The Kentucky Derby was won by a gelding.

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Transterrestrial Musings Front
legs. This Posted
by Rand
Simberg at 01:51
PM | Comments 0 |
TrackBack 0 > TrackBack
0 > April 21, 2003 Memoirs Of 2004.
If Clinton did to
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No, I haven’t become a poet and don’t knoet. It’s just two results of running my blog through this poetry generator. It’s got some kind of randomizer in it, so it never gives the same results twice, even with the same content. As you can see, and Matt Welch says, it can “barf up” frightening results. I should note that the titles are mine. Anyway, it certainly leaves a little to be desired in the meter department…

It’s a tragic result of a Perl programmer with too much time on his hands.

As great as these are, however, my favorite remains that Perl classic, Black Perl (updated version, ported to compile on Perl 5 (and tested on 5.6)). A Perl 6 port still awaits, for those whose lives are otherwise pointless.

# Black Perl, adapted for Perl 5 by Jonadab.
# Adapted from Black Perl, as seen in the Camel,
# 2nd ed., p 553

BEFOREHAND: close door, each window & exit; wait until time;
   open spell book; study; read (spell, $scan, select); tell us;
write it, print the hex while each watches,
   reverse length, write again;
       kill spiders, pop them, chop, split, kill them.
         unlink arms, shift, wait and listen (listening, wait).
sort the flock (then, warn “the goats”, kill “the sheep”);
   kill them, dump qualms, shift moralities,
     values aside, each one;
       die sheep; die (to, reverse the => system
         you accept (reject, respect));
next step,
   kill next sacrifice, each sacrifice,
     wait, redo ritual until “all the spirits are pleased”;
   do it (“as they say”).
do it(*everyone***must***participate***in***forbidden**s*e*x*).
return last victim; package body;
   exit crypt (time, times & “half a time”) & close it.
     select (quickly) and warn next victim;
AFTERWARDS: tell nobody.
   wait, wait until time;
      wait until next year, next decade;
         sleep, sleep, die yourself,
            die @last

As they say, it compiles, but (blessedly) at least for now, doesn’t do anything. Just to be safe, I wouldn’t try chanting it at midnight, though.

Michael Mealing has an interesting perspective on the past couple weeks’ events in entrepreneurial space.

I was in the terminal room when the guys from UIUC came in and started to demo their new web browser (at the time this wasn’t a big deal because gopher had a much higher adoption rate). The one thing that caught my eye was the fact that it had pictures. And then Tim Berners-Lee came into the room and proceeded to watch the demo (he didn’t like the IMG tag very much). It was at that moment that I felt something. It wasn’t buzz or hype or anything like that. It was just a quiet, but very rapid build up of human potential energy. I told myself to remember that feeling.

I got that same feeling hearing about the things that happened this past weekend. And I don’t intend on missing out on it again.

I wonder if a lot of dot-com refugees are going to feel the same way.

He also points out that last weekend’s Space Access conference coincided with the tenth anniversary of the rollout of the Mosaic web browser, which is the one that really got the web going.

I think I can guess what O’Reilly’s most ridiculous item of the day will be.

Behar: “Are you interested to go on O’Reilly’s show and take him on? Because he’s been after your ass, baby! He wants you on a silver platter!”

[Audience applauds, laughs]

Garofalo, joking: “I know. He likes me! He likes me! He has a crush on me! He’s very attracted to me.”

Still no crawling on knees through cut glass, apparently.

Mr. Rogers has had an asteroid named after him. It’s in the main belt, between Mars and Jupiter, and over twice as far from the Sun as the earth is. Better get a big sweater on it…

Mr. Rogers has had an asteroid named after him. It’s in the main belt, between Mars and Jupiter, and over twice as far from the Sun as the earth is. Better get a big sweater on it…

Mr. Rogers has had an asteroid named after him. It’s in the main belt, between Mars and Jupiter, and over twice as far from the Sun as the earth is. Better get a big sweater on it…

A federal court (the story doesn’t say which one) just gutted McCain Feingold, striking down the ban on corporate and union contributions, and the limits on election-time ads. It will probably go to the Supreme Court now, which will hopefully put a wooden stake through this constitutional atrocity.

[Update a few minutes later]

Here’s a fuller description. It was a three-judge appeals court “fast track” panel.

[Late afternoon update]

Here are more details yet.

KY Jelly is trying to reposition the brand (it’s Salon “Premium” though, so you won’t be able to read the whole thing for free).

What’s next, flavors? Well, sort of. A splashy event at New York’s stylish W Hotel in June, featuring designer Patricia Field of “Sex and the City” wardrobe fame, is designed to highlight all of the other uses of K-Y Jelly.

Other uses? Yes. You’ve seen K-Y at your gyno’s office or ultrasound lab, maybe even at your vet’s. But did you know that it also works as lip gloss? Hair gel?

Lip gloss? Yeah, I can see that, depending on which lips you’re talking about…

I just got a newsletter from an alumni association of my high school, Flint Central High in Michigan. I don’t know how they got my address. As I read through it, I saw a logo, and recalled (three decades on) that our mascot was the “Indians.”

I idly wondered how long such a symbol of Amerikkkan racism and imperialism could stand.

I went to the web site, and was simultaneously amused and appalled to find that the Flint, Michigan school board had in fact voted to no longer allow this cultural hegemony and continuing genocide to continue. (Note that it’s not a permalink–it will probably be good for a few months, because they don’t seem to update much, but not forever…)

It gets better. My junior high, Whittier (now a “middle school”–what’s that all about?) was “The Braves.” My elementary school (named after a total dud of American history, President Franklin Pierce) was the “Pierce Arrows.” They idiotically struck down these symbols of racism as well (ignoring the fact that the Pierce Arrow was a car…).

There’s a happy end to the story, though. Being Flint, Michigan (which Michael Moore continues to pretend is his home town, even though he’s actually from Davison), they’re broke, and can’t afford to implement it (which would involve purchase of various new paraphernalia), so for now, we remain the Flint Central Indians. If I spoke Algonquin, I’d offer up a prayer of thanks.