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Sigh - the City Manager of Tuttle, Ok sees a default webserver installation screen and goes apeshit on the Linux distro contact-us form.
“I am computer literate! I have 22 years in computer systems engineering and operation. Now, can you tell me how to remove “your software” that you acknowledge you provided free of charge? I consider this “hacking”. I have no fear of the media, in fact I welcome this publicity.”
I’d been thinking about making my own inverted planters for a while - here are a neat batch of instructions/details/pictures.
I’m in Vegas this week with Jason - we’re both working the booth for security products at the Tele-Next conference in the Mandalay Bay hotel.
After our first day of standing up and talking for ten hours, we headed over to Quark’s Bar which was fun - even thought we got there after Quark had left and Jason tried to pick a fight with a Klingon by asking him if he actually spoke Klingon. We think he said “Hab SoSlI’ Quch!” back at us but we’re not sure.
Then it was off to House of Blues where Jason made me join him on stage for a karaoke version of Jump Around.
Whew, that was a night. Fly back tomorrow evening - Vegas to LAX to IAD arriving at midnight - bleh.
I just finished “Watchmen” and it may well be the most powerful graphic novel ever written. I had Alan’s “From Hell” and that was amazing. There’s no doubt that Alan is a genius - he must not only immerse himself on concept of the future but also the past. I didn’t care for the art in “From Hell”, but that may have been intentional - the art is disturbing in a similar fashion to the topic.
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More commonly just called a “Romanian AK-47.” It’s more or less similar specs to an AK-47 (7.62 mm, semi-auto, looks like an AKM), has pre-ban features like bayonet lug, pistol grip, high capacity 30-round magazines (I got two with the purchase, but only one is functional — the other, it seems, has a problem with the spring), and threaded muzzle (for add-ons like a flash suppressor for firing blank rounds). the WASR-10 is imported by Century Arms and, due to import restrictions for the model, has some U.S. manufactured parts (like the trigger mechanism) in place of the Romanian ones.
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More is known about Oney Judge than any other Mount Vernon slave because she lived to an old age, and she was interviewed by abolitionist newspapers in the nineteenth century.
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Scared, lonely and miserable, Oney tried to negotiate through Whipple. She offered to return to the Washingtons, but only if she would be guaranteed freedom upon their deaths. An indignant President responded in person to Whipple’s letter: “To enter into such a compromise with her, as she suggested to you, is totally inadmissable [sic], … it would neither be politic or just to reward unfaithfulness with a premature preference [of freedom]; and thereby discontent before hand the minds of all her fellow-servants who by their steady attachments are far more deserving than herself of favor.”
Ok, so I’m only a quarter Irish as my full blooded Irish friends point out, BUT I LOVE ST. PATTY’S DAY. I love Green Beer, Green Margarita’s, Corn Beef and Cabbage. The husband picked me up Green Bread last week from Great Harvest Bread Company, but the problem with that is that you don’t know when it actually goes bad.
It is giving me great comfort that at 5:05pm today a Green Margarita will be put in my hand by a fellow Mommy of the Block and my kids destroy someone else’s house for a few hours.
Happy St. Patty’s Day!
I was in Marshall,VA this weekend and while picking up a bottle of water at the BP, I heard come over the announcement speakers:
“Forget Mom’s birthday? No problem, pick her up a green card.”
That was funny on a few levels.
Here’s an online sci-fi story that I enjoyed.
“When shall these three meet again, in thunder, lightning or in rain?”
The dark, hook-nosed lab-coated woman looked as if she might have been one of the witches. And, had this been one of the world of Harmony and Reason’s updated Shakespearean plays at the New Globe theatre, the setting too would have seemed appropriate. What she leaned over was no cauldron with simmering eye of newt and toe of frog, but three tissue-cloning vats with their attendant electronics and glassware.
The fetuses developing under the glass covers all looked like unborn rats.
One of them was.
Mari-Lou Evans, once, twenty-four frozen light-years ago, of Stratford-on-Avon, and, like her boss, a loyal part of the New Globe Thespian society, knew her prescribed reply. “When the hurlyburly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won,” she intoned sepulchrally. Then she sighed. “If it ever is, Sanjay. If we don’t just lose.”
The colony’s chief biologist shrugged and pulled a wry face. “Do you think I’d be playing God if we faced any real alternatives?” She pointed to the third breeding vat. “No need for another standard human control, Mari-Lou. We won’t be breeding up any more vatbrats for a while. We need to gear up the equipment for mass production of that long-nose elephant-shrew mix. The army has put in impossible demands for quantity. If it tests out fine on emergence, then we’re going to have to set up a production line for the creatures.”
The chief geneticist nodded. She pointed to the third vat. “The ultrasounds of the bat’s gastrointestinal development don’t look good, Sanjay. We’re going to have to tinker and tweak those genes a bit more in my opinion. Perhaps cherry-pick from the Tadarida. It’s the size problem. The bigger bats are fruit-eaters, not insectivores.”
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