News flash: There’s bad stuff in certain parts of the Internet. BusinessWeek owes an apology to the families of the trees it killed to print this piece of crap. Where were these crack investigative journalists when Enron and WorldCom and all were stealing stockholders blind?
Month: August 2002
Attention working journalists: Good advice today from April Oliver on dealing with corporate perfidy, sociopathic sources, Satan-spawn lawyers, and other office furniture.
As my friend Arminda so eloquently puts it, score one for the Episcopalians — against that stupid Mac campaign. Feh! Feh! Mac feh!
“Missour-EE” — ?!?!? My ass it is. Yuppies trying to ruin another damn state out there.
Image that’ll stay with me for days: George Foreman and Muhammad Ali arguing religion. Wouldn’t you love to hear that conversation? (For you tykes who can’t remember boxing pre-Tyson, this is why some of us still love the sport.)
Declan McCullough, often one of my favorite tech journalists, provides yet another reason for me to wish to set libertarians on fire: A well written and completely oblivious screed on why the Digital Millennium Copyright Act ain’t no thang. I admire his dogged belief that we can code our way out of this mess (not to mention his complete innocence of what the chilling effect is like when you’re not working for employers just itching to be a First Amendment test case), but I think back over the modern history of revolution and fear that things bode no better for the intellectuals these days than they did in 1970s Cambodia. Cute of him to be so optimistic, but I’m afraid we can’t just play with our toys, boys. Time to smarten up about the rest of the world.
From the country that brought you the ALL-CAPS wire-transfer scam spam, something else: Woman and man have sex. They’re not married. She gets pregnant. Man denies anything happened. He goes on with his life. Woman condemned to death by stoning. You know, far be it from me to suggest that using the words “Islamic” and “justice” in the same sentence is problematic in this case, but…
Whatever they’re on at SatireWire this week, I want.
Attention all personnel! They’re reworked the Ages of Man in Turkmenistan, and it’s a pretty good system. For future reference: Until 13, childhood; until 25, adolescence; until 37, youth (yes!); until 49, maturity (uh-oh); until 62, the age of the prophet; until 73, the age of inspiration (that’ll be nice, God willing); to 85, the age of the white-bearded elder (a beard? I won’t care for that); to 97, old age; to 107, the age of Oguz Khan, an ancient Turkic ruler. Yes, friends: live long enough, and you’ll be Turkic. Seems reasonable.
I don’t know what I was supposed to be doing tonight (oh yeah, surveillance article — oops!) or why I didn’t think I needed all those brain cells any more (they interfered with most in-office conversations, but even I leave the grounds now and then), but I just watched The Apple for the first time in… oh, honey, not long enough. Yeow. Part of the fun is watching Vladek Sheybal — a man who escaped from a concentration camp, a man who befriended Bette Davis, a man who knew how to give a fargin’ line reading — wink his way through this. Al Pacino in The Devil’s Advocate found footsteps along his method-acting path, I do believe.