But I can't hide it any more. The truth is, I
Human analysts' unanimous view - it'll never work
The US military is seeking revolutionary new AI software which would be able to read text - and so effectively do research - in the same way that humans do. The so-called "Machine Reading" ware would initially be used for such tasks as automated military-intelligence analysis, but it would have wide consequences in civilian life as well.…
Bandwidth bonanza in the data centre
Analysis Data centre network pipes are getting choked up. Imagine Germany minus the autobahns or the US without interstate highways and you get the picture - cities trying to send goods and people by road to other cities and the single carriageway roads jamming up, consigning everybody to gridlock.…
I can't sleep without Teddy Phone
Not in the least discouraged by the abject failure of the last two attempts, Mobile Please has announced two new handsets aimed at paranoid parents while styled for their kiddies.…
Rightwingers left exposed
The British National Party has lost its membership list - the whole thing has been published online.…
Place: Southern California, USA
I'm describing a handsome young man who lived in 1941 by comparing him to Hollywood stars of the era, since he lives near Los Angeles and his girlfriend types for a studio and is hoping to be discovered. Having just rented Sullivan's Travels Joel McCrea is a good start, but all the more famous male stars I can think of are either "tall dark and handsome" or otherwise "unpretty". I know the male stars of this period are usually far from our more prettified actors of today, but could anyone give me a lead to a photograph of an actor, not necessary a huge star, of the 1930s-1940s, who was fair or blond and had that golden-boy look? or looked athletic and not suave?
Searched: joel mccrea, stars of the golden age of hollywood; tab hunter (wrong era, but ooh spicy!)
Site will be down from 8am PST for on the order of 4 hours, their estimate.
I'll go into withdrawlal!!
------------
The fog curls around your feet, dispersing in swirls of grey as you walk down the cobblestone street. You can hear the music from here - Driftwood Angels. Sara Tallart’s voice. The coffeehouse is a bright-shining beacon on the unusually-quiet street, corner of Sheridan and Sinclair; golden light spills out from its plate glass window. You open the door, walk into the concert, smile at your friends, unwind your scarf; it is just now autumn, just in time for the festival that’s no longer held. Not since -
The song ends, the crowd applauds, and in the shifting of bodies, you see it. Tucked between the kitchen doors and the stage, one of the jigsaw-puzzle tables, loaded with candles.
No - more than one of the tables. Three, fitted together.
You wander over, and Victor’s eyes flick up at you. Of course the Kirayth are here, they’re everywhere, especially tonight. And of course it’s Victor - his partner Joseph is dating Sara, after all. Ordinarily there’d be rules against that, against Kirayth guarding their lovers - too much potential for distraction. But Joseph’s an old hand at this, having been Kirayth from the very beginning. And Tyka’s is considered safe haven anyway, one of the two havens in the city.
You’d been here that night. Many of the people in this crowd were, you realize. You spot the Telenias over in the corner, remember him that night, remember the scenes outside the glass -
And you wonder why so many of you have returned here tonight. Reminding yourselves that you survived?
Victor’s sprawled across a few chairs in front of the tables. He straightens and gives you a courtly nod, hands you a candle. You hold it, and you remember.
Remember running, gasping, sobbing.
Remember fetching up against that door, getting pulled in.
Remember all the wounded. Remember the first aid kit thrust into your hands by a trembling Tyka… remember putting pressure on bleeding wounds, doing rudimentary stitching, sedating people. Triage. A night of blood and noise and the heavy scent of fear, and you don’t want to remember -
But if that’s true, why are you here?
Victor asks if you’re okay, and you nod. You strike a match, light the candle, wedge it in with all the others. It’s warmer here. There are that many candles. Enough to light the whole coffeehouse, if they spread them out. If they didn’t have to worry about the Council. Fat pillar candles, votives in glasses, tapers dripped into place, making a little corner of your beloved city glow.
Because everyone remembers.
Because you lost so much.
Because you cannot let it happen again.

Hold it… I’m gonna need to see some ID.
i haz mah passport but da pikshur nawt sew gud.
picture: dunno source, via our lolcat builder. lol caption: scrooball

[Duh da daaa! Da da da ta da DAAAA!]
This week, Supermom plans out little Annie's birthday party.
Annie: "Wow, Supermom, my birthday decorations look fantastic! This is going to be the coolest Wizard of Oz party EVER!"

Supermom: "Oh, it was nothing, really. After I finished all of the laundry, balanced the checkbook, and then reworked my dissertation on the ending of world hunger, I had plenty of time!"
Annie: "Oh, wow, are those cookies for the party, too?"

Supermom: "They sure are! It took four days, and I had to stay up all night hand-piping the little rainbows, but all that time and effort were well worth seeing the smile on your darling face. And just wait 'til you see the great Yellow Brick Road cake I ordered! Your father should be here with it any minute..."
Meanwhile, at the Bakery of Badness:
Diabolical Decorator of Doom: "What's this? Supermom has ordered a Wizard of Oz birthday cake for her daughter? Hee-hee! Oh, this is too perfect! Finally, revenge will be MINE!!!"
Diabolical Sidekick: "What will you do, oh Great Bastion of Badness? Oh Foul Foiler of Fondant? Oh Illustrious Icer of Ickines, Dastardly Decorator of Destruction, and Cruel Crafter of..."
Diabolical Decorator of Doom: [interrupting] "Do shut up, Sidekick; I'm trying to think."
Diabolical Sidekick: "A thousand apologies, Oh Putrescent Purveyor of Pastries!"
Diabolical Decorator of Doom: [rubbing hands together] "Now, the trick is to make something so vile, so heinous, that no one will ever, EVER think it is a yellow brick road with a rainbow over it. But how? What tool in my arsenal is capable of such complete and utter hideousness?
"AHA! I've got it! Diabolical Sidekick, fetch me the Airbrush of Atrocity!"
Later, back at the party:

[Silence]
Annie: [sobbing] "My Yellow Brick Road cake! It looks like an old squished banana! And why does it dead end in a river? And is THAT supposed to be a rainbow?!?"
Supermom: "Never fear, dear daughter: Supermom is here! Now be a good girl and hand Mommy her piping bags."
So Supermom (aka Amanda S.) re-frosted the cake at home, thus foiling the evil plans of the Diabolical Decorator of Doom and saving the day. (You can see she's already begun piping over the "road" in the photo there.) Good work, Supermom! Score another one for truth, justice, and sugary-baked goods for all!
Woman on phone with client: Let me put this to you another way: you pay for four hours with a whore. You buy her a catsuit. At the end of that time, you don't own the whore. You may still retain the catsuit but what good will that do you, since you're a 45-year-old balding fat guy? You might as well leave the catsuit with the whore.
Defense Contractor
Andover, Massachusetts
Link · Email · Quote this! · Del.icio.us · Posted 2008-11-18