Archdruid Report

If you’ve never read the Archdruid Report, you really have to. The motherfucker is long-winded as all fucke, but very wise and erudite. Here’s a taste of this poste:

One way to talk about the point I’m trying to make here is that the great majority of Americans have never learned how to think. I stress the word “learned” here; thinking is a learned skill, not an innate ability. The sort of mental activity that’s natural to human beings is exactly the sort of linkage of verbal noises to emotional states and vague abstractions I’ve outlined above. To get beyond that—to figure out whether the verbal noises mean anything, to recognize that an emotional state is not an objective description of the thing that triggers it, and to replace the vague abstractions with clearly defined concepts that illuminate more than they obscure—takes education.

Fucken Gibbering “Social Media” Fuckebagges

How fucken pathetic is this?

But they capture a behavior my closest friends and I had already begun to adopt: The practice of showing each other where we are at any given moment in time, either through a short video or photo of our workstations, our faces as we lie half-asleep in bed on rainy Sunday afternoons, a look into our lives that is reserved for only those closest to each other. It is an acknowledgement that the version of ourselves we share through other social media is not the truest one, and has not been for a long time.

Fucken Goddamn iPad Is A Goddamn Motherfucken Toy

This fucken piece of shitte doesn’t have any general method for dealing with documents other than photos and videos, such as attaching them to e-mails or uploading them via Web forms. These fucken iPad designers obviously are targeting this fucken thinge to goddamn motherfucken teenagers for sexting each other their pimply asses and to goddamn motherfucken parents for harrassing the Internet with pictures and movies of their hideous children, and not to real adults to use for doing any real work.

Something Cool For iOS6 Users

One of the things that was bugging me about accessing Gmail accounts from my iPad was that whether I used the native Mail app or the Gmail app, my mail was not coming in very fast, and it seemed to be only downloading every few minutes. Because I need instant gratification, and fucke you, thatte’s why!!!!!

Turns out that Gmail does not push to iOS6 if you use the regular Gmail account setup in native iOS6 Mail. However, you can access your Gmail account, including your calendar and contacts, through an Exchange server front end that Google operates.

Allz you gotta do is select Exchange as the type of new e-mail account you want to set up in the Mail app, use your Gmail address and password as the login, and here’s the key: enter as the server.

Now you get instant push sync of your e-mail and calendar with Google!!!!

So the only thing that now still bugges me about native Mail is that (1) I can’t have multiple Mail icons on my home screen to separately handle my multiple e-mail accounts and (2) when I send from a Gmail account that has an aliased From setup, it sends from the un-aliased Gmail address and not from the alias.

More iPad Bullshittery

There are very cool trickes for selecting, copying, and pasting text, but none of them are documented in any official Apple documentation I have been able to find. Does Apple think the gibbering imbeciles that just want to use this thing to post pictures of their ugly drooling children and surf porne have no use for such esoteric information, and it would just scare them?

Moby Dicke CHAPTER 6. The Street.

If I had been astonished at first catching a glimpse of so outlandish an individual as Queequeg circulating among the polite society of a civilized town, that astonishment soon departed upon taking my first daylight stroll through the streets of New Bedford.

In thoroughfares nigh the docks, any considerable seaport will frequently offer to view the queerest looking nondescripts from foreign parts. Even in Broadway and Chestnut streets, Mediterranean mariners will sometimes jostle the affrighted ladies. Regent Street is not unknown to Lascars and Malays; and at Bombay, in the Apollo Green, live Yankees have often scared the natives. But New Bedford beats all Water Street and Wapping. In these last-mentioned haunts you see only sailors; but in New Bedford, actual cannibals stand chatting at street corners; savages outright; many of whom yet carry on their bones unholy flesh. It makes a stranger stare.

But, besides the Feegeeans, Tongatobooarrs, Erromanggoans, Pannangians, and Brighggians, and, besides the wild specimens of the whaling-craft which unheeded reel about the streets, you will see other sights still more curious, certainly more comical. There weekly arrive in this town scores of green Vermonters and New Hampshire men, all athirst for gain and glory in the fishery. They are mostly young, of stalwart frames; fellows who have felled forests, and now seek to drop the axe and snatch the whale-lance. Many are as green as the Green Mountains whence they came. In some things you would think them but a few hours old. Look there! that chap strutting round the corner. He wears a beaver hat and swallow-tailed coat, girdled with a sailor-belt and sheath-knife. Here comes another with a sou’-wester and a bombazine cloak.

No town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one—I mean a downright bumpkin dandy—a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands. Now when a country dandy like this takes it into his head to make a distinguished reputation, and joins the great whale-fishery, you should see the comical things he does upon reaching the seaport. In bespeaking his sea-outfit, he orders bell-buttons to his waistcoats; straps to his canvas trowsers. Ah, poor Hay-Seed! how bitterly will burst those straps in the first howling gale, when thou art driven, straps, buttons, and all, down the throat of the tempest.

But think not that this famous town has only harpooneers, cannibals, and bumpkins to show her visitors. Not at all. Still New Bedford is a queer place. Had it not been for us whalemen, that tract of land would this day perhaps have been in as howling condition as the coast of Labrador. As it is, parts of her back country are enough to frighten one, they look so bony. The town itself is perhaps the dearest place to live in, in all New England. It is a land of oil, true enough: but not like Canaan; a land, also, of corn and wine. The streets do not run with milk; nor in the spring-time do they pave them with fresh eggs. Yet, in spite of this, nowhere in all America will you find more patrician-like houses; parks and gardens more opulent, than in New Bedford. Whence came they? how planted upon this once scraggy scoria of a country?

Go and gaze upon the iron emblematical harpoons round yonder lofty mansion, and your question will be answered. Yes; all these brave houses and flowery gardens came from the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. One and all, they were harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea. Can Herr Alexander perform a feat like that?

In New Bedford, fathers, they say, give whales for dowers to their daughters, and portion off their nieces with a few porpoises a-piece. You must go to New Bedford to see a brilliant wedding; for, they say, they have reservoirs of oil in every house, and every night recklessly burn their lengths in spermaceti candles.

In summer time, the town is sweet to see; full of fine maples—long avenues of green and gold. And in August, high in air, the beautiful and bountiful horse-chestnuts, candelabra-wise, proffer the passer-by their tapering upright cones of congregated blossoms. So omnipotent is art; which in many a district of New Bedford has superinduced bright terraces of flowers upon the barren refuse rocks thrown aside at creation’s final day.

And the women of New Bedford, they bloom like their own red roses. But roses only bloom in summer; whereas the fine carnation of their cheeks is perennial as sunlight in the seventh heavens. Elsewhere match that bloom of theirs, ye cannot, save in Salem, where they tell me the young girls breathe such musk, their sailor sweethearts smell them miles off shore, as though they were drawing nigh the odorous Moluccas instead of the Puritanic sands.

More Annoying iPad Crappe

The motherfucken Gmail app is pretty fucken decent, and a lot better than the iPad mail app that comes pre-installed. But unless I am missing something, there is no fucken way to save a PDF attachment so I can open the motherfucker in my PDF annotation app.

Fucke You iPad Mail App

On my fucken Blackberry, I have a separate mail icon on my home screen for each of my e-mail accounts, and a separate new message count for each one. And when I want to dicke around with one of my accounts, I just clicke on that icon and I’m in the inbox for that account. How the fucken motherfucke is this not possible on my fucken iPad?????