<Dom: <it might be one of those 'smart' cameras that decides to snap me from an unflattering angle and send the output to a website for mad people.>>

Where...? Oh, you mean here. :)

Methinks the way to get one over on such a camera would be to get the pics <of your own choice> posted first, before it gets the chance to work any mischief. :p

<And I wrote a thousand-word newspaper article in the last hour, so I can sometimes do that too.>

The first word looks like Devanagari. Is it some sort of cooker? Maybe a large oven for drying out wet chaps?

Next experiment: ignoring the doings and sayings of the buffoon in Pensacola. There are soft targets and there are giant bouncy castles full of marshmallow and feathers.

Good time to take up coffee again, innit? ;)

Re.: t'other thing - I've had a little keyring plaque since I was 17 or so. I saw it in a novelty store, loved it, bought it, and have kept it since... it declares thusly:

<I Refuse to Have a Battle of Wits with an Unarmed Person>.

Well, no, <mack> does. But he rarely admits it, in case the oiks and hillbillies figger him for an innerleckshual.

Anyhoo, the 'truce' has only led to manic in-fighting on the Goldnak page, including *actual sexist attacks* on Saint Jessica. So I won't play anymore.

Plus, World Wars 1.0 and 2.0 both started off as truces.

I hadn't actually realized what a genuine gold-plated mentally deficient trog the subject was, until I finally visited his forum and saw his ravings.

'Not a bad scissors at all, at all.' -- Father Dougal, Craggy Island.

The book covers are also a treat. Though famously vast, my library has few examples of the pecs'n'tits in space genre of illustration. I may have a semi-clad Princess of Barsoom somewhere, courtesy of E.R. Burroughs (compared to fifty or so editions of stuff by W.S. Burroughs, which often came in plain brown paper wrappings).

And the aforementioned Podkayne, of course. Cross-referencing the publishers and dates of some of mine with some of yours, I can see a distinct 1960s New English Library school of illustration. I tended to sniff at these, back in the day, and go for a Ballard with a cover borrowed from Max Ernst.

1. "Please..."
In the American language, 'please' is a polite form which *may* carry an implicit threat. The cop says "Please get out of the car, sir" - he is telling you what you must do, but offering to keep your interaction civil, if you behave. However, in several other languages and cultures, 'please' may be seen as a sign of weakness. A cop says "get out of the car, or I'll shoot you" - a 'please' in this context confuses the issue and opens loopholes. Maybe the cop isn't armed or doesn't have the power to stop vehicles? Maybe you can make a run for it?

2. "Observe"
This can mean either 'read (and then ignore)' or 'obey'. Again, the ambiguity creates loopholes.

3. "Guidelines"
A 3rd loophole. Guidelines are suggestions, not necessarily backed up by force.

Of course, Native speakers of American English know that all this politeness is just a front for raw power. The nice cop standing in front of you and smiling, while his nasty fellow-officer stands behind you with a club. Just the way things are, sir. Now, get out of the damn car while you're still able to.

Speakers of English English, Hiberno English, Strine and other varieties may not understand this. Neither may New Yorkers, as the word 'please' is not in common use there.

You may recall a story about four guys approached by a researcher and asked "Could I have your opinion on the meat shortage, please?" They respond according to national stereotype:

Saudi: "What is 'shortage'?"
North Korean: "What is 'meat'?"
Russian: "What is 'opinion'?"
New Yorker: "What is 'please'?"

Jess is prepared to sac some in order to make a truce last that tiny bit longer, for which I applaud her. So easy for her to jump at the opportunity and file sexism charges. She "gets" the point, you magnify it to untenable proportions, imo. By aiding the enforcement team she has become fair game, and a few sexist childish remarks will then not pull her off track.

This is only a bleedin chess site, for cripes sake, with posting guidelines, of which some at least are aware, without referring to world wars, and simply aim to remain answerable to those. If AJ joins that club, all for the better. If not, then he is true to his Bi-polarbear-nature, and he should subsequently be ignored.

I must apologize, though. It's entirely my fault that some non-standard characters turn to garbage on this page. Annie told me how to fix it good, but I only did a semi-competent fast repair job with masking tape.

I'm an idiot. Some X-wordy thoughts:

₭ṘẎṕҭṏ du jour:

1. Lungs scream, headless man is dismembered. (6, 7)

2. Sun cream – slang, confused. (6, 7)

3. Slag cures man, N. (6, 7)

Also, I *hate* the idea of being part of a mob. Whether it's master-baiters, god-followers or even concert-goers, the crowd emotion thing doesn't do it for me. I had *tried*, I suppose, to play both sides in the Goldbug Game -- sometimes sympathizing when he was victimized (which was reasonably genuine) and sometimes bleeding him a little when he asked too blatantly to be bitten. I found that it was impossible to offer AJ even a modicum of support without becoming a complete toady: he wanted unconditional loyalty, and the rest were heretic subhuman trolls.

I knew the guy was trouble five, six years ago. I avoided him for a long time. The lapse was occasioned by 'meeting' during the Pogo game. I remember he got suddenly interested when he heard I was a writer. But when he eventually looked at Frogspawn he discovered I was 'cruel' and 'strange'.

Cruel and strange, bubba, and what doesn't kill me makes me stranger.

But I never wanted to be part of a lynch mob.

I have many of his books. And, contrary to the received wisdom of Bouvard and Pecuchet, some of them are *good*. His work on the QGD Tarrasch in particular.

But then I walked around a bit, thinking whether I could improve on that idea. And I happened to look outsight.

And it was beautiful, a light evening sky with, from the left corner a big dark growling cloud rolling - just how waves can tumble and fall in its haste to get to the beach. And everything was quiet, not a bird in the air, only the occasional flash of lightning. It wasn't here yet, not a sound - just the image of one big unavoidable mass of anger.

And I stood amazed for minutes behind my window, enjoying every second.