There is an economic cost associated with not taking the "more prudish" approach. Apparently someone thought it was necessary to complain about Naughty Tentacles to Google AdSense and the complaint was picked up by someone who agreed. Boom. There goes 33% of the operating budget of the wiki. This either has to come out of my and Janitor's pockets—which it won't, neither of us is going to short our family of anything for the wiki, anymore—or it has to come out of the services we provide.We have learned that none of the "bake sale" sized ideas like subscriptions or donation drives are going to bring in the revenues we need. It is advertise or die.Right now, we are appealing the decision to drop the wiki from AdSense. If the answer comes back that it will not be restored, we are going to have to shut some stuff down. My guess would be the forums, since they are a financial drain. We could reduce the performance of the wiki by dropping some servers, but that would be a much bigger detriment to the wiki and than dropping the forums would be. Perhaps we could limit the use/performance of the forums enough to make up the difference.If the answer comes back that the Naughty Tentacles is now at the right level of risque for AdSense and we can be restored, then we have identified the level of risque we will just have to live with.I suppose there could have been a more a satisfying way for the community to discover its standards than to have it dictated by whatever Google employee happens to pick up a complaint or an appeal request, but that chance has been taken from us.It will take them a week or two to respond to the appeal. In the meantime we are on short rations. - Fast Eddie
On the lines of clothing rel8ed stuff, I now own a dress form so that I can fit clothes when I make them.
Must get 8ack into sewing now that the weather is right for the room my sewing machine is in to 8e a comforta8le temper8ure (it doesn't have heat or AC so I can really only do stuff for an extended time in there in spring and fall.)
I've learned to tolerate drama...except on the boat
For some reason I wonder what Sega's current console would be called were they still making them.
If they were that would require smartening up on their end; their handling of the Saturn was a disaster and it hurt the Dreamcast. Which they feared would be absolutely creamed by the PS2, GameCube and Xbox, so they just gave up.
@ Google Incident 2: Electrinaughty Bungalow-Tentacles:
Pity. Though I like that we now have an outside party with (economic, rather than social) influence demanding change in the wiki, I would have preferred that the forums reformed themselves.
Where are all the pedophiles? Seriously, I mean from the way people act you'd thing there are millions of them, hiding in every nook and cranny, waiting to catch the unwary at any moment.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
@TVT and advertising: The stupid thing is that this nonsense already happened two years ago. At the time Eddie's solution was to make a so-called "NSFG wall" and put non-Google ads on the pages behind the wall--including the forums.
Then within a year he scrapped this, because it apparently didn't bring in enough money. So honestly I have little sympathy for him this time around, because he clearly didn't learn a lesson the first time.
IEP meeting went well, looks like I got a 5th year of High School in the bag.
He was a young man of good family, as the phrase went in the New England of a hundred-odd years ago, and the reasons for his bitter discontent were unclear, even to himself. He grew up in the gracious old Boston home under his grandmother’s care, for his mother had died in giving him birth; and all his life he had known every comfort and privilege his father’s wealth could provide.
But still there was the discontent, which puzzled him because he could not even define it. He wanted to live among his equals—people who were no better than he and no worse either. That was as close as he could come to describing the source of his unhappiness in Boston and his restless desire to go somewhere else.
In the year 1845, he left home and went out west, far beyond the country’s creeping frontier, where he hoped to find his equals. He had the idea that in Indian country, where there was danger, all white men were kings, and he wanted to be one of them. But he found, in the West as in Boston, that the men he respected were still his superiors, even if they could not read, and those he did not respect weren’t worth talking to.
He did have money, however, and he could hire the men he respected. He hired four of them, to cook and hunt and guide and be his companions, but he found them not friendly.
They were apart from him and he was still alone. He still brooded about his status in the world, longing for his equals.
On a day in June, he learned what it was to have no status at all. He became a captive of a small raiding party of Crow Indians.
He heard gunfire and the brief shouts of his companions around the bend of the creek just before they died, but he never saw their bodies. He had no chance to fight, because he was naked and unarmed, bathing in the creek, when a Crow warrior seized and held him.
His captor let him go at last, let him run. Then the lot of them rode him down for sport, striking him with their coup sticks. They carried the dripping scalps of his companions, and one had skinned off Baptiste’s black beard as well, for a trophy.
They took him along in a matter-of-fact way, as they took the captured horses. He was unshod and naked as the horses were, and like them he had a rawhide thong around his neck. So long as he didn’t fall down, the Crows ignored him.
On the second day they gave him his breeches. His feet were too swollen for his boots, but one of the Indians threw him a pair of moccasins that had belonged to the halfbreed, Henri, who was dead back at the creek. The captive wore the moccasins gratefully. The third day they let him ride one of the spare horses so the party could move faster, and on that day they came in sight of their camp.
He thought of trying to escape, hoping he might be killed in flight rather than by slow torture in the camp, but he never had a chance to try. They were more familiar with escape than he was, and knowing what to expect, they forestalled it. The only other time he had tried to escape from anyone, he had succeeded. When he had left his home in Boston, his father had raged and his grandmother had cried, but they could not talk him out of his intention.
The men of the Crow raiding party didn’t bother with talk.
Before riding into camp they stopped and dressed in their regalia and in parts of their victims’ clothing; they painted their faces black. Then, leading the white man by the rawhide around his neck as though he were a horse, they rode down toward the tepee circle, shouting and singing, brandishing their weapons. He was unconscious when they got there; he fell and was dragged.
