July 6, 2004
- The programmer, like the poet, works only slightly removed from pure thought-stuff. He builds his castles in the air, from air, creating by exertion of the imagination. Few media of creation are so flexible, so easy to polish and rework, so readily capable of realizing grand conceptual structures.
--Frederick Brooks, Jr., "The Mythical Man Month" that I kisrael'd about recently. Reminds me of why I like programming...
- A veritable Cornucopia of old 'Net humor
- More old electronic lore: textfiles.com has all the old stuff from the BBS days.
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I donít stand still and look around
On all the hills I havenít hoed,
And shout from where I am, "What is it?"
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
--Robert Frost poem A Time To Talk, via the now sadly defunct therosser.com...
>> -- Amish driveby shooting
>Ermm.. seeing as the Amish don't like machinery,
>shouldn't that be "TWANGTWANG" as in a catapault
>rather than "BANGBANG" as in a gun?..
I like the version that goes "clipclopclipclopclipclopFROWNclipclop..."
-- Amish drive-by shunning.
--Rhiannon S, Gid Holyoake, and Adrian Ogden on alt.fan.pratchett. I saw some Mennonites singing at Harvard Square the other day, women in white bonnety cloth hats and all.
Buddha Baby! Not me, but my parents nickname for me was "The Buddha" for a while when I was a baby...their friends knew they were kind of weird and thought that might actually be my name...