Ubuntu

Tried out Ubuntu for the first time last night.

For those who are completely unaware, it's a flavor of Linux. Funded by the space-faring Mark Shuttleworth and based on the venerable Debian distribution, of which I am a huge fan.

For starters, I'm not a complete newbie when it comes to running Linux. I ran Redhat as my primary desktop OS from 1999-2004 and switched back to Windows to accomodate my day job (no remote access available via Linux). Now that I work for a more open-source-friendly company, I figured I'd try Ubuntu and see what happens.

My primary workstation is by beloved Fujitsu Lifebook P2120, an ultra portable widescreen laptop based on the Transmeta Crusoe processor. I bought a copy of Partition Magic and built a 10GB ext2 partition and a 500MB swap partition for testing Linux distros. I still like having a Windows XP partition around if needed.

Installation went fairly smoothly, the onboard 802.11b wireless card was detected as was the non-standard screen resolution. All seemed well.

After a few hours of installing and waiting for apt-get to do its magic, I had a system I could play with. My first thought was... yikes, it's slow! My lowly laptop can't handle the current Gnome bloat, so I installed Openbox and saw dramatic improvements in response.

I was able to get the Citrix ICA client functioning, so remote access to my workplace is no issue. I'm still not happy with the following issues:

- the overall responsiveness of Xorg is not impressive compared to Windows XP
- the mouse subsystem in Xorg blows, "xset 6 4" is close but still hard to use (i'm a "quickpoint" fanatic)

Other than that, I'm very impressed with Ubuntu.

Skilsaw Voodoo

The ear-splitting sound of chainsaws toiling in the forest was commonplace. The periodic screams, drums and chants accompanying the smell of gasoline and exhaust were not. The actual sight of the ritual etched one's mind with a horror that could not be described.

This was like nothing the inspector had seen. People lining up to cut themselves on a large industrial chainsaw mounted on a wooden altar. A man severed his arm and leapt back into the dancing circle of cultists, his rhythmic trance unbroken. Another, dazed and stumbling in the slick mud of human parts attempted to impale himself and was stuck fast, still alive. Two men assisted, forcing his torso down over the whirring blade to sever his spine and the rest of his body as a fountain of viscera showered the ecstatic dancers.

Then came the finale, the entire troupe of acolytes clambored to destroy themselves on the saw. Still chanting, it became an orgy of blood and flesh as the engine bore down on living bodies dropped, pushed and guided willingly into the steel blades.

Sinistar

Thirty five thousand kilometers above Beijing there was a hiss of propellant as SUSAT66 altered course. Just a few kilometers ahead in the same direction of its gentle motion lied its prey, now just an invisible point of metal. Lei cracked his knuckles and grinned at the telemetry data streaming across his console. No sign of detection and only ten hours until engagement. Time to get some rest.

It wasn't the rough sea tossing the old repurposed Soviet trawler that woke Hui Ying this time. The improvised doppler on Bocephus3 was chirping again, her pager was rumbling next to her ear. Hui rolled over, reaching for the power button on the LCD screen.

Radio sweeps showed an object on a slow approach. Powering up the defense system camera, she waited while the light balance adjusted to the sharp contrast of empty space against solar panels. A PRC hunter, drill boom extended, was inching its way toward Bocephus.

Gosht

I like indian food. Love it actually. You name it, spicy vindaloo, korma,
the charred tandoori grilled meats, even the curry that makes you smell
like a mildewed spice rack for a few days. I love it all. But when you
discover a set of dog tags floating in the lamb saag buffet tray, you
re-evaluate your eating habits.