As those of you on python-checkins might have noticed ;) I started checking in Python 2.1.1 bufixes. I'd hoped to finish all of my backlog today, but unfortuantely I'm now called away on a suprise emergency meeting, so I'm not sure if I'll make it. The 2.1.1 tree is sort of an unstable state right now, I'll fix that today in any case, but after the meeting. (As for why I started doing it: I just spent about two weeks of digging through Pine sourcecode, and its imap server in particular, and I decided I deserved a break -- Python reads like a Heinlein novel, after pine code: readable, straight-forward, and just enough complexity to keep it entertaining :) -- Thomas Wouters <thomas@xs4all.net> Hi! I'm a .signature virus! copy me into your .signature file to help me spread!
[Thomas Wouters]
As those of you on python-checkins might have noticed ;) I started checking in Python 2.1.1 bufixes.
And bless you for it, Thomas!
I'd hoped to finish all of my backlog today, but unfortuantely I'm now called away on a suprise emergency meeting,
Now that sucks. Tell your manager that you'll only attend planned emergency meetings from now on: Guido plans Python crises years in advance, and it shows in the relative cleanliness of the Python codebase <wink>.
On Wed, May 23, 2001 at 12:41:14PM -0700, Neil Schemenauer wrote:
Tim Peters wrote:
Guido plans Python crises years in advance, and it shows in the relative cleanliness of the Python codebase <wink>.
I don't think Thomas has a time machine.
*Don't* get me started on that. If only Guido would stop hogging the damned thing, I could be a 34-year-old millionaire in a 10-room house and 8 girlfriends ! Now-I'm-short-ten-years-nine-million-eight-rooms-and-seven-girlfriends-ly y'rs, -- Thomas Wouters <thomas@xs4all.net> Hi! I'm a .signature virus! copy me into your .signature file to help me spread!
"TW" == Thomas Wouters <thomas@xs4all.net> writes:
TW> *Don't* get me started on that. If only Guido would stop TW> hogging the damned thing, I could be a 34-year-old millionaire TW> in a 10-room house and 8 girlfriends ! It's really not as easy as all that, though. When Guido's not around, I've been known to, er, take The Machine for a spin (sshh! Do /not/ tell him!). The first time I did, I didn't realize that the blue toggle had to be in the down position, and when I stepped out, everybody was speaking Esperanto, had half their heads shaved, and were toting around what looked like a cross between a dog and a beach ball (it drooled incessantly). Fortunately, The Machine has a reset button (oddly labeled "History Erase Button" and guarded by a candy-crazed TV announcer-like automaton who must be coaxed from the button with a marshmallow s'more). The second time I used it, I'd forgotten that you must keep your left hand on the silver sphere while you line up the parallel lines with the lip-actuated alpha wheel. Silly me, I'd removed my left hand just before alignment in order to twist the fluroscopic reflection tube a quarter rotation out of phase (rule of thumb: never listen to that automaton when he's licked the last of the chocolate-y goo from his fingers. He'll say anything to get another s'more.) You really don't want to know what that particular world looked like, but let's just say it involved lots and lots of angry elephants. So now I leave well enough alone, and I've learned that if you really want to change the past, just wait for Guido to use it for his own nefarious purposes, and tape a sign to his back requesting the (very modest) change to the continuum that you're looking for. And don't forget to smear the front of that sign with s'more. -Barry
Barry A. Warsaw <barry@digicool.com>:
You really don't want to know what that particular world looked like, but let's just say it involved lots and lots of angry elephants.
You've been *there*? Dang...that's the timeline that scared me into hanging up my lab coat. It was a slow Saturday and I was hatching Sinister Plan For World Domination number 4. What happened to the other three? Well...I had been planning to terrorize the western U.S with a giant mechanical spider, until some guys from Hollywood offered me way too much money for it. The trained army of radioactive gorillas I spent the movie money on didn't work out -- my Igor flatly refused to shovel any more radioactive gorilla poop, and you know how hard it is to get good help these days. Blackmailing major cities with a Zeppelin-mounted death ray projector sounded cool but Radio Shack was out of the parts. OK, so plan #4 was to create voracious mega-amoebas using my Ionic Mutatron and send them out to destroy all my enemies, especially that kid who beat me up in third grade. There I was, cackling insanely, just about to unleash these slimy horrors on an unsuspecting world to wreak havoc and destruction, when the eka-rhodium electrodes on the Mutatron arced over. This produced a wild spike of temporokinetic energy, and guess where *I* was standing? Silly me. Before you could say "plot complication" I was materializing in the Hyraxeum -- damn near nose-to-trunk with the High Pachyderm himself, as it turned out, who was getting wound up to try out his newest human-goad on a mahout they had just captured from the Fortified Cities. The mahout was terrified out of his wits, and you would have been too if you'd seen what the High Pachyderm's tusks were covered with and the lascivious way his trunk was curled around that cheese grater. Euggghhh... It was crazy. The High Pachyderm was trumpeting like mad, tuskers charging at me from all directions, and me with at least 5.23 seconds to go until the temporokinetic charge wore off. Fortunately I remembered that elephants communicate using modulated infrasonics that they hear with the flat part of their foreheads, and I had my trusty sonic screwdriver on me. I set it to "infra" at maximum volume and hurled it at the High Pachyderm -- hit the bugger right in the tiara. He went berserk and his confused guards started crashing into each other left and right, which was a pretty impressive sight since the smallest of them weighed over two and a half tons. It was touch and go there, let me tell you. I caught one glimpse of the mahout's rapidly-retreating heels just as the charge wore off and I was slingshotted back to my lab. My sonic screwdriver, of course, followed within seconds -- horribly crushed and mangled. And that's when I swore off building fiendish devices. Electrocution I can laugh at, having my monstrous creations turn on me is all in a day's work, and that one time I was accidentally transformed into a fly I found some truly remarkable uses for a three-foot-long prehensile tongue. But what the High Pachyderm had planned was too twisted even for *me*. I decided Sinister Plan #5 would have to be a bit less hardware-intensive, if only as a rest for my frazzled nerves. So I spent the last juice in the batteries on the orbital mind-control lasers (long story) to implant some subtle suggestions in a few minds at Netscape and IBM and elsewhere, and started hitting the conference circuit pretty heavy. What suggestions? Oh, nothing important. Nothing at all...BWAHAHAHAHA!!! -- <a href="http://www.tuxedo.org/~esr/">Eric S. Raymond</a> Sometimes the law defends plunder and participates in it. Sometimes the law places the whole apparatus of judges, police, prisons and gendarmes at the service of the plunderers, and treats the victim -- when he defends himself -- as a criminal. -- Frederic Bastiat, "The Law"
"ESR" == Eric S Raymond <esr@thyrsus.com> writes:
ESR> Before you could say "plot complication" I was materializing ESR> in the Hyraxeum -- damn near nose-to-trunk with the High ESR> Pachyderm himself, as it turned out, who was getting wound up ESR> to try out his newest human-goad on a mahout they had just ESR> captured from the Fortified Cities. That big self-important elephant wasn't named Puffy the Frog by any chance, was he? Did he taste vaguely lemony? If so, he's got a lot of nerve calling himself the "High Pachyderm"! Quite a lofty title for one who's skin is stretched to just this side of its tensile breaking point. Sure, I know ol' Puffy, had a few binges with the old goat myself. You just don't want to be near him when the stray micro-meteor happens to pierce his dermis. Much, MUCH messier than eight crates of cornbob filled to the brim with radioactive gorilla poop, I can assure you! now-where'd-i-leave-my-medication?-ly y'rs, -Barry
Barry A. Warsaw <barry@digicool.com>:
That big self-important elephant wasn't named Puffy the Frog by any chance, was he? Did he taste vaguely lemony? If so, he's got a lot of nerve calling himself the "High Pachyderm"! Quite a lofty title for one who's skin is stretched to just this side of its tensile breaking point.
Congratulations, Barry. I googled for "Puffy the Frog" and found a page that...explained...this. It was the #1 hit. Apparently the Universe is an even more random place than I thought. -- <a href="http://www.tuxedo.org/~esr/">Eric S. Raymond</a> If I were to select a jack-booted group of fascists who are perhaps as large a danger to American society as I could pick today, I would pick BATF [the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms]. -- U.S. Representative John Dingell, 1980
"ESR" == Eric S Raymond <esr@thyrsus.com> writes:
ESR> Congratulations, Barry. I googled for "Puffy the Frog" and ESR> found a page that...explained...this. It was the #1 hit. Yes! In 1965. My dad, Pumpi "Weasleteats" Warsaw, was a bluegrass singer in the Atlanta-based band "The Shrinking of George". What you found is no doubt the lyrics to that song, which topped the pop charts briefly in 1965 (August 1st, 1965, 11:57 - 13:01 to be exact), displacing the Beatles "I Wanna Hold Your Head" before being itself displaced by the The Bee Gee's "Booger Feever" [sic]. Sadly, even Napster doesn't have the mp3's and all Dad's old records are scratched beyond hope. ESR> Apparently the Universe is an even more random place than I ESR> thought. here's-where-the-timbot-explains-that-it's-only-pseudo-random-ly y'rs, -Barry
Barry A. Warsaw <barry@digicool.com>:
Yes! In 1965. My dad, Pumpi "Weasleteats" Warsaw, was a bluegrass singer in the Atlanta-based band "The Shrinking of George".
I suppose it's not a coincidence that it's Fernando Poo day today. Of course it's not a coincidence. There are no coincidences anywhere. Fnord. -- <a href="http://www.tuxedo.org/~esr/">Eric S. Raymond</a> Sometimes it is said that man cannot be trusted with the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others? -- Thomas Jefferson, in his 1801 inaugural address
ESR> Apparently the Universe is an even more random place than I ESR> thought. [Barry A. Warsaw]
here's-where-the-timbot-explains-that-it's-only-pseudo-random-ly y'rs,
That's what Einstein believed (i.e., that it isn't truly random). Unfortunately, according to another recent thread, Einstein was afraid to use equations because he didn't want to cut Stephen Hawking's editor's penis in half -- or something like that. Whichever, consensus still holds that Einstein lost this one. i'd-take-time-to-prove-him-right-but-there's-some-mangled-whitespace- crying-for-help-ly y'rs - tim
On 23 May 2001, Barry A. Warsaw said:
The second time I used it, I'd forgotten that you must keep your left hand on the silver sphere while you line up the parallel lines with the lip-actuated alpha wheel.
What? You mean Guido's time machine was really designed by Larry Wall? Oh, the irony... Greg -- Greg Ward - Python bigot gward@python.net http://starship.python.net/~gward/ If you can read this, thank a programmer.
participants (6)
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barry＠digicool.com -
Eric S. Raymond -
Greg Ward -
Neil Schemenauer -
Thomas Wouters -
Tim Peters