20031016
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Broadcom BCM4301 Drivers for Linux Petition
Petition for Broadcom to either 1) release information for the Broadcom chipset or 2) create a driver for the Broadcom chipset to be used by all alternative-operating system aficionado.
Open source encyclopedia for all your research need.
Broadcom BCM4301 Drivers for Linux Petition
Petition for Broadcom to either 1) release information for the Broadcom chipset or 2) create a driver for the Broadcom chipset to be used by all alternative-operating system aficionado.
20031015
Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Bomb attack highlights pivotal role of US in region
Perhaps because of the communication class I'm taking, I've now apparently developed a kind of arrogance too well familiar to me, that apparently I find myself knowledgeable about how conflicts should be solved.
Whether I am qualified about lecturing on the nature of conflict is something I should never consider thinkable. I am not majoring in communication studies, nor am I thinking of doing so. I am not even majoring in political science, though I am interested in politics.
Yet, I have found it amazing to discover within myself the self-confidence that any conflict between nations can be solved if people would enter an argument not with the concept of a win-lose argument, but a win-win argument or a compromise.
It does nothing to recognize that there are some people who take such immense pleasure in winning at all costs, that all is lost when trying to win. And any attempts made at compromise is often perceived as a weakness.
Even now, even as I say that I recognize my own arrogance, I still have it within me to rationalize out of this rationalization.
Perhaps because of the communication class I'm taking, I've now apparently developed a kind of arrogance too well familiar to me, that apparently I find myself knowledgeable about how conflicts should be solved.
Whether I am qualified about lecturing on the nature of conflict is something I should never consider thinkable. I am not majoring in communication studies, nor am I thinking of doing so. I am not even majoring in political science, though I am interested in politics.
Yet, I have found it amazing to discover within myself the self-confidence that any conflict between nations can be solved if people would enter an argument not with the concept of a win-lose argument, but a win-win argument or a compromise.
It does nothing to recognize that there are some people who take such immense pleasure in winning at all costs, that all is lost when trying to win. And any attempts made at compromise is often perceived as a weakness.
Even now, even as I say that I recognize my own arrogance, I still have it within me to rationalize out of this rationalization.
I sometimes marvel . . .
I sometimes marvel how liberal my mother could seem to be. She was telling me this story about her manager being very impatience, about her former manager who was demoted and yet continued to act pompous and all-knowing when he is just an ignoramous, akin to Dilbert's manager, full of sound and fury, and you know the rest.
That was not the point of the story, I just like to tell you that. But I'm getting closer to explaining why I am mentioning my mother's liberal streak. What was going on, was that I asked her about my dad's boss. (They work for the same Wells Fargo Company, Mom as programmer, Dad as technical consultant.)
In the times that Mom met Dad's manager (f.), in party and social gatherings she said that the manager was very nice and soft-spoken. Here is the dialogue, dramatized for the time allotted:
"I've had many managers, so I'm used to it. But your dad's manager was a nice person," she said and chuckled. "Some people said she was a lesbian."
I raised my eyebrows in interest in what my good dear mother had to say. She continued, "But you know, I don't care about her personal life, but the way she works with people is very important."
Sometimes I marvel at how liberal my mom seems to be. Yet I do wonder, but do you care about my personal life? What about me? Do you care if I were to just find a boy with whom to live? Do you care to such extent that you refuse to accept that I am that I am, not that I am what I was? That I, my body, require a different ingredient, a different recipe, a different something, for my happiness?
Google News
I sometimes marvel how liberal my mother could seem to be. She was telling me this story about her manager being very impatience, about her former manager who was demoted and yet continued to act pompous and all-knowing when he is just an ignoramous, akin to Dilbert's manager, full of sound and fury, and you know the rest.
That was not the point of the story, I just like to tell you that. But I'm getting closer to explaining why I am mentioning my mother's liberal streak. What was going on, was that I asked her about my dad's boss. (They work for the same Wells Fargo Company, Mom as programmer, Dad as technical consultant.)
In the times that Mom met Dad's manager (f.), in party and social gatherings she said that the manager was very nice and soft-spoken. Here is the dialogue, dramatized for the time allotted:
"I've had many managers, so I'm used to it. But your dad's manager was a nice person," she said and chuckled. "Some people said she was a lesbian."
I raised my eyebrows in interest in what my good dear mother had to say. She continued, "But you know, I don't care about her personal life, but the way she works with people is very important."
Sometimes I marvel at how liberal my mom seems to be. Yet I do wonder, but do you care about my personal life? What about me? Do you care if I were to just find a boy with whom to live? Do you care to such extent that you refuse to accept that I am that I am, not that I am what I was? That I, my body, require a different ingredient, a different recipe, a different something, for my happiness?
Google News
20031014
Parents Prefer Boys
For those who care about what was already known for thousands of years and yet cannot be explained.
For those who care about what was already known for thousands of years and yet cannot be explained.
Of the Sadness of Mobility
My cousin, his mother and father, three of whom live quite close to us, moved away last week, to Hercules. It's a town in northeast of the San Francisco Bay Area. It's an hour drive, so I visiting him or he to me is very much in doubt, or very much less frequent than what little that I see of him.
