"Trolling" by the standards of the left is anyone from the non-left disagreeing.

It's easy for anyone to be lulled to sleep as the schools, Vancouverwood, 99% of the media and presently the White House all chant the same socialist claptrap, leaving out the verse about who has to pay for it.

You should be grateful to have your views challenged.


>> ^ChaosEngine:

Once again, qm comes in with an argument that somehow manages to be both wrong and completely irrelevant at the same time and derails the thread. One of these days, I will make a timelapse video of such a comment thread and see if Deano will let me post it in skilful, for it is truly epic trolling.
As for the video itself. Isn't it refreshing to see a video with Christians who actually deserve the name? They're one of the few examples I've seen of people actually following Christs teachings. Kudos to them.

SREDNI VASHTAR

Conradin was ten years old, and the doctor had pronounced his professional opinion that the boy would not live another five years. The doctor was silky and effete, and counted for little, but his opinion was endorsed by Mrs. De Ropp, who counted for nearly everything. Mrs. De Ropp was Conradin's cousin and guardian, and in his eyes she represented those three-fifths of the world that are necessary and disagreeable and real; the other two-fifths, in perpetual antagonism to the foregoing, were summed up in himself and his imagination. One of these days Conradin supposed he would succumb to the mastering pressure of wearisome necessary things---such as illnesses and coddling restrictions and drawn-out dulness. Without his imagination, which was rampant under the spur of loneliness, he would have succumbed long ago.

Mrs. De Ropp would never, in her honestest moments, have confessed to herself that she disliked Conradin, though she might have been dimly aware that thwarting him ``for his good'' was a duty which she did not find particularly irksome. Conradin hated her with a desperate sincerity which he was perfectly able to mask. Such few pleasures as he could contrive for himself gained an added relish from the likelihood that they would be displeasing to his guardian, and from the realm of his imagination she was locked out---an unclean thing, which should find no entrance.

In the dull, cheerless garden, overlooked by so many windows that were ready to open with a message not to do this or that, or a reminder that medicines were due, he found little attraction. The few fruit-trees that it contained were set jealously apart from his plucking, as though they were rare specimens of their kind blooming in an arid waste; it would probably have been difficult to find a market-gardener who would have offered ten shillings for their entire yearly produce. In a forgotten corner, however, almost hidden behind a dismal shrubbery, was a disused tool-shed of respectable proportions, and within its walls Conradin found a haven, something that took on the varying aspects of a playroom and a cathedral. He had peopled it with a legion of familiar phantoms, evoked partly from fragments of history and partly from his own brain, but it also boasted two inmates of flesh and blood. In one corner lived a ragged-plumaged Houdan hen, on which the boy lavished an affection that had scarcely another outlet. Further back in the gloom stood a large hutch, divided into two compartments, one of which was fronted with close iron bars. This was the abode of a large polecat-ferret, which a friendly butcher-boy had once smuggled, cage and all, into its present quarters, in exchange for a long-secreted hoard of small silver. Conradin was dreadfully afraid of the lithe, sharp-fanged beast, but it was his most treasured possession. Its very presence in the tool-shed was a secret and fearful joy, to be kept scrupulously from the knowledge of the Woman, as he privately dubbed his cousin. And one day, out of Heaven knows what material, he spun the beast a wonderful name, and from that moment it grew into a god and a religion. The Woman indulged in religion once a week at a church near by, and took Conradin with her, but to him the church service was an alien rite in the House of Rimmon. Every Thursday, in the dim and musty silence of the tool-shed, he worshipped with mystic and elaborate ceremonial before the wooden hutch where dwelt Sredni Vashtar, the great ferret. Red flowers in their season and scarlet berries in the winter-time were offered at his shrine, for he was a god who laid some special stress on the fierce impatient side of things, as opposed to the Woman's religion, which, as far as Conradin could observe, went to great lengths in the contrary direction. And on great festivals powdered nutmeg was strewn in front of his hutch, an important feature of the offering being that the nutmeg had to be stolen. These festivals were of irregular occurrence, and were chiefly appointed to celebrate some passing event. On one occasion, when Mrs. De Ropp suffered from acute toothache for three days, Conradin kept up the festival during the entire three days, and almost succeeded in persuading himself that Sredni Vashtar was personally responsible for the toothache. If the malady had lasted for another day the supply of nutmeg would have given out.

The Houdan hen was never drawn into the cult of Sredni Vashtar. Conradin had long ago settled that she was an Anabaptist. He did not pretend to have the remotest knowledge as to what an Anabaptist was, but he privately hoped that it was dashing and not very respectable. Mrs. De Ropp was the ground plan on which he based and detested all respectability.

After a while Conradin's absorption in the tool-shed began to attract the notice of his guardian. ``It is not good for him to be pottering down there in all weathers,'' she promptly decided, and at breakfast one morning she announced that the Houdan hen had been sold and taken away overnight. With her short-sighted eyes she peered at Conradin, waiting for an outbreak of rage and sorrow, which she was ready to rebuke with a flow of excellent precepts and reasoning. But Conradin said nothing: there was nothing to be said. Something perhaps in his white set face gave her a momentary qualm, for at tea that afternoon there was toast on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground that it was bad for him; also because the making of it ``gave trouble,'' a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye.

``I thought you liked toast,'' she exclaimed, with an injured air, observing that he did not touch it.

``Sometimes,'' said Conradin.

In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of the hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, tonight be asked a boon.

``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that other empty comer, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litany went up: ``Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar.''

Mrs. De Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease, and one day she made a further journey of inspection.

``What are you keeping in that locked hutch?'' she asked. ``I believe it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away.''

Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroom till she found the carefully hidden key, and forthwith marched down to the shed to complete her discovery. It was a cold afternoon, and Conradin had been bidden to keep to the house. From the furthest window of the dining-room the door of the shed could just be seen beyond the corner of the shrubbery, and there Conradin stationed himself. He saw the Woman enter, and then be imagined her opening the door of the sacred hutch and peering down with her short-sighted eyes into the thick straw bed where his god lay hidden. Perhaps she would prod at the straw in her clumsy impatience. And Conradin fervently breathed his prayer for the last time. But he knew as he prayed that he did not believe. He knew that the Woman would come out presently with that pursed smile he loathed so well on her face, and that in an hour or two the gardener would carry away his wonderful god, a god no longer, but a simple brown ferret in a hutch. And he knew that the Woman would triumph always as she triumphed now, and that he would grow ever more sickly under her pestering and domineering and superior wisdom, till one day nothing would matter much more with him, and the doctor would be proved right. And in the sting and misery of his defeat, he began to chant loudly and defiantly the hymn of his threatened idol:

Sredni Vashtar went forth,
His thoughts were red thoughts and his teeth were white.
His enemies called for peace, but he brought them death.
Sredni Vashtar the Beautiful.

And then of a sudden he stopped his chanting and drew closer to the window-pane. The door of the shed still stood ajar as it had been left, and the minutes were slipping by. They were long minutes, but they slipped by nevertheless. He watched the starlings running and flying in little parties across the lawn; he counted them over and over again, with one eye always on that swinging door. A sour-faced maid came in to lay the table for tea, and still Conradin stood and waited and watched. Hope had crept by inches into his heart, and now a look of triumph began to blaze in his eyes that had only known the wistful patience of defeat. Under his breath, with a furtive exultation, he began once again the pæan of victory and devastation. And presently his eyes were rewarded: out through that doorway came a long, low, yellow-and-brown beast, with eyes a-blink at the waning daylight, and dark wet stains around the fur of jaws and throat. Conradin dropped on his knees. The great polecat-ferret made its way down to a small brook at the foot of the garden, drank for a moment, then crossed a little plank bridge and was lost to sight in the bushes. Such was the passing of Sredni Vashtar.

