The Internet and email are wonderful things most of the time. But the dreadful simplicity of this form of communication has some downsides – most significantly in that it allows people’s idiotic thoughts to be transmitted beyond themselves.
Everyone has idiotic thoughts. Some people have many more than others. And mostly you control them; keep them safe until you’ve checked them internally. Some people however have so many stupid ideas in their head that they can’t help but leak out. These are the people that most love the Internet.
Just seen this on a site called Easy Webber – a Top Ten guide to the worst domain names out there.
It’s basically smutty innuendo but also oddly amusing in one or two cases. For example, the number one slot goes to the website that aims to provide agent details for various famous people. Unfortunately Who Represents? decided to pitch up at http://www.whorepresents.com. There are, sadly, no presents available on the site.
I think possibly my favourite after that is an Italian Power Generator company at www.powergenitalia.com.
It reminds me of the early days of Internet filters when towns like Scunthorpe found that any mention of them had been wiped off the face of the Web. Anyway, some light-hearted Tuesday fun.
I mentioned about a month ago how I was considering setting up a second blog so I could more easily separate my personal and professional life. And yesterday, twice, I was reminded that there is a bit of an unusual overlap when I spoke to two people: one, the spokesman for a company I regularly report on; and the second, the CEO of a company I also follow closely.
Both of them made mention of my paella (I note with sadness that only one was interested in the actual recipe however). Now this was a tremendous paella, there’s no doubt about that, but I suspect that there may be a few people out there that don’t want to know about my lunch and so I am going to highlight here an easy solution to the problem: separate RSS feeds.
You’ve seen the show, read the reviews, bought the T-shirt, but now it’s time to reveal the *real* Internet Governance Forum, the kind of IGF that only photographs with pleasingly childish captions can provide…
I manage to squeeze in a quick trip to California to finish up my Sex.com book and everything goes crazy.
I arrived in San Francisco an hour ago to no less than four voicemails and 50 non-spam emails – in the spate of 10 hours. I knew ICANN was going to announce its MoU late on Thursday but was unable to speak to Paul Twomey before my plane this morning. As I write this I still don’t know what’s in it, but I have had eight emails and two voicemails about it.
Last night, as I was scrabbling around by the front door in the dark with a torch and a piece of fuse wire, my letterbox started juttering away behind me. Even the postmen manage to deliver before 9pm, so I was intrigued. And sure enough it was the latest newsletter (number 6 this year) from the St Ebbe’s New Development Residents’ Association (SENDRA).
A two-page A4 printout covering what is happening locally for the 100 or so other people in my peaceful little corner of the world, hidden from central Oxford thanks to a hideous car park on the way over, but resting neatly and comfortably on the river.
Thanks to the electricity shutdown causing my modem to commit hari-kiri, and me having to do an early morning rush to PC World and rebuild my entire home network, I have only just now got around to reading SENDRA’s September 2006 newsletter.
I get the feeling that the St Ebbe’s resident’s association is rapidly running out of control.
The webcast for the [tag]NTIA[/tag] meeting in Washington has just started and it is playing, rather pleasantly, Stevie Wonder with a background noise of people in the meeting.
I love the idea of the room being filled with the funky vibes of Mr Wonder, as US government officials groove with the assorted Net experts, but sadly I sense it is merely a sound test and a bit of waiting music.
Oh, hang on, it’s just stopped to be replaced with silence and a Department of Commerce seal. Spoil sports.
Steven Forrest – the hopelessly biased blogger of Free2Innovate (aka Free2Fabricate) – has been outed as Bill Hobbs, a right-wing political blogger who receives payment for anonymously pushing corporate lines.
It’s long been known that Steven Forrest is a pseudonym and it has been widely assumed he was in the pay of VeriSign for the simple reason that every single blog posting over the past few years has agreed with VeriSign’s corporate line, and that Mr Forrest has frequently acquired information that only an internet insider would know of, yet he never attends meetings and no one has ever met him.
Kevin Murphy discovered that Steven Forrest was in fact Bill Hobbs well over a year ago, and my investigations led me to the exact same conclusion but having been unable to find any evidence that he was being paid by VeriSign, let the matter drop.
ICANN Marrakech is over, save the Board meeting. And this fact was – as it always is – sufficient reason for everyone to head to the bar and mull things over while consuming (un)healthy quantities of booze.
What was the upshot of this week-long meeting in Morocco? Well, the general bottom-up consensus was that not much had happened. Except really it had. And the feeling was that it had been a very amiable meeting. Which, in a deeper sense, it hadn’t.
The reality is that ICANN Marrakech has, albeit pleasantly, lived under the shadow of the US government’s MoU renewal. What really is shameful is that there wasn’t a single public meeting in which this vitally important contract was discussed. Instead, we have had a semi-official, parallel and secret ICANN process instituted to discuss the matter, and a long series of constituencies pondering how best to deal with it, which will most likely contribute little or nothing to the final result.
While I’m being negative and grumpy about a meeting that most people seem to have enjoyed, here’s a list of wrongs. After that, it’s time to discuss the prostitutes.
“Cause baby, I feel wonderful tonight…” The man singing this is lying. He doesn’t feel wonderful at all. He feels like a musician who has been reduced to playing old-favourites to a small bunch of indifferent tourists, sat tapping away behind two sythesisers, only one of which he ever plays, but both of which are bathed in bright pink light. Welcome to Marrakech.