They'll have had their own crew. You mostly hear about football matches paying to hire extra policemen because it's only newsworthy when something goes wrong, and a fight is much more likely than a fire or a pandemic - but ambulances and fire services are hired too.

They shouldn't have been using the sirens, but they won't have been normal emergency provision services (or at least, they wouldn't be in this country), they'd have been extra staff laid on specifically for the event.

Or at least, it used to be that way. It's been 18 years since I worked in that field.

It's a good way to catch prion diseases, even if it's cooked.

charez wrote: eating fish is OK but not meat ?

Personally, I oppose cruelty to all animals except humans, and fish. I can't say I eat either, though.

CatMonster wrote: Don't really have a favorite dish/food as long if it's Meat Free because i don't want any type of animal(including fish) to die or suffer just for me.
I mean why would we do on to them(animals) what we don't want done upon us ?

Veganism doesn't make much sense to me.

Chickens lay eggs. They're going to lay eggs whether you gather those eggs or leave them to rot. One could argue that we shouldn't have domesticated them in the first place - and I agree - but we have done now. There's no harm done to any animal by eating an unfertilised egg that couldn't even potentially become an actual chicken...unless you think the chicken was better to have never been born at all.

You can't just eat vegetables and suddenly become automatically ethical - most vegan food is still produced by commercial overfarming which is just terrible for the environment and kills plenty of small mammals and insects in it's own right.

For me, that's inconsistency that can't be rationally defended.

So, I prefer a foragers diet. Eggs are fine, milk isn't. Honey is fine if the hive is left with enough. Potatoes aren't fine if they come from a mass producer.

But at a first approximation, I'm vegan.

My sister was 32 before she found out a haggis wasn't an animal. When we were kids, I showed her a picture of an Okapi, and told her that was a haggis. Good choice - I was careful to pick an animal she wasn't likely to run into again for a while.

Tulips on toast.

Also, I stayed with a friend in Den Bosch a few years ago, and every meal was chips and vodka. I'm not sure that's traditional, though - she's an Aussie, it was her husband who was Dutch.

In a simple JS web chat room, the problem is each user logged in to chat is taking up a PHP process and a MySQL process, even when they're idling. If chat was as busy as the general forum, it'd be fine. If it was as busy as the entire forum, you're taking up a huge chunk of resources for no real gain. I can't put a price on it, because I don't know what their hardware is like. It's much more expensive per user than clicking ads or taking a survey. Less expensive than sharing a video. For a reward site with 5,000,000 members, it's just not going to scale.

Most of the alternatives - like XMPP - need a whole server (as in software, not hardware), are quite complicated, resource cost is somewhat client dependant, and it doesn't deal with the spam and moderation issue.

I don't actually like WebRTC, but you can set up a barebones implementation in like twenty lines of code, and it side steps all the problems.

I'm not sure I'd use it anyway. I still think the best bet is to bring back user profiles. They're part of the forum code, they're just disabled. Give us a profile - not only can you include it with your ads, and let your reputation sell your product for you - but you put an end to the "Hey, I like people here, give us some way to contact each other" feature request.

Chat rooms cost a fortune. Private chat has been rejected several times.

If you really want a chat feature, ask for WebRTC. That's a glorified address book, your browser does the actual chatting, and it avoids all the reasons given for rejecting chat in the past.

Somebody once gave me a huge plateful of baklava, I was practically drooling. Took a big mouthful, and spat it out - it wasn't baklava, it was banitsa.

Musaka. I like mousakka, because I like how you can spell mousaka in hundreds of different ways, and because mussaka is a transliteration none of them are wrong. But of the actual good, it's the topping I like, not the potato bit (or aubergine bit, depending on which country you discovered it in).

Stuffed vine leaves. I really, really, really miss stuffed vine leaves. You just can't get vine leaves over here, so you have to make do with stuffed cabbage or something.

And honey roasted peanuts.

Don't be stupid. Everything, and I mean everything, gets washed at 40c. And if you separate colours, you're racist.

