I learned a new fact today.
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I'm looking for players, and I figure with everything going on, maybe you're looking for a little escapisim? Message me.* This is a social experience that consists of hanging out with likeminded folks and rolling a lot of dice.
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Heads up, this questionnaire is going to take a weird left turn in the 3rd act.
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Rather I feel anger at the deeply personal and completely unearned feeling of betrayal.
Again, I do not know this man, but finding out he's a monster hurts as though he were my own kin.
Gaiman (or more accurately his stories) have lived rent-free in my mind for nearly half my life. It's accurate to say that his words changed me.
Through the expert application of the writer's craft, he altered how I see the world.
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I'm mad at Neil Gaiman.
First for the most obvious of reasons, but the recent article about him apparently goes into ghoulishly explicit detail on that topic, so I see no reason to rehash it.
Further, I can claim no special connection to either Gaiman nor his victims, so picking apart the crimes feels to me like photographing a trainwreck.
So no, I will not be discussing his crimes. Instead I'm going to be selfish and discuss my personal fallout.
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She felt the heavy weight resting against her shin. Her bag and the stone urn inside. “Now we finish our drinks, then make the long march up the hill to that stand of oak we saw on the way in. When the last light of the day hits those trees, I discharge my duty.”
He nodded, a bit more serious than before. “We bury the dead.”
She shook her head. “Not Clar’s way, but yes, we’re here to complete her final task.”
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“So” he said, punctuating the statement/question with a dramatic pull from his mug “What happens now?”
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Gant strolled over from the bar, his own drink in hand. That horrid black beer they drink on the isles. She could smell it’s bitter herbs half a stride before he arrived. He settled into his chair in that weird way he always did, like no one had ever taught him how to use a chair properly and he always had to improvise.
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After all that’d happened, and for the first time in weeks. She felt like she could breathe without saving half a lungful for some horrible surprise or sudden violent turn.
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She nursed her drink, a local beer that really was quite good, at a little side table away from the bar. The tables were common pine, but someone (the same artist maybe?) had painted a false wood pattern across the surface that evoked the fractal woodgrain of ancient ygg trees from the south. The effect wasn’t convincing, but like the paintings and the pretty good beer, it lent the whole establishment a relaxed charm.
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On this evening some celebration in the back room wafted out jaunty tunes from a stringed instrument. A lute maybe? The music’s cadence was bolstered by the occasional peal of laugher or gentle celebratory cheer.
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It was an unremarkable little bar. That might sound insulting, but while it did nothing to inspire awe, it also didn’t inspire disgust. The floors didn’t stick and the air was sweet. Someone with more earnestness than skill had painted impressionistic portraits of the owner’s many children on wooden boards looted from disused packing crates.
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We've got a pentester on site today... they've gotten laser focused on breaking in to the honeypot I set up to catch attackers with access to the LAN.
It is difficult to express the raw joy I feel every time the honeypot alerts that someone is trying to breach it.
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This only took 15 minutes!
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Spun out on vaccinations today (side effects are brutal, but you know what's a lot worse? GETTING SICK).
So I'm instead doing something to relax and get my mind off the symptoms: Learning parametric CAD modeling.
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Seriously, that site is getting increasingly unhinged.
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WOW. Linkedin added an option for your data on their site to be used for generative AI, then turned it on for everyone.
Turn it off under
Source:
https://www.askamanager.org/2024/09/linkedin-is-sharing-your-data-with-ai-unless-you-tell-it-not-to.html
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I’m working on a thing.
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