“And if you look here,” said Firefox, gesturing to a red bar graph illuminated by a state of the art flatscreen “you’ll see how much traffic this cute panda on our download page has generated.” He turned to face the table around which Facebook, Google, LiveJournal, Tumblr, and the smoking remains of MySpace were seated, before adding, “In conclusion, users love fluffy animals.”
Facebook yawned and slumped back in his chair. He couldn’t help it—hadn’t his owner, Mark Zuckerberg, just proven the exact same thing with that fanpage for his puppy? Firefox was stating what everyone already knew. When he opened his eyes, every website in the room was staring back at him. Firefox had gone from his normal, orange shade, to a red brighter than the Last.fm logo, and Google’s lips were pursed in that oh so condescending I’m-the-most-popular-search-engine-of-all-time look that just made Facebook want to scream.
“I’m sorry, Firefox,” said Google “but I think I need to speak to Facebook alone.” All of the other websites bowed their heads in silent deference to her unspoken authority (except MySpace, whom Facebook thought might have flashed him a sympathetic half-smile, but it was hard to tell beneath the carnage that had become the older website’s face during the Great User Exodus of 2007 to 2010), while Google led Facebook to the adjacent hallway, dragging him by a shiny blue tie.
“Facebook,” she sighed “you can’t just—mock Firefox like that. It’s cruel.”
Facebook cocked an eyebrow. “But Firefox sucks. He’s like a popular kid who’s just experienced a downfall and doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s depressing. You know that just as well as I do.”
“Of course I do,” said Google firmly “but I’m nice to him because I at least have some pity for lesser creatures. That’s my motto, remember? Don’t be evil—unlike some people I know.” Her rainbow-colored skirt swished with each cock of her head, allowing Facebook a glimpse of milky-white thigh. Desire surged through his veins like data through a network.
“But am I really so bad?” he whispered, voice thick with desire and mouth turned upward in a flirtatious grin. “I seem to recall you pressed the ‘Like’ button on our last sexual encounter.”
Google spun around and caught Facebook’s lips in her own. Facebook sighed with pleasure. This was the side of Google no one else ever got to see—the side that wasn’t so friendly or mature, but licked, sucked, and moaned into his mouth with all the passion of a hot-blooded teenager and unbridled ferocity of a Napster lawyer. The two kissed for what felt like hours, until finally Google pulled away.
“What are we doing,” she breathed, less a question than a statement—an acknowledgment that for once, each was as clueless as the other, ahead of the curve in neither love nor tech.
“I don’t know,” said Facebook, nuzzling the search bar she wore around her neck “but I think it’s time to update my relationship status.”
“I love books as physical objects…The real indicator of how much I like a book is whether or not I upgrade to hardcover and give it a permanent place on my shelf. A well-made book smells good — the paper and ink, maybe leather or a nice blocked cloth cover. Of course, I then violate their sanctity by scribbling in them as I read.”— Nathaniel Fick (via fuckyeahspaff)
I really like Prisoner of Azbakan, though I’m also fond of the first Deathly Hallows. I’m not wild about the degree to which Prisoner left out the history of everything (especially since the history is one of the things I like best about the book), but it was also the first movie to really resonate with me. I haven’t seen either of the first two since they were in theaters, and only once each at that. Prisoner was the first one I voluntarily saw more than once before it even left theaters. (I will leave it up to others to determine how much of that is attributable to me thinking Harry was really cute.)
It’s by no means a flawless movie (especially given how much I dislike the casting of both Sirius and Remus, my two favorite characters introduced here). Actually, it’s been several years since I saw it and I’m struggling to remember everything that bothers me; suffice it to say that most of my issues with the movie are overcome by how much I like the story—and I like how it tells the story. A lot of people were bugged by stuff like the lingering thoughts of scenery and such, but I like that it took its time a bit, even if it meant leaving out the Marauders stuff (which is totally the best part of the book).
I chose to remain a domiciled taxpayer for a couple of reasons. The main one was that I wanted my children to grow up where I grew up, to have proper roots in a culture as old and magnificent as Britain’s; to be citizens, with everything that implies, of a real country, not free-floating ex-pats, living in the limbo of some tax haven and associating only with the children of similarly greedy tax exiles.
A second reason, however, was that I am indebted to the British welfare state; the very one that Mr Cameron would like to replace with charity handouts. When my life hit rock bottom, that safety net, threadbare though it had become under John Major’s Government, was there to break the fall. I cannot help feeling, therefore, that it would have been contemptible to scarper for the West Indies at the first sniff of a seven-figure royalty cheque. This, if you like, is my notion of patriotism. On the available evidence, I suspect that it is Lord Ashcroft’s idea of being a mug.
- J.K Rowling
I love J.K Rowling so much.
She closes the article “I’ve never voted Tory before … and they keep on reminding me why.” :D
This is basically the reason, writ large, why I am just so baffled when people assume that because I am not planning to have kids, I resent my taxes paying for schools.
I went to school. Someone paid for me to do that. And furthermore, it benefits me to live in a society where people of all ages have access to education and opportunities. Both directly and indirectly.
That is what civilisation is all about, no? Oh, apparently no.