``Tea is ready,'' said the sour-faced maid; ``where is the mistress?'' ``She went down to the shed some time ago,'' said Conradin. And while the maid went to summon her mistress to tea, Conradin fished a toasting-fork out of the sideboard drawer and proceeded to toast himself a piece of bread. And during the toasting of it and the buttering of it with much butter and the slow enjoyment of eating it, Conradin listened to the noises and silences which fell in quick spasms beyond the dining-room door. The loud foolish screaming of the maid, the answering chorus of wondering ejaculations from the kitchen region, the scuttering footsteps and hurried embassies for outside help, and then, after a lull, the scared sobbings and the shuffling tread of those who bore a heavy burden into the house.

``Whoever will break it to the poor child? I couldn't for the life of me!'' exclaimed a shrill voice. And while they debated the matter among themselves, Conradin made himself another piece of toast.

chill. you are both consistently insightful, so let's keep it that way. we can all accept that we have an emotionally charged situation.

i think we are getting to the point where the "newness" of the occupy movement has worn off, and the establishment basically waited until there was a lull in public support, playing up the idea that these people are dirty and a public nuisance.

so...the big picture is probably less about the local actions taken and more about the national smear campaign...and the question becomes, how do you fight that?

First of all, of course is was the bank's idea. That is simply a silly statement. That we agreed to it is secondary and after the fact.

Yes, the debit card made things more convenient - that's a fact. Sometimes a little too convenient but that another issue. But more importantly, it also made it more convenient for the banks. Far less people in bank line-ups means less tellers, less paperwork, less behind the scenes people filing and organizing. It also eliminated inter-bank transactions which used to be a huge process. (Remember when you wanted to make a withdrawl, but it wasn't your branch?) I can't imagine the process for corporate money and investment money managing on a global scale without digital accounts. The process alone just for taking in, processing and returning checks/cheques must be arduous.

The point is, this system wasn't made for MY convenience, it was made for THEIR convenience.

Yes, you are right, we did embrace the convenience. Who wouldn't? The nature of the word is obvious and we embrace every new convenience. That we were slowly lulled into compliance through this convenience is more the issue. That's how most traps are set. Now the system has been institutionalized, there is no way we can do without it, so now the service charges start to increase - and there is nothing we can do about it.

Actually, I can't get my paycheck in cash. I have to have a bank account for the automatic payroll. I also cannot pay my bills without the bank, I either need to pay online using my bank account, pay at the bank teller, (which I also need my card for) or pay by mail using checks (yup need the bank for that too - and an added service charge.) I can't rent anything without a credit card deposit. I can't stay at a hotel without a credit card, I can't make a reservation anywhere, I can't book a flight or plan holidays. I can't rent a movie, I can't get tickets to the theater or see a concert. Starting next year, I won't even be able to purchase the lunch program at my kids school without an online-transaction (Yup - credit card.) So don't tell me that I am not required to have the cards because we ARE required to have them.

I could take out a wad of cash every two weeks, except the banks are only open while I am at work and closed before I get off. The problem is, I can't stuff that cash into the phone line or mail it. Yes there are things I can still do with it. Buy groceries and gas... but there are many things I can't use it for.

Reminds me of when I was in a bar with some friends and I selected a bunch of songs from the CD jukebox, including "Miserlou" from Pulp Fiction. There was a lull then "EVERYBODY BE COOL, THIS IS A ROBBERY!" from the diner scene with Tim Roth. They included it as the intro to Miserlou.

Startled the crap out of everybody, every single person looked towards the front door. It was pretty funny.

I liked Red Faction Armageddon. Sure the plot was silly and all that, but it had good old fashioned blow-the-hell-out-of-everything arcade shooter gameplay that worked pretty well.