He lay dazed and battered near a tepee while the noisy, busy life of the camp swarmed around him and Indians came to stare. Thirst consumed him, and when it rained he lapped rainwater from the ground like a dog. A scrawny, shrieking, eternally busy old woman with ragged graying hair threw a chunk of meat on the grass, and he fought the dogs for it.
When his head cleared, he was angry, although anger was an emotion he knew he could not afford.
It was better when I was a horse, he thought—when they led me by the rawhide around my neck. I won’t be a dog, no matter what!
The hag gave him stinking, rancid grease and let him figure out what it was for. He applied it gingerly to his bruised and sun-seared body.
Now, he thought, I smell like the rest of them.
While he was healing, he considered coldly the advantages of being a horse. A man would be humiliated, and sooner or later he would strike back and that would be the end of him. But a horse had only to be docile. Very well, he would learn to do without pride.
He understood that he was the property of the screaming old woman, a fine gift from her son, one that she liked to show off. She did more yelling at him than at anyone else, probably to impress the neighbors so they would not forget what a great and generous man her son was. She was bossy and proud, a dreadful sag of skin and bones, and she was a devilish hard worker.
The white man, who now thought of himself as a horse, forgot sometimes to worry about his danger. He kept making mental notes of things to tell his own people in Boston about this hideous adventure. He would go back a hero, and he would say, “Grandmother, let me fetch your shawl. I’ve been accustomed to doing little errands for another lady about your age.”
Two girls lived in the tepee with the old hag and her warrior son. One of them, the white man concluded, was his captor’s wife and the other was his little sister. The daughter-in-law was smug and spoiled. Being beloved, she did not have to be useful. The younger sister had bright, wandering eyes. Often enough they wandered to the white man who was pretending to be a horse.
The two girls worked when the old woman put them at it, but they were always running off to do something they enjoyed more. There were games and noisy contests, and there was much laughter. But not for the white man. He was finding out what loneliness could be.
That was a rich summer on the plains, with plenty of buffalo for meat and clothing and the making of tepees. The Crows were wealthy in horses, prosperous, and contented. If their men had not been so avid for glory, the white man thought, there would have been a lot more of them. But they went out of their way to court death, and when one of them met it, the whole camp mourned extravagantly and cried to their God for vengeance.
I've learned to tolerate drama...except on the boat
I figured it would be like the "Sega Zephyr" or something.
...oh god, if Sonic '06 were still as glitchy and a launch title for a console...it would have been terrible, not like the blessing-in-disguise it turned out to be.
Comments
On the lines of clothing rel8ed stuff, I now own a dress form so that I can fit clothes when I make them.
Must get 8ack into sewing now that the weather is right for the room my sewing machine is in to 8e a comforta8le temper8ure (it doesn't have heat or AC so I can really only do stuff for an extended time in there in spring and fall.)
If they were that would require smartening up on their end; their handling of the Saturn was a disaster and it hurt the Dreamcast. Which they feared would be absolutely creamed by the PS2, GameCube and Xbox, so they just gave up.
I wonder if people will come here when it gets tanked.
Also, I finally dl'ed a cracked copy of FL Studio. Currently using bongo samples to make random "world" beats.
Eddie is going to nuke the forums because he can't be arsed to clean up his wiki?
Who has he been taking crisis handling lessons from? Frau Merkel?
No, he's considering doing one of several things. Of which "nuke the forums" and "heavily censor the wiki" are some.
Neither option is going to make anyone love the guy, that's for sure. I'd hate to be in his position right now.
Wait what?
I had some really good pork dumplings for lunch today. This has been a really good week overall for me and goodness that was a lowflying helicopter
Naney: No, I mean what's an IEP meeting?
I apologize if it's something obvious, acronyms confuse my small brain. #_#
Huh.
I know two people who do those, if that is what I think it is. I just didn't know it was called that.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Pity. Though I like that we now have an outside party with (economic, rather than social) influence demanding change in the wiki, I would have preferred that the forums reformed themselves.
The forums aren't going to reform anything, they're going to be gone.
And it's not like Google actually cares what the wiki does, they care that someone complained.
Because people have nothing better to do, I guess.
Really? The forums are going to go away for real?
Personally I find it disheartening that moralism is slowly taking over the internet, of which this is but an example.
But honestly, none of you care what I have to say about it. So I'll not say anything but that.
Unrelatedly, I find it amusing that Audacity lags more on my computer than FL Studio does.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Like I said, I really would rather not discuss this beyond what I said.
That's not even remotely what I was referring to, anyway.
There are at least 3 people that I know about who have admitted getting off to Loli and or Shota.
[whatever]
@Anonus: they would've called it "Morpheus". And gotten Neil Gaiman to sponsor it.
It would have been a mIrAcLe.
Then within a year he scrapped this, because it apparently didn't bring in enough money. So honestly I have little sympathy for him this time around, because he clearly didn't learn a lesson the first time. *fifth-year-of-high-school-buddies*
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
I have only just started listening, and I already feel like I'm getting high.
Is this....good? :D
also it's a very inconsistent album due to the three years between the oldest and most recent tracks.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
...oh god, if Sonic '06 were still as glitchy and a launch title for a console...it would have been terrible, not like the blessing-in-disguise it turned out to be.