I’ve been thinking about how the last Presidential election was won by an electorate who voted their fears. Fear of another terrorist attack was high on the list. Fear of liberals ruining a society built on Christian principles followed closely. Fear motivated those who voted left of center as well. Moderate to liberal voters envisioned a world of war without end, ecological devastation on a planetary scale, and a government-sanctioned return to tyrannical puritanism. Nearly four years later not much has changed. Or has it?
Speech Recognition is one of Microsoft Vista’s cooler aspects. It’s not quite up to Star Trek “Captain’s log” status yet, but is very promising. I’m certain it will behave better using a headset mic vs. the lappie’s built-in mic. The following is a portion of a conversation that Vista dictated. A colleague and I were discussing the impending Presidential election. We tend to have fairly opposing views regarding many things political and I think Speech Recognition captured the flavor of the convo well. While not entirely accurate, the dictation mimics the intensity and depth of our discussion with poetic fervor. Next stop, the campaign trail to write some speeches.
Previously all and I’ll have all of them signed the pledge by opening up the nomination on wall like all sewers role of a while select all do it now took a bite out of an eye on now and in Asia and the whole of the
Lot when wind up going to play whether their own a bus stop the Mac on recall that pay for all of your thought on an more eight bit soft is baths or can have led the a gala ball ballot grass leading on a sidewalk go on the island at home loading of june where I’m at a trial pack only,…
Let’s see… how many ways can Embarq suck over Sprint.
- no newsserver
- more frequent slowdowns and outages… particularly weekends
- my pet peeve… the non-existing website “landing page”
The last item is beginning to suck even harder. Just like it sounds, the landing page is where you end up if the URL you typed can not be resolved, or if it doesn’t exist. Normally (at least in Firefox) you’re fed a “server not found” page with some helpful hints. Check the spelling, check your connection, etc. Embarq now thinks it’s cute to serve lost surfers another impression of their stupid green paper airplane (misshapen dunce cap? anal trowel?) logo. The next logical step is sponsored ads.
Sorry, we can’t seem to locate Criscocoatedteens.com, perhaps you’d like to visit Viagracentral.com instead?
I’m hoping the answer is to start using my own DNS servers again. Meanwhile, Embarq is making opting out of this lame ass service much less obvious. The thumbnail below links to a screen grab of the FAQ page describing this service. Shortly after Embarq began this hijacking scheme, the landing page plainly showed you how to opt-out of the service. Now, rather than telling you how to turn this crazy thing off, they leave you to hunt through the footer and secondary nav links to find the “opt-out” link for yourself. It’s cute how they actually leave the “How do I opt-out” question unanswered in the FAQ. Of course by cute I mean Orwellian.
Nothing to see here… just a test of audio player plugin. Will change colors later… goodnight cruel world!
I love many things about the British: their accents, their humour, the Aston Martin, those sexy-eyed women… They’re a different lot they are. OK, you get the picture; I’m an Anglophile. But it’s nice to see that for all our differences, we have some things in common.
Today, Mitt Romney withdrew his name from the decreasing field of Republican Presidential hopefuls. Signaling his party’s intent to use terror to maintain its death grip on the American psyche, Romney’s last dying gasps were something like:
Any other time in history, I would stand my ground and fight. But this isn’t any other time. This is a time of war, and I’m all for this war. I’ve shown myself to be perhaps the biggest Bush apologist in this campaign. But we all know that a war began by alleged Christians is best fought by someone who at least looks like Jerry Falwell. With my chiseled, clean-cut Mormon good looks, that man is not me.
Besides, when I see the eight years of pent-up rage and frustration in John McCain’s eyes… frankly, I’m terrified. If I stand between him, his war, and his illegal immigrants, I might end up with the Mighty Right’s boner lodged squarely between my cheeks, a position ole Maverick McCain has been in since 2000.
So, as much as I hate to lose, I can’t in good conscience stand in the way of an administration Hell bent on retaining its reign of religious abuse and fraudulent lies over a happily deluded public.
By the way, liberals suck, etc., etc.
Oh, and this just in… Fox, CNN, NPR (shame!), AP, and Other Fake Ass News Outlets Suspend Critical Journalism… as opposed to quitting it altogether.
I’m starting an ongoing feature today; photos and short essays that show why I love the South. For bookkeeping’s sake, I’ll place these entries under their own category called… wait for it… The South.
I can think of no better way to begin than with an item we’re especially known for. P-O-R-K, that spells hawg. Giganormous $3 pork chop sandwiches can be bought from the gas station next door. Behold!
People who know me more than a minute discover I’m not a big fan of corporate Hip Hop. The “bling”, objectification of women, and drugs offered by mainstream rappers paints a too thin veneer on a culturally rich, ethnically diverse people. As larger and better known recording companies continue to rake in the money, I’ve had to redouble my efforts to find palatable music (and people) within this vast genre. Crawling the TMZ and Perez Hilton wannabes in the Black blogoshpere offered little help. I’m simply not interested in the “Black Folk Behaving Badly” version of celebrity websites.
But a chance encounter led to me having lunch with Clyde Smith, the owner of ProHipHop, a blog focusing on the marketing and business of Hip Hop.
Twenty years ago I was tasked with cataloging a warehouse of carburetors. It was my first photography job and involved taking clearly identifiable carburetor portraits, matching them with their respective part numbers, and assembling the lot into a homemade scrapbook. Picture a family photo album, Monster Garage style. Like any novice, my results were mixed but generally just shy of acceptable. My employers very grudgingly agreed to pay for a couple of hours of training from a local professional photographer. An already weary, but still impressionable 18 year old, I didn’t know that my life and perception of the world was about to change.