> "If you kill a cockroach you are a hero, if you kill a butterfly you are bad. Morality has aesthetic standards."
* NIETZSCHE
(stolen from some discord server)
* NIETZSCHE
(stolen from some discord server)
👍3
Forwarded from Jack
Why is sunday so close to monday but monday so far from sunday
https://www.coderelay.io/fontemon.html
https://github.com/mmulet/code-relay/blob/main/markdown/HowIDidIt.md
Using font ligatures as finite state machine
https://github.com/mmulet/code-relay/blob/main/markdown/HowIDidIt.md
Using font ligatures as finite state machine
THE PARABLE OF THE BUTCHER AND THE ANALYTIC PHILOSOPHER
A contest was announced to see who could do the best job of carving up a side of beef. The judge was announced as a famous chef, who had earned two Michelin stars. Attracted by the prize money, a butcher and an analytic philosopher entered the contest.
The Analytic Philosopher went first. A fresh side of beef was placed on a large wooden table, and he approached to begin. He was dressed in freshly pressed chinos and a button-down shirt. The Analytic Philosopher laid a leather case on one corner of the table and opened it, revealing a gleaming set of perfectly matched scalpels, newly sharpened. He selected one scalpel carefully and addressed the side of beef. After inspecting its surface carefully, he raised his hand and made the first cut, a precise slice in a perfectly straight line. Working steadily, but with meticulous care, he proceeded to make slices and cross slices until he had completed the carving of the beef, a task that took him the better part of an hour. When he had finished, he stepped back, wiped the scalpel clean on a piece of paper toweling, replaced it in the case, and with a bow to the judge, withdrew.
The butcher was next up. Her side of beef was on a table next to that on which the Analytic Philosopher had been working. She was dressed in overalls and a butcher's apron, on which one could see spots of blood and stains from her work. She took out a cleaver, a saw, and a sharp butcher's knife, and went to work on her side of beef, wasting no time. Bits of fat and gristle flew here and there, some ending up on her apron and even in her hair, which she had covered with a net. She whistled as she worked at the table, until with a flourish, she put down her saw, bowed to the judge, and stepped back.
The judge examined each table for no more than a moment, and then without the slightest hesitation, handed the prize to the butcher. The Analytic Philosopher was stunned. "But," he protested, "there is simply no comparison between the results on the two tables. The butcher's table is a shambles, a heap of pieces of meat, with fat and bits of bone and drops of blood all over the place. My table is pristine -- a careful display of perfectly carved cubes of meat, all with parallel sides and exactly the same size. Why on earth have you given the prize to the butcher?"
The Judge explained. "The butcher has turned her side of beef into a usable array of porterhouse steaks, T-bone steaks, sirloin steaks, beef roasts, and a small pile of beef scraps ready to be ground up for chop meat. She clearly knew where the joints were in the beef, how to cut against the grain with the tough parts, where to apply her saw. You, on the other hand, have reduced a perfectly good grade-A side of beef to stew meat."
Moral: When butchering a side of beef, it is best to know something about what lies beneath its surface."
-Robert Paul Wolff
A contest was announced to see who could do the best job of carving up a side of beef. The judge was announced as a famous chef, who had earned two Michelin stars. Attracted by the prize money, a butcher and an analytic philosopher entered the contest.
The Analytic Philosopher went first. A fresh side of beef was placed on a large wooden table, and he approached to begin. He was dressed in freshly pressed chinos and a button-down shirt. The Analytic Philosopher laid a leather case on one corner of the table and opened it, revealing a gleaming set of perfectly matched scalpels, newly sharpened. He selected one scalpel carefully and addressed the side of beef. After inspecting its surface carefully, he raised his hand and made the first cut, a precise slice in a perfectly straight line. Working steadily, but with meticulous care, he proceeded to make slices and cross slices until he had completed the carving of the beef, a task that took him the better part of an hour. When he had finished, he stepped back, wiped the scalpel clean on a piece of paper toweling, replaced it in the case, and with a bow to the judge, withdrew.
The butcher was next up. Her side of beef was on a table next to that on which the Analytic Philosopher had been working. She was dressed in overalls and a butcher's apron, on which one could see spots of blood and stains from her work. She took out a cleaver, a saw, and a sharp butcher's knife, and went to work on her side of beef, wasting no time. Bits of fat and gristle flew here and there, some ending up on her apron and even in her hair, which she had covered with a net. She whistled as she worked at the table, until with a flourish, she put down her saw, bowed to the judge, and stepped back.
The judge examined each table for no more than a moment, and then without the slightest hesitation, handed the prize to the butcher. The Analytic Philosopher was stunned. "But," he protested, "there is simply no comparison between the results on the two tables. The butcher's table is a shambles, a heap of pieces of meat, with fat and bits of bone and drops of blood all over the place. My table is pristine -- a careful display of perfectly carved cubes of meat, all with parallel sides and exactly the same size. Why on earth have you given the prize to the butcher?"
The Judge explained. "The butcher has turned her side of beef into a usable array of porterhouse steaks, T-bone steaks, sirloin steaks, beef roasts, and a small pile of beef scraps ready to be ground up for chop meat. She clearly knew where the joints were in the beef, how to cut against the grain with the tough parts, where to apply her saw. You, on the other hand, have reduced a perfectly good grade-A side of beef to stew meat."
Moral: When butchering a side of beef, it is best to know something about what lies beneath its surface."
-Robert Paul Wolff
“A language that doesn’t affect the way you think about programming is not worth knowing.”
—Alan J. Perlis, first recipient of the Turing Award
—Alan J. Perlis, first recipient of the Turing Award
Mantises are large carnivorous insects. They normally eat smaller insects such as flies, but they will attack almost anything that moves. When they mate, the male cautiously creeps up on the female, mounts her, and copulates. If the female gets the chance, she will eat him, beginning by biting his head off , either as the male is approaching, or immediately after he mounts, or after they separate. It might seem most sensible for her to wait until copulation is over before she starts to eat him. But the loss of the head does not seem to throw the rest of the male’s body off its sexual stride. Indeed, since the insect head is the seat of some inhibitory nerve centres, it is possible that the female improves the male’s sexual performance by eating his head. If so, this is an added benefit. The primary one is that she obtains a good meal.
—The Selfish Gene, Chapter 1 (Why are people)
—The Selfish Gene, Chapter 1 (Why are people)