The Best Free Stuff in the World

The dream of many lonely, hormone-spiked adolescent-types loose on the web is sites with a certain type of free image. The nightmare of people including parents, and those who have to keep the system used by said overhormoneloaded adolescents in a good security condition, is those same sites, which usually have adware and spyware, and every now and then your trojans and your viruses.

And most of those sites have features you don't even want, if you just want something fairly mainstream and you know what it is that you're looking for.

I found the geek-approved back door for computer safety and user satisfaction some time ago. Google Image Search, safe search turned off. Put the right (or wrong, depending on the viewpoint) keywords in, and one has no few images to poke through, all absolutely free (disregarding the cost of computer, net access, and electricity). They're small images, but they're there, and they're even occasionally what the user was looking for.

( Some personal TMI... )

Walking yesterday

votania.

That was nearly three times my original goal.

Granted, some of it I would have done more quickly had my knees not been yelling at me and had I not been half asleep, but yay, still!

This is really working!

So I went to the plasma place today, and the trainee-guy doing the screening (mini-physical) had an error screen come up...

( Body-related reasons for me to bounce around. )

If I had a nickel...

theferrett is doing a "If I had a nickel for each time        ..." thing over in his journal.

Mine:
I would like a nickel for every time I boast about a skill, gloat about a skill, or taunt someone based on their lack of a skill, and then fail my skill check for that very same skill.

A Modest Proposal: Let them eat spam! Micropayments for bulk mail recipients!

Bill Gates's latest idea, supported by some other people: have a system of "e-mail stamps" put in place: either pay to send e-mail, or donate computer time to a distributed computing project. Individual mailers would not be so much inconvenienced (the theory goes) but mass mailers would run out of money fast and would have to stop. Other people want to make bulk mailers pay to pass through spam filters.

And then, over in theferrett's "If I had a nickel..." thread, jfargo wanted to have a nickel for every piece of spam he got.

Click.

Supposing bulk mailers were obligated to pay for every piece of bulk mail they sent -- not to some Central Internet Authority, but to the user who got the mail. Paypal, or some similar type of free-to-inexpensive-to-the-user sort of service, perhaps. This would cut down on unsolicited bulk mailing drastically, for the same reason that paying for physical stamps and physical printing cuts down on junk physical mail. Users who got bulk mail would get paid for their time spent reviewing and deleting it, and the amount of it they got to review and delete would be drastically cut.

If users signed up for a regular mailing list, say the monthly Fire Mountain Gems e-mail newsletter that I get, the company would not have to pay the user. But companies would have to include information on how often the mailing from them was expected to come, how the e-mail address had been gotten and when it was gotten. Unsolicited bulk mail sent with an existing business relationship between the bulk mailer and the user might be subject to a discount, but not a complete removal of the micropayment. If companies got too many complaints against them for invalidly opting-in people to their mailing lists, or sent out unsolicited mail without a valid payment, they would be liable for serious amounts of money in damages to all affected users.

At least a token amount of the money (minimum five to ten cents, perhaps?) would need to be in actual currency; the bulk mailers could at their descretion include coupons for their goods/services, but the coupons would not be part of the mandated actual money given to the user.


Thoughts? Comments? Refinements? Places to pitch this?

The Grammar Bitch reports

Conscious is being aware of something. You have a conscious mind, which you are aware of being aware of, and a subconscious mind, which you are not particularly aware of. When you are awake, you are conscious. When you have been knocked out, you are unconscious.

Conscience is that thing that tells you what right and wrong are. That obnoxious little cricket served as conscience for the little puppet, and taught him right from wrong. Your conscience nags you when you've fucked up and should make it right but haven't yet.


One does not ever have a "guilty conscious". One may be conscious of guilt, or have a guilty conscience. BUT NOT MOTHERFUCKING "GUILTY CONSCIOUS"!!!!!!!!!!!!


This grammar bitch report is brought to you by $FANFIC_AUTHOR, who has just comitted an Unforgiveable.

[Edit: Fic fixed. Author knows better; spell-checker didn't catch it.]

Meme: "If you call me ___, you..."

If you call me Joanie, you probably know me in person, or were introduced to me first by someone who knows me in person. Or you worked with me in the bakery. Or you read the name on my e-mail address, and may have erroneously concluded that the Laurel part should be left off.

If you call me Joanie Laurel, you probably don't know my last name.

If you call me Joan, you're probably someone I know through school or other professional/official types of things.

