I imagined it and felt more secure in not proselytizing.

“Attention all, I went somewhere else!” OK love that for you.

PSA the mission never ends, padre! Last I heard Joseph of Arimathea had 26 conversions in AD 46.

“Centralized DNS” is an oxymoron, we’ll have to agree to disagree

So, an authority? It sounds like this would complicate DNSSEC by requiring the “root keys” to be stored outside the DNS itself.

That’s very noble to be concerned for those people

| The deal – reached after years of negotiations - will see the UK hand over the Chagos Islands to Mauritius in a historic move.

What changed quickly here? You guys are terrified of the mention of the idea of possibly having to plan to commit to a change lol “normal ones” 😂

Who issued the key?

“real people still exist” shocked pikachu

How do you get to lemmy.world and every.to in a world without a common, public namespace? Should lemmy.world be registered in every country? How do SSL and trust in identity play into all this?

OK poof there are now 100 name servers delegating .com. Which one does your ISP default you to? [1-100]

Internet journalism means you can sensationalize hypotheticals like “The IANA may fudge its own rules” and “Money talks” without having to provide a source for those claims.

And why should I be careful choosing a TLD or interpret this as a warning? The Internet isn’t breaking, it’s changing. All this does is fear monger in favor of one Pope of the Internet.

Yes, Anyone Else has been seeing problems since the days of Bell up through the development and privatization of ICANN and beyond. But outrage over “a TLD is no longer delegated” is stupid shit. Where should ICANN be based and how would that influence its decision making processes?

Splitting off Chrome, Android, or Google Play isn’t a meaningful, earnest act of “anti-trust” while AWS is allowed to control the data centers. All the web apps and click tracks are there, ICANN’s children, and a growing number of federal departments.

requiring “Google to provide support for educational-awareness campaigns that would enhance the ability of users to choose the general search engine that suits them best.”

Real power move there, I feel the competition returning already.

I think I need a rewatch with this new perspective. I saw Enlightenment to Romanticism through a lens of British stuffiness that gave the veneer of “light hearted”, but Ow My Balls makes a little more sense with a layer of mid-Atlantic mud. I already got Boob Comedies from Ren and Stimpy through Family Guy. What I want is hero stories to save Atlas, but the scornful judgment in the movie’s framing is a force of Christian conservatism trapping him between two worlds.

Here’s a random paranoid tangent before lunch! I was reading recently about the evolution of theater in England over a hundred years from ~1550-1650. Elizabeth ruled during the first part of that interval, and Shakespeare wrote. His plays included perspectives from wide slices of society and were performed for royalty and commoners alike. Elizabeth died and private theatrical commissions began to outgrow public theater, which according to wikipedia “sustained themselves on the accumulated works of the previous decades”.

Starting in 1642 theaters were closed entirely by act of a Puritanical Parliament. That ban lasted 18 years and once the audience was Quite Thirsty, the English Restoration restored theater abstractly and filled it with bawdy raunch.

Yada yada, Disney then hired a crew of weepy Christian writers in the 20th century to repackage folk tales into Little Mermaid and Iron Man, which seems parallel enough to Shakespeare retelling Ovid. Film flourished, and in the early days of broadcast TV anybody could star in their own very own program. The Writers were on the brink of delivering us Heroes, but they up and left before they could save the cheerleader.

Now this age of regurgitated, computer animated-and-written, crowdsource produced art seems familiar, too. We’re filling the gaps with what we know, and the Appalachians wielding the pen are finding gaps they didn’t know were there. It’s odd being here, but my point is that if we are stuck in a loop then there’s the potential that on the horizon is a period of Hollywood producing a bunch of light hearted Boob Comedies.

The pattern feels like a-b-c sometimes, but the rebranding keeps the story feeling fresh

besides these two lazy kids and the witch who just wants to eat there’s also the hungry stepmom who pushed the idea and the deadbeat dad who went along with it (until both women die and he ends up the hero)

Heracles could shoot the eagle and break the chains, but then Prometheus might inform Zeus of the path to Troy. Titanomachy is one way of exchanging fire, but I’m human and content to hand it back and forth between each other. The pain of letting go is nuclear enough after Gaia and Uranus’s Family Vacation tore valleys through the mountains.

They called themselves the Kool Kids but we knew them as the Terror Twins, the Masonic Menace. They’d force their way into any bit of joy or loss, a trail of rubble and scars bolstering their smothering presence, the moon’s the only force strong enough to pull them away.

At least that’s what some say happened the night Kool-Aid Man landed on the rocks. Everybody has their say on how he got there, but the facts of the matter are he did get there, the tides were shifting when he did, the moon was full and the sky was clear, and a group of yutes had just started a fire for a clam bake near where shards of glass were later found. All the king’s horses and men gathered to put him together again, but with one piece lost in the sand he bled out entirely.

The coroner informed Warm-Hinder, who froze in place. A sudden strong gust cracked his icy joints in half, sending his upper parts rolling down 95. When he finally thawed out somewhere near Maryland he dragged himself to the woods, to the remotest cabin of the least connected mountain in all of Appalachia.

Out front sat Marge and Paddy, who offered a refill to the dehydrated tumbler and pointed to the trail of sweet tears leading to the stranger on their porch. He drank deep then reached for a horseshoe on the ground near his foot, hurling it at the hosts’ hearts. A cloud shifted as he did, and a ray of light caught the glass in the old couple’s hands. A rainbow fired from between them blinding the guest, who fell to the floor grasping at his eyes.

“I can’t see, I can’t see!” he cried scrambling on all fours, kicking up dust and throwing what rocks his fingers could find.

“What is it you can’t face?” asked Marge.

“I thought if I tried hard enough,” he trailed.

Paddy chuckled through the break in the noise and shared a slