Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Boing Boing: Microsoft "Genuine Advantage" cracked in 24h: window.g_sDisableWGACheck='all'
Brilliant. Why validation of data must happen at the server and the browser...
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Places & Spaces > You are not here
Just in case you thought the world was a rich place, point to where you live...
Monday, July 18, 2005
Something Awful: The Mars Volta
"Some people think it’s dull, overwrought, pretentious crap, but some people think it’s a work of prog-rock genius. I would contend that there’s no difference between the two."
And about covers:
"In the hierarchy of artistic credibility, the Ironic Punk Cover falls somewhere just below erotic Harry Potter fan-fiction and just above Anne Geddes photography."
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Sprol.com » Gunns, Ltd Woodchipping Old Growth Forests
Images from Google Earth show very clearly what clear-felling looks like.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Living on the Hundred-Mile Diet
"..by switching to a local diet you would save almost an entire planet's worth of resources (though you'd still be gobbling up seven earths)."See also: Bye, Bye Bok Choy, a programme on the development of farm lands within the urban areas of Sydney.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
The millinery obsession of HG Wells
From The War of the Worlds (my emphasis):
He met a waggoner and tried to make him understand, but the tale he told and his appearance were so wild—his hat had fallen off in the pit—that the man simply drove on.
Sparks and burning twigs began to fall into the road, and single leaves like puffs of flame. Hats and dresses caught fire.
My terror had fallen from me like a garment. My hat had gone, and my collar had burst away from its fastener.
I went down, unfastened the door, and let him in, and locked the door again. I could not see his face. He was hatless, and his coat was unbuttoned.
Then round the corner of the lane, from between the villas that guarded it at its confluence with the high road, came a little cart drawn by a sweating black pony and driven by a sallow youth in a bowler hat, grey with dust.
I had found oil and rags for my burns, and I also took a hat and a flannel shirt that I found in one of the bedrooms.
There was a little two-wheeled cart inscribed with the name of Thomas Lobb, Greengrocer, New Malden, with a smashed wheel and an abandoned tin trunk; there was a straw hat trampled into the now hardened mud, and at the top of West Hill a lot of blood-stained glass about the overturned water trough.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)