If you call me JoAn, you are reading my name and you do not know my name. And you probably haven't gotten my leave to call me by my name. Same goes for those who call me John.

If you call me Joan L. Pipsqueak, you are family.

If you call me Jayelle, you knew me when I was fifteen or sixteen and mad about it.

If you call me Tasha, you were in my Chemistry class Sophomore year.

If you call me Mrs. Toole, you knew me in 2000, and you also have a good chance of injury.

If you call me Mrs. Spock, you knew me when I was a serious fan.

If you call me Mrs. [my last name], you don't know me, and you're probably selling something.

If you call me Rev. [my last name], you probably found my e-mail address on the ULC site, or I sent a political letter to you.

If you call me Azz, you probably know me from LJ or a fan list.

If you call me Azure, you probably know me from LJ, and I still have to double-check to see if that's me.

If you call me azurelunatic, you probably know me from somewhere on the internet.

If you call me Az, you don't know how to spell my name, or have gotten me mixed up with the state I'm living in or ataniell93.

If you call me Azz-the-Younger, you may well know Az-the-Elder, or be on any one of several fan mailing lists.

If you call me JL, you are probably writing rather than speaking.

If you call me Loony, you probably have heard or read me refer to myself that way.

If you call me Schizie, you are probably Darkside.

If you call me Mrs. [Darkside's last name], you are likely going to get hurt.

If you call me Mona, Shanna, Laughing Hawk, T'Khut, T'Kay, Angela, Alys, or Rose, you don't know me anymore.

If you call me Dagger, Garnet, Naomi, or Marah, you should probably make sure who you're talking to when you're talking with them.

If you call me Shanna, you're probably telling me to shut up, and probably knew me before 2001.

If you call me Aunt Joan, you're probably the Little Fayoumis.

These are the best days of our lives

Morning: plasma.

Came home to find that marxdarx was still in. Worked on stuff and found that paper I needed. LF may or may not have been pulling a fast one re: homework, as he was having Marx lean over his shoulder and help with the homework that he already knew how to do.

Did more stuff. Enjoyed the feel of the weather: nice, just warm enough, and damp enough.

Headed out for writing group. As witchofrock's schedule was doing interesting things, I headed out on the bus, and alone. On the bus, there were first three teenage goth proto-witches. They did their thing, and since I could tell that they'd done their thing and it was disruptive, I merrily blessed them, constrained them somewhat until my blessing (maturity and knowledge) took effect, and undid some of what they'd done (messing with mundanes). (The outward signs of them doing their thing was that the bus driver missed the stop and stopped instead in front of the very place where the girls were headed. I don't think it was conscious, or at least, not wholly.) Then some teenage cheerleader-types got on: you know, Those Bitches Who Made Your Life Miserable While You Were In High School. They talked about boys, whether it was more gross to brush your teeth or put on makeup in the bus, which it was worse to be called, fat or a slut, and social group relevant gossip. I was glad when they got off the bus, because they made my teeth hurt, and I couldn't concentrate on the Forgotten Realms book.

I got off the 19 at McDowell (I'd been having trouble remembering the street name) and noted that the bus I'd wanted to catch was just departing, grr. So I walked for a while, and sat down on a bus stop bench somewhat later, about four minutes before the next bus showed up. It was starting to rain. I got off the bus a bit before I should have, and walked gleefully in the plopping rain and skirt-whipping wind towards the center.

There were several new people there tonight: four, I think. At least, new to me. Three of them had come together; I'm not sure where the fourth came from. Everybody missed witchofrock and/or wanted to meet her.

I wound up reading my proto-fairy story [locked] and then, later, my talk about Google Image Search pornography and wanking. The first needs much more development; the second was greeted with thoughtfulness, laughter, and a feeling of ... inspiration ... in the group. My seduction of language still works.

The Pirate Queen's foster son was about; he was out in the lobby. We were all introduced to him for show-and-tell. He commented on my hair and how I looked like I would make a great Satanic priestess because of that look. (Tonight's outfit: black t-shirt, black crinkle skirt with the red and cream pattern at the hem, hair loose, fingernails with the dark blue polish mostly chipped off, dark red lipstick probably mostly worn off.) He seems interesting.

The Pirate Queen gave me a ride home. It was still raining. Mmm, rain.

At home, nice bouncy cats, people, and interesting things to be dug up from the kitchen. Eventually, sleep.