It came out at a good time for that, right in the middle of a big lull, so I don't see anyone buying it now with all sorts of whiz bang stuff like Deus Ex coming out, but when it goes on sale on Steam for $20 or less, I recommend fans of mindless action checking it out.

Interesting... in the time before the 8.9 on this map (it is now classified as a 9.0 by the USGS and Japanese seismologists: http://www.usgs.gov/newsroom/article.asp?ID=2727&from=rss_home) there was a relative lull in activity.

Not that I'm an expert in seismology, but it would appear that without the "maintenance" quakes, there was a hold back of serious pressure causing the big one to occur.

>> ^dystopianfuturetoday:

^I don't see we why shouldn't have both proper regulation and a more level judicial playing field.


^To a certain extent, I think flimsy regulations can lull public concern and investment for the issue. I know I don't routinely examine my MUD provided water, I just assume all is ok. When I had my own well, I had to keep tabs on it to make sure we didn't get radon bleeding in...which happens all the time in the mountains. When you regulate from the business side, the bucks are invested in a side of protection you don't examine, and can't examine. Consumers aren't expected to protect themselves, and therefore the tools for doing so are more costly and more cumbersome. It is just clunky. It would be like if cars didn't have speedometers and instead needed pace cars to set their speed relation too, it's just unnecessary. It would be better to equip people with the tools to protect themselves.

With that said, FRAKING seems like a really bad idea. Back in the day, we had tons of problems with natural gas migrations into our water wells. We had to dig a 800foot well just to find good water, which isn't cheap. You don't need to help that situation any, for sure. Though, it would seem to be a hard thing to prove that a specific action caused a gas contamination vs natural occurring one. I wonder if they are tracing the fluid contamination over the methane?

Edit: And I should note, now that we have a water softener, I pay more attention to my water content now that I have the tools too

Insightful analysis. If Mubes Inc. really isn't going to continue running the scene from behind the throne, it will be the muslims taking over. Lesser or greater evil.


>> ^NirnRoot:

I wish I saw as rosy a picture as mainstream media portrays, but I can't. The popular uprising may not have been in the plans of Mubarak's regime, but he and his cronies still managed to come out of it largely unscathed. Democracy? When Sulemain remains as sitting president? He shares all of Mubarak's undemocratic worldview and there is no evidence he will leave power in September.
The Egyptian army has been favorably portrayed in this revolution because it didn't fire on the protesters, but -despite a few words to the contrary- they didn't really side with them either. Oh sure, there may have been some solidarity between the average soldier and the common protester, but none of them broke ranks. Rather, the military elite stayed stolidly in Mubarak's camp and disciplined. The army played "good cop" while Mubarak's internal police forces - disguised as plainclothes Mubarak supporters- were the "bad cop" in the equation. To further heighten the tension, Mubarak then pulled back the legitimate cops so criminals could operate openly. Meanwhile, the army quietly captured the city (literally doing an encirclement maneuver around Tahir square) and providing "safety" and "stability" from Mubarak's own intentionally-fired anarchy. The protesters fled right into the arms of the very forces that are the basis of Mubarak's own sovereignty.
Yes, Mubarak might be "out" (although it is equally likely he will still remain a very real power operating from the background). But the regime that supported him, empowered by the military elite who -to a man- supported Mubarak through the crisis- remains in control. Promise of free elections in September are likely empty. A few of the chairs may gave been shuffled around, but is unlikely that the people have any greater say in their governance than they did a few weeks ago. It was a masterful management of the situation and one, I am sure, our own popularly-elected officials, are taking note of how it could be done should our own people one day rise up and say "enough is enough".
Mainstream media portrays this as a great victory for the common man, but look closely; nothing has really changed in Egypt. It's a snow job designed to make people feel good while the people with the power make sure they remain the only ones with real power; the "common man" (not just in Egypt, but across the world) -lulled by this easy "victory" - goes back to not questioning the power structure because he "knows" he has made a change for the better.

