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stonecypher (118140) writes "The offices of The Internet Archive, aka archive.org, aka The Wayback Machine, had a serious fire in the middle of the night Wednesday morning. More than $600,000 of damage to equipment has been discovered, and there are open questions about whether the building may need to be rebuilt. Archive.org has often been an important way to roll back the clock to retain otherwise lost materials, and does a large amount of media distribution for groups which cannot afford it themselves.
The organization is emphasizing the importance of donations to help rebound from the damages. You can act directly at their web page, or through the crowdfunding site CrowdTilt to encourage viral distribution.
I just got more down mods in three hours than I've gotten in the rest of my eight years on slashdot put together. Most of them don't even make sense; I'm getting flamebait on two-page long posts where the person I'm actually responding to said "I enjoyed this conversation."
It's fairly clear that I'm being stalked by an out of control abuser. Pity of the problem is that Slashdot doesn't allow me to say "ah, it's this person who set *all* of my down mods."
Guh. My rat bastard NN/GA/MTD(f) templated breeding arena monstrosity is almost done, but it's late at night and I can't focus. I just spent an hour and a half explaining simple C++ concepts to what will almost certainly be an unreceptive crowd (due no doubt in no small part to my obvious hatred of bad advice and novices which don't know that they are novices.)
Stupid fucking C can't return arrays. God damnit. So stupid. What a useless limitation. Yay for writing entire templates just to get around simple crap like that.
'cause I mean really, when the hell else am I ever gonna write that?:D
So, I looked into friends and foes and whatnot today, for the first time. Much to my surprise, I have fans, and even a foe. I have no idea who he is, though the name rings a bell; kinda wish I knew why he hated me. Heh.
So I'm bored, right? That's why I'm writing in my SlashDot journal? I got completely the wrong idea of a project as my first project at this new job that I've got. So today it has to be done, and earlier they told me that DataTac, which we don't have seriously any documentation for whatsoever, apparently has this disgusting paucity of upstream. And I'm feeling stupid because I read the motorola docs about the thing, and it said best of class data transfer, and somehow it never occurred to me to look at the dates in the publication.
I'm having to start over.:D It's 6:43 and I need to replicate a low-bandwidth IRCish chat system and client before I go home.
Time to read Slashdot. (sigh)
Really, I need to let my mind congeal a bit. But this'll be cool. I can do this. I'm invincible. Read some slashdot, let the back of my head work on the problem for a second. Start wondering about my fans, too. What the hell came flooding turdlike out of my mouth that they apparently liked? I do two things here: I rant on a few topics that I know better than the average bear (emphasis on the word few,) and I make fun of people because of bad argument and bad grammar, which usually elicits more of both.
(Actually, I think I had someone stalking me for a little bit. Tres paranoid, I know, but still, I had the same kind of bizarre halfspeak, very heavy on sexual preference jokes and high-and-mighty-ism, following me around as an anonymous coward on anything I said for a few days. Seems to be gone. Maybe it's the citronella.)
But, I donno. It's cool. I like working here. The people are laid back and can laugh, everyone's making enough money so there's no getting-by stress, and they're okay with me screwing around for ten minutes every so often while I work on a problem.
They understand nerds.
So, this week I've been called an arrogent fucktard, a condesending bastard, and a jackass. I'm not a fucktard. The rest... well, great work, sherlock. Do I look insulted?
Enough ranting. I'm still not funny. I'm starting to think that KFC gets me high; I have a buzz and all I've really done today were some crispy strips. (In a needle.)
Have fun, kids, and maybe I'll write something else in a year or two.