The site godhatesfags.com has been hacked and shut down by Swedish hellbound faggot defenders, “in cooperation with Activist JudgesTM.” For future viewing pleasure, I have archived the page.
Thanks for the tip, Adam. (more…)
This is the second time I am going to use NDIS to allow FreeBSD to load the Windows drivers for a Dell laptop to access the built-in wireless. As this is my second time, it is good to make my own crib sheet of what I have to do, so I can do it even quicker next time, and because you, the reader, might find yourself here thanks to Google.
In both cases that I have done this I have been starting with FreeBSD 5.3. According to this crib sheet, you need to be fairly current with 5.x to do this. That crib sheet is also my main source of reference.
If you have already done this to your system and find yourself having to re-do NDIS after an upgrade, you may find my “rendis” script handy.
If you have already done this to your system, and are tracking -STABLE I have read that you no longer have to follow these steps, but merely run:
Alright, thanks, Jess, as this Best of Craigslist post is a damned fine read. It is a missed connections post to the girl upstairs, whose interesting girl-on-girl sex life mysteriously employs a vacuum cleaner:
“It was certainly better than the incredibly routine and uninspired Trixie-on-Chad hetero-fucking Iâ€™d heard through the walls of my old apartment in Wrigleyville.”
Last week I was working in Washington, DC. Before I left, I had to write up instructions for other staff to exchange a tape robot, called a “Powerloader.” The instructions were pretty straightforward and I was fully confident that the staff could do the work without any trouble. So, in case they wanted a challenge, I produced another set of instructions by running the document through Babelfish to translate from English to Chinese, and then back to English. Every time I read these instructions I giggle, so I share with others who may have a similarly perverse sense of humor: (more…)
I am a year away from thirty. Twenty eight has gone well. I have married, and I have moved from a good job to a better job. I spent a fair amout of twenty eight with a looking-over-the-shoulder paranoia, or skepticism, or lack of confidence, left over from the tumultuous work experiences of previous years. I can kind of feel that slipping away now. I have started thinking the big thoughts again about what is possible, and what the opportunities are. My brain is starting to roll back in to that optimism about what grand things are afoot, and what I can do as part of the perpetual technological revolution, whether it be creating some Next Big Thing, supporting a company, merely sitting back and observing the bustle up close, or simply collecting a few bucks while making preparations to retreat to some Shangri La that would be a good place to raise kids.
This is how I used to think, back around the first time Bush had become president. And I think that if these things are to happen then I am in a better position to engage them . . . a little more patience, a lot more experience, and with Yayoi, I hope, more inclined toward stability. Here’s to the next round!
A tune in my head of late:
If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?
It’s a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they’re better left unsung.
I don’t know, don’t really care
Let there be songs to fill the air.
While we all wish that creative expression could transmit our thoughts and emotions from artist to audience, that doesn’t matter so much. If you enjoy creating, or you appreciate what is created, than that is good enough.
Others have analyzed this song a lot more.
“Nature is not seperate from me; she is mine alike with my body; and in moments of true life, I feel my identity with her; I breathe, pulsate, feel, think, will, through her members, and know of no duality of being.”
Orphic Sayings, No 35
via The New Yorker, January 10, 2005
_Orpheus at the Plough_
Put me in mind a bit of Speed:
“Life is a matter of a miracle, that is collected over time by moments flabbergasted to be in each others’ presence . . . The world is an exam, to see if we can rise into the direct experiences . . . Thomas Mann wrote that he would rather participate in life than write a hundred stories.”
Time now, to drift off, and enjoy a dream or three, before returning to the plough tomorrow, and tilling, once again, before the dancing exuberence.
From a recent conversation on IRC: (more…)
A new feature of FreeBSD 5.3 is the ability to set up a software mirror of your system disk. This allows you to boot off either of a pair of hard disks, which will then function as a RAID1, which will ensure system uptime in the face of a single disk failure. (more…)
8:12AM, Ygnacio Valley Road at California
So, what just happened was that I took a look out for cars while crossing the right-hand turnout to the main crossing. An older lady in a red sports car came whizzing up to the turnout, took a look at me, and kept going. As I stepped in to the turnout, I smacked her red spoiler and continued on my way. I heard a honking behind me, as a few pedestrians already waiting at the main crossing looked around. After a moment, I turned my head too, to see the red sports car drifting lonely down the street.
I figure that if you fail to yield to a pedestrian, then the wholesome smack of flesh on plastic is a healthy reminder that plastic smacking flesh is highly undesirable. A healthy way of saying, “Good morning, and thank you for flirting with vehicular manslaughter.”
5:02PM, Bishop Ranch Bus Stop
I got downstairs late for the 4:54 bus. A co-rider suggested that we missed it. Then the bus pulled up, and we got on board. I did some reading up on web performance tuning, trying to think of more ways to debug the causes of trouble for one of our European clients. The bus roared along, and my studying was cut short, because by 5:20, the bus was already at Walnut Creek! It took another three minutes before the traffic light allowed the bus to cross Ygnacio Valley Road and drop us off at the BART station. As we waited, I noticed, out the window next to me, a guy in a blue Volkswagen shuffling papers in his lap, twitching with his transmission, and chatting on the cell phone, pulling a foot or two forward every few seconds, waiting eagerly for the light.
I figure that if you want to get work done on the ride home, you can take the bus. It works for me. “Can you believe that guy,” I said to the passenger in front of me. “And I have to walk home through that!”
. . .