth shut. Who am I to tell a parent how to raise their kids? I (thankfully) don't even have kids.
Here is a brief synopsis of the seven options:
Tech support hero #1: Augmented reality Thanks to James Cameron's Ferngully Furry Fantasy, tech support can now send the being of your choice to give you a hand with those annoying router problems. They've been programmed to be the minority of your choice(the one who's taking all the American jobs) so that you will rapidly become frustrated and tire yourself out trying to beat the shit out of them before you talk to an actual human.
Tech support hero #2: Support systems that know you They try to sell you shit you don't need. Moving on...
Tech support hero #3: Self-healing and self-aware machines
Which slow themselves to a crawl running Norton 3000, the self-aware program that dosen't have time to allocate computer resources for your Mickey-Mouse bullshit.
Tech support hero #4: An easier way to replace parts Need a new hinge for your laptop screen? Send the whole thing in to have it examined by a gaggle of third-world monkeys who gather around it in awe like a bunch of cro-magnons gathering around a fresh meteorite.
Tech support hero #5: Robots that do the hands-on support They've all been acquired by a subsidary of teledildonics.
Tech support hero #6: Smarter peer-to-peer support If one Indian can't solve your problems, what makes you think that a million will?!
Tech support hero #7: Virtual worlds with avatar support
*Sigh* GOTO 1
Kinda like what happened to Roman Polanski:
Samantha Geimer: "Roman Polanski had sex with me when I was 13, decades ago. I guess it's technically a crime.
Power-hungry, career-climbing District attorneys: "Whhhhharrrrrrrrgarrrrrrrrrbl!"
Average idiot suburban American: "Polanski BAAAAAAD!
Samantha Geimer: "um...okay, I mean...he didn't tell me beforehand, but everybody who showed up at those things back then knew what they were in for. I kinda...liked it...the attention.
Power-hungry, career-climbing District attorneys: "Whhhhharrrrrrrrgarrrrrrrrrbl!"
Average idiot suburban American: "Polanski BAAAAAAD!
Samantha Geimer: "Oh, come ON! Mick Jagger had sex with his friend's 13 year-old daughter! Pete Townshend was caught buying boy boy porn online! Don't you all still listen to the Who and the Rolling Stones?!"
Power-hungry, career-climbing District attorneys: "The 'Stones rock! If only I were half the stud Mick Jagger was!"
Average idiot suburban American: "The Who rock, especially in the beginning of the CSI series!
Samantha Geimer: "Look, guys, give it a rest, okay? Your circus is humiliating me."
[ Meanwhile, in a dark alley in Petaluma, California ]
Shadowy figure: "Look, you got the money, or not?
Chris Hansen: "Do you know who I am? I used to be famous! Come on, man, gimme the rock...
Shadowy figure: " Better start suckin'...
[ First the sound of a zipper, then a horrible mixture of tears and slurps...]
Musicians(well, electric instrumentalists) know the term from the AC adapters used to power their effects pedals.
At least other companies have the balls to initiate their own action, rather than chickenshittedly throw money at a proxy because they themselves have stolen code and numerous violations on their hands.
On a related note, I got some pussy around 9pm Pacific time. I opened 'er up like a Christmas present. Wait, what was Florence_Nightengale selling again? Sorry, bro, I already use MySQL.
Speaking of drivers, I bought an HP printer with claims to support only Mac and Windows. Lo and behold, turns out there is a 'NIX driver, HPLIP, that is very similar to typical Windows drivers in that it is a unified center of settings and even shows the HP logo in Ubuntu's taskbar.
Familiar-feeling stuff like that goes a long way toward spreading desktop Linux adoption. Yet, for some reason, they don't simply add it to their standard driver CD.
Obligatory Rice Boy Page.
It's much more insidious than that.
He's already been compromised. CIA operatives intercepted him in his hotel room, doped him up with rohypnol and scopolamine, and hypnotized him into destroying the credibility of himself and Wikileaks.
Now Wikileaks will fade into obscurity forever...st least until they unearth the whereabouts of batboy.
Don't forget about churches. In churches (as compared to schools and workplaces) people are crammed much closer together and handholding / hugging are often implicitly mandatory.
It is not purely physical, it is psychosomatic. You were the best, academically, in grade school and high school. You were smarter and more gifted than your peers were, and so you could control and anticipate any situation, within reason, which was thrown at you. You felt the security of your parents behind your back, their resolute hands on your shoulders, their encouragement being the electromagnetic force in the railgun which propelled you forward.
