There Is A Right Way, And There Is The Nokia Way

November 7, 2006

So, while I had several tabs open, was blogging an entry, and then FURLing an article, Firefox — the new 2.0 flavor — freezes.

Oh shit.

I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder flashbacks to using Opera on the Nokia 770. Crashing is what it likes to do while pretending to be a web browser.

I have to do CTL-ALT-DEL to try to unfreeze things.

It does.

But Firefox succumbs and goes away.

Oh shit.

I relaunch Firefox while mentally tabulating in my head the steps I have to retrace to get everything back the way it was when… when… when…

Firefox displays a dialog saying it was terminated with several tabs open — and would I like to get those tabs back?

Hell yes!

And it does it!

Contrast that to Opera on the 770. When it goes Poof!, it takes the History list with it!

There Is A Righteous Rage

November 7, 2006

Killer staged her ‘suicide’[FURLed copy]

Diego Pillco, a 19-year-old illegal immigrant who had been renovating the apartment below Shelly’s office, told cops in a chilling confession that he was afraid of getting arrested and deported, sources said.

So he followed the 40-year-old married mom of a toddler into her apartment and knocked her unconscious, sources said.

Pillco told police he panicked and staged a suicide – using a bedsheet to string up the petite actress by her neck from a shower curtain rod, sources said.

What Sent Nixon Down The Road Of Madness

November 7, 2006

Democratic Faces That Could Launch Thousands of Votes [FURLed copy]

Attractive politicians have an edge over not-so-attractive ones. The phenomenon is resonating especially this year. By a combination of luck and design, Democrats seem to be fielding an uncommonly high number of uncommonly good-looking candidates.

Let’s go into the Wayback Machine, Sherman…

The Great Debates marked television’s grand entrance into presidential politics. They afforded the first real opportunity for voters to see their candidates in competition, and the visual contrast was dramatic. In August, Nixon had seriously injured his knee and spent two weeks in the hospital. By the time of the first debate he was still twenty pounds underweight, his pallor still poor. He arrived at the debate in an ill-fitting shirt, and refused make-up to improve his color and lighten his perpetual “5:00 o’clock shadow.” Kennedy, by contrast, had spent early September campaigning in California. He was tan and confident and well-rested. “I had never seen him looking so fit,” Nixon later wrote.

Nixon, solemn, sober, reflective, intelligent Nixon, who had devoted his life to public service.

Given the finger and booted into the Rubber Room due to the Hollywoodization of Leadership.

And this is only being discovered — or revealed — now?

Samsung, You Slay Me!

November 7, 2006

Oh, major tech lust cramps, when I look at this!

Engadget: Samsung’s SPH-P9000 Deluxe MITs: Windows XP at 75 MPH.

Anyone coming to New York City (and who isn’t?) has to make the pilgrimage to the Samsung Experience. Amazing stuff.

To The Unknown Thief:

November 7, 2006

Hey, you scum.

You get up in the morning, hating the day, hating your life, looking in the mirror and hating yourself.

That is as it should be.

You made that, you did that, you created that.

No one else.

Every day, every second of every day, people have an infinite number of choices of how they will behave. You chose behavior that led to your being a piece of shit, to your life being a total fucking waste, to your present and future being one of impotent frustration and eventual premature death. A death as meaningless as your life has been.

Guess what, motherfucker? The way I treat people like you, the way I avoid you, the sneer I have on my face as I see you approach me for assistance? It’s all there for this single reason:

I am better than you.

I will always be better than you.

Because I do not behave as you behave.

Last week I found someone’s credit card and state-issued ID on the sidewalk. I went out of my way to find a police officer to turn them in to. I even gave the officer my contact info, even though such things are optional.

The day after that, I found someone’s public assistance card on the sidewalk. I went out of my way to the social services office to turn that in.

That is how I behave.

And then you, you piece of shit, turn around and thieve from me.

That is why I am better than you. That is why I will always be better than you. That is why I can watch your life dribble away in shitty skilless make-work labor; in begging on the street; in watching you being hassled and dragged away by the police. The labor is more than you deserve. The begging and imprisonment are your just desserts.

You ripped a year of my life away from me. A year that wasn’t the best for me, but a single year I wouldn’t trade for your entire miserable fucking existence.

A lowlife shit like you won’t know what to do with what you took from me. You probably don’t even know anybody who would know what to do with what you took from me. The device, oh try to sell it on ebay, please. That will give me your name and address.

And then I will find you and I will kill you.

That is right. Kill. YOU.

I said this the other night in a stationhouse full of police officers who wondered if they should reach for their guns. This after they explained to me that the collection of rigged bullshit called the “law” claimed my situation was not, in its perverted eyes, a theft. That, despite paying my taxes to support a police force, that force could do nothing to assist me.

The fact is this, you piece of shit — and all you other pieces of shit out there — there is no person or institution on this entire planet that scares me. My fear is gone. I have faced death. It does not frighten me. And if death doesn’t, who and what the fuck can?


Enjoy your crooked little victory over me while you can. I don’t expect you to ever put it up on ebay — sellers have to charge more to ship it than the amount of a winning bid — so I don’t ever expect to be lucky enough to run into you that way. In fact, I don’t expect to ever run into you at all.

But guess what, you thieving scum?

That’s OK.

My rage will subside. For now. But dig it, because I can feel it: There is a Righteous Rage building in this nation. We who would never be you are reaching the end of our patience with your kind. Dying as a beggar will soon be a nostalgic extravagance to your kind. Mark my fucking words. Let them be the final thought in your crooked, empty mind as you find yourself cornered, pissing and shitting yourself in terror, as we who have had too much finally scrub this nation clean of your filth.

For now, one of my infinite choices is to try to repair the damage you have done. Writing this is part of that. Words you can’t understand, even if you can read.

Now I will go on. With a life that is damaged, but still ever so better than yours can ever, ever, ever hope to be.

A piece of shit like you beat me?

That fucking day will never happen.