Let this be known as true: I did not really like his hyperactive personality, nor did I enjoy having difficulty communicating with him. I did enjoy having that special attachment that he felt for me and I for him, which are the consequences of the lack of brotherhood. We both share the same pod, which is that we live in one-child households.
He is eight years old. He is young, enthusiastic, disappointed to move away, and excited to move into a house where he has a room of his own. In the previous two-bedroom house, the mother and the father had each a separate and equal room, to do with what they would. Neither was willing to give up their own room. The father's room was messy, unsanitary, uncleanable. There was a fish tank, there was a desk, I think, under all the mess of paperwork, computer parts, and an old medical skull. He is a nurse, not of the attractive kind, and on reserve by the United States Navy.
The mother's room, in contrast, was her workplace. What was there, was simply a computer, a drawer of clothes, and a bookshelf full of, well, books. When my cousin was born to that household, the mother's room overflowed with books on babies, and with baby toys. She works as a business owner, a steady, small accounting firm.
The house in general is messy. What tables there are, of coffees, of dinner, of kitchen cabinets, are teeming not with life but toys, forgotten, used-once, or broken. The garage is no less messy, no less teeming with "stuff," gadgets, trains, lovely things that Uncle bought for himself. The attic is ever no better, no worse. Model trains, run along the attic floor, games of childhood strewn across.
Even in the television set, with the stereo system, received no less than harsh treatment from the ravages of laziness. CD-Roms, DVDs (he bought every single hits), some lay disorganized, others organized are with haste put in CD cases and put in bookshelf. What was there in the bookshelf before was obviously displaced to make room. Cables line the back of the television, the stereo, the video. The computer, through which the TV would be the monitor, sits there idly waiting to be used as a DVD player, and yet itself is just as messy. Programs are thrown across the desktop of Windows 98. Start-up folder is littered with programs that just gobble up system resource.
My God, that house was the character of messiness. Its occupants the epitomes.
Now they move away. And I this post write, without an interesting story to tell.
I heard it said Aunt would have preferred a daughter. I say that no matter what, nothing could have been done to save that house.
MSN Local Cityguides
My cousin, his mother and father, three of whom live quite close to us, moved away last week, to Hercules. It's a town in northeast of the San Francisco Bay Area. It's an hour drive, so I visiting him or he to me is very much in doubt, or very much less frequent than what little that I see of him.
Let this be known as true: I did not really like his hyperactive personality, nor did I enjoy having difficulty communicating with him. I did enjoy having that special attachment that he felt for me and I for him, which are the consequences of the lack of brotherhood. We both share the same pod, which is that we live in one-child households.
He is eight years old. He is young, enthusiastic, disappointed to move away, and excited to move into a house where he has a room of his own. In the previous two-bedroom house, the mother and the father had each a separate and equal room, to do with what they would. Neither was willing to give up their own room. The father's room was messy, unsanitary, uncleanable. There was a fish tank, there was a desk, I think, under all the mess of paperwork, computer parts, and an old medical skull. He is a nurse, not of the attractive kind, and on reserve by the United States Navy.
The mother's room, in contrast, was her workplace. What was there, was simply a computer, a drawer of clothes, and a bookshelf full of, well, books. When my cousin was born to that household, the mother's room overflowed with books on babies, and with baby toys. She works as a business owner, a steady, small accounting firm.
The house in general is messy. What tables there are, of coffees, of dinner, of kitchen cabinets, are teeming not with life but toys, forgotten, used-once, or broken. The garage is no less messy, no less teeming with "stuff," gadgets, trains, lovely things that Uncle bought for himself. The attic is ever no better, no worse. Model trains, run along the attic floor, games of childhood strewn across.
Even in the television set, with the stereo system, received no less than harsh treatment from the ravages of laziness. CD-Roms, DVDs (he bought every single hits), some lay disorganized, others organized are with haste put in CD cases and put in bookshelf. What was there in the bookshelf before was obviously displaced to make room. Cables line the back of the television, the stereo, the video. The computer, through which the TV would be the monitor, sits there idly waiting to be used as a DVD player, and yet itself is just as messy. Programs are thrown across the desktop of Windows 98. Start-up folder is littered with programs that just gobble up system resource.
My God, that house was the character of messiness. Its occupants the epitomes.
Now they move away. And I this post write, without an interesting story to tell.
I heard it said Aunt would have preferred a daughter. I say that no matter what, nothing could have been done to save that house.
MSN Local Cityguides
Chrisonomicon
"Now, what my love is, proof has made you know;
And as my love is sized, my fear is so:
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fear grow great, great love grows there."
"Now, what my love is, proof has made you know;
And as my love is sized, my fear is so:
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear;
Where little fear grow great, great love grows there."
little. yellow. different.
Because I believe in giving credit where credit's due, the link to the previous post was "borrowed" from the link above.
Because I believe in giving credit where credit's due, the link to the previous post was "borrowed" from the link above.
20031012