But now, things are different. You are thrown in situations most unfamiliar, and this time there is nobody to pat you on the head or hold your hand. You're no longer a unique snowflake. Many of your classmates are quicker, more intelligent, and more savvy, and they threaten you. You are no longer the top dog, and you're quaking in your sandals at the prospect of your being reduced to one of those mediocre proles which you used to lead.
Oh, please. The problem here is yuppies, yuppies, yuppies who never had any real life experience, who never felt any real pain, who grew up living in boring and sterile households, who were able to procreate. The thing called life that happens occasionally has finally caught their simple minds off-guard, and they're flailing around looking for the first thing to blame.
...and you are one of them, with your FUD about schools being hotbeds of sickness and filthy lucre. This isn't the ol' chicken-pox-in-preschool thing, and had many of these people actually been able to develop an immune system in the absence of obsessive Lysol-spraying and disinfectant-mopping, this wouldn't even be an issue. Man, it's like you morons think that occasional sickness is the exception, not the rule. Looks like all those sensational news scares and andvertising have penetrated into your minds.
While I agree with you, some metadata problems are much more subtle and insidious.
How many of you have ever written "my boss is an idiot" on a word document at work, as a joke, then erased it?
Better hope your boss isn't savvy.
Which is why I believe that any Joe-user program which processes documents or media should offer a checkbox and.or dialog explantion offering the user to strip the metadata from saved documents or media. Before any of you say, "stripping is already available", keep in mind how many co-workers don't even know what cookies are.
No, that's when I find Jesus...
...and nail all those horny, single church-bitches who get all juiced-up at the prospect of being with a bad-boy*!
* unless the black guys beat me to it.
Googoo gaga poopoo papa booboobooboobooboo ah-ah-ah-ah-ah NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!1
(that's the summary of Episodes I-III soundtracks)
There is a small bench in front of one of the grave markers at the local cemetary.
When you sit on the bench, you see that the grave marker, runnig the length of the bench, lies where the feet would rest. One one side of the marker is an adult-sized pair of shoeprints, on the other side is a child-sized pair of shoeprints.
The grave marker instructs the sitter to sit down and tell the deceased child a story.
*sniff*
Really? Let's get sentimental: As somebody who lost my mother* as a pre-teen, I will defend my position by saying that different people cope with bereavement in different ways, one of which is humor which may seem inappropriate at the time. Even now, I insist that my friends treat me the same as everybody else as far as "I fucked your mom**" jokes go. My humorous yet realistic response to those jokes shows my strength and my ability to cope with trauma in a healthy manner.
As a supplement to the above, I advise submitter - I've been there as a kid, as a pre-teen. Whatever you do, do not force the issue with your children. When your wife passes, do not force your wife's memory upon them and insist that everybody constantly juggle her memories in each others' faces. Let them be sullen and withdrawn if they want to. They will recontextualize at their own pace, in their own ways. Attempting to shove their dead mother in their faces may be misguided and akin to pouring lemon juice on a wound. Just be supportive of each other and don't force anything.
And later, when you begin to find romance again, do not force your kids to call her "mom." Nobody will ever replace mom.
* It would be easier if I knew that she died. But, in the throes of schizoprhrenic psychosis, a product of an old-skool "tough-love" family who kicked their children when they were already down, she was last seen attempting to kill herself. She was erroneously released from the nuthouse on her own recognizance, never to be seen again.
** My friends sometimes tell me that they fucked my mom. I tell 'em that it must be the reason that they smell like malt liquor and piss, etc.
This is a good idea that I gleaned from Married...With Children.
Have her cremated, then pour her ashes in your charcoal grill. Have a family and friends-only memorial barbecue, so that with each bite, her essence will live inside you forever.
I know that my post is blatant visibility whoring, but why call him former editor Scuttlemonkey?! Did he move on to greener pastures, is he a casualty of the economy? Did he piss off too many readers? Did he beat up Rob Malda during a drunken heated Android vs. iPhone argument?
Where's the press-release, man?
Bah, that Marijuana stuff's for hippies and gangsters.
The top-heavy distibution of wealth in the U.S. requires more of a real executive's drug, cocaine, which is not grown here. But I can tell you where it comes from, and how it gets here!