I wish I saw as rosy a picture as mainstream media portrays, but I can't. The popular uprising may not have been in the plans of Mubarak's regime, but he and his cronies still managed to come out of it largely unscathed. Democracy? When Sulemain remains as sitting president? He shares all of Mubarak's undemocratic worldview and there is no evidence he will leave power in September.

The Egyptian army has been favorably portrayed in this revolution because it didn't fire on the protesters, but -despite a few words to the contrary- they didn't *really* side with them either. Oh sure, there may have been some solidarity between the average soldier and the common protester, but none of them broke ranks. Rather, the military elite stayed stolidly in Mubarak's camp and disciplined. The army played "good cop" while Mubarak's internal police forces - disguised as plainclothes Mubarak supporters- were the "bad cop" in the equation. To further heighten the tension, Mubarak then pulled back the legitimate cops so criminals could operate openly. Meanwhile, the army quietly captured the city (literally doing an encirclement maneuver around Tahir square) and providing "safety" and "stability" from Mubarak's own intentionally-fired anarchy. The protesters fled right into the arms of the very forces that are the basis of Mubarak's own sovereignty.

Yes, Mubarak might be "out" (although it is equally likely he will still remain a very real power operating from the background). But the regime that supported him, empowered by the military elite who -to a man- supported Mubarak through the crisis- remains in control. Promise of free elections in September are likely empty. A few of the chairs may gave been shuffled around, but is unlikely that the people have any greater say in their governance than they did a few weeks ago. It was a masterful management of the situation and one, I am sure, our own popularly-elected officials, are taking note of how it could be done should our own people one day rise up and say "enough is enough".

Mainstream media portrays this as a great victory for the common man, but look closely; nothing has really changed in Egypt. It's a snow job designed to make people feel good while the people with the power make sure they remain the *only* ones with real power; the "common man" (not just in Egypt, but across the world) -lulled by this easy "victory" - goes back to not questioning the power structure because he "knows" he has made a change for the better.

I read this article a few days ago:

{WARNING: the article in the link is rather graphic and disturbing. You have been warned.}
http://www.canada.com/news/RCMP+
investigates+report+sled+dogs+killed+following+tourism+lull/4197883/story.html

and there were a few more details mentioned. A Google cache lookup of the article reveals different info since the article was revised on the 1st.

Yeah, very much ditto on the 'nice effect, shame about the lack of tension or feeling of flow. There are many parts where there's a momentary lull where they pause between their moves. They never seem to be angered or tense or in fear. Demonstrates that it's not as easy as people think to make a good fight scene.

I completely disagree with the call for a green screen though, doing as much with physical things is always better... use your environment, ground it in reality and it'll always be better.

>> ^residue:
The heat from the hairdryer lulls the trunk gremlins into a false sense of security and they become comfortable and drowsy. They are, however, terrified of cats and when they hear the hissing of the compressed air, they mistake it for a pack of angry cats due to their decreased awareness. Enraged, they begin kicking violently in a frenzy outward on the dent, which pops back out.
>> ^Mandtis:
Explanation anyone...?
:?



Bullshit. No such thing as trunk gremlins. Nothing lives in a car's trunk...

>> ^residue:

The heat from the hairdryer lulls the trunk gremlins into a false sense of security and they become comfortable and drowsy. They are, however, terrified of cats and when they hear the hissing of the compressed air, they mistake it for a pack of angry cats due to their decreased awareness. Enraged, they begin kicking violently in a frenzy outward on the dent, which pops back out.


Fucking *science!

The heat from the hairdryer lulls the trunk gremlins into a false sense of security and they become comfortable and drowsy. They are, however, terrified of cats and when they hear the hissing of the compressed air, they mistake it for a pack of angry cats due to their decreased awareness. Enraged, they begin kicking violently in a frenzy outward on the dent, which pops back out.

>> ^Mandtis:

Explanation anyone...?
:?