It's not like Linux, you can't just not delete /home and have everything the same. You can't just copy directories over, because Windows is a mess, so how well it works is anyone's guess, but Download Windows Easy Transfer for transferring from Windows XP (32 bit) to Windows 7 from Official Microsoft Download Center

It would take 30 years to visit every apartment in New York City, but 2,000 millennia to serve out the resulting prison sentence. cit.

pindokhan123 wrote: i would definitely change alot of things in my own life for sure.....
alas this is not possible,just a dream that i wish were true

Quote:Personally of course I regret everything. Not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need, not a grief, not a joy, not a girl, not a boy, not a doubt, nor a trust, not a scorn, not a lust, not a hope, not a fear, not a smile, not a tear, not a name, not a face, no time, no place, that I do not regret, exceedingly. An ordure, from beginning to end. And yet, when I sat for Fellowship, but for the boil on my bottom... The rest, an ordure. The Tuesday scowls, the Wednesday growls, the Thursday curses, the Friday howls, the Saturday snores, the Sunday yawns, the Monday morns, the Monday mourns. The whacks, the moans, the cracks, the groans, the welts, the squeaks, the belts, the shrieks, the pricks, the prayers, the kicks, the tears, the skelps, and the yelps. And the poor old lousy old earth my earth and my father's and my mother's and my father's father's and my mother's mother's and my father's mother's and my mother's father's and my father's mother's father's and my mother's father's mother's and my father's mother's mother's and my mother's father's father's and my father's father's mother's and my mother's mother's father's and my father's father's father's and my mother's mother's mother's and other people's fathers' and mothers'. An excrement. The crocuses and the larch turning green every year a week before the others and the pastures red with uneaten sheep's placentas and the long summer days and the newmown hay and the wood·pigeon in the morning and the cuckoo in the afternoon and the corncrake in the evening and the wasps in the jam and the smell of the gorse and the look of the gorse and the apples falling and the children walking in the dead leaves and the larch turning brown a week before the others and the chestnuts falling and the howling winds and the sea breaking over the pier and the first fires and the hooves on the road and the consumptive postman whistling The Roses Are Blooming in Picardy and the standard oillamp and of course the snow and to he sure the sleet and bless your heart the slush and every fourth year the February debacle and the endless April showers and the crocuses and then the whole bloody business starting all over again. A turd. And if I could begin it all over again, knowing what I know now, the result would be the same. And if I could begin again a third time, knowing what I would know then, the result would be the same. And if I could begin it all over again a hundred times, knowing each time a little more than the time before, the result would always be the same, and the hundredth life as the first, and the hundred lives as one. A cat's flux. But at this rate we shall he here all night.

-- Sam Becket

Many moons ago, I was standing outside WH Smiths playing my guitar, and this man walked past, and stopped in front of me, and looked at me. He walked off, and came back. Stopped again, and looked at me. Did the same thing a third time. I'm thinking he's hating my particular rendition of Natalie Merchant's Motherland, but that wasn't it. He eventually spoke.

"I've lost my wife", he said, "I don't know why I'm telling you. I don't know what you can do about it".

"Congratulate me, I suppose".

valerie wrote: How do you know that imperfections are imperfections?

Tasman told me. I took his word for it.

Quote: if you are a programmer you will not include bugs into your program, right

99 little bugs in the code,
99 little bugs,
Take one down,
Patch it around,
101 little bugs in the code.

Yes, if you're a programmer you include bugs in your program.

Quote:The anthropic principle asks, Why? Why did these conditions come about so perfectly for us?

That's not really the anthropic principle, that's more getting a priori and post hoc the wrong way round.

So, there's some kind of higher power, who knows everything we do, and hears all - presumably they created us then?

Wouldn't that be perfectly consistent with the simulation theory? You're in a simulation created by this higher power?

Second from the right.

The pictures must all be human filtered at some point. Just pick the one that was mistaken for a cat. If you're wrong, it doesn't matter - you don't get punished just for getting the odd captcha wrong, nobody has 100% accuracy and there's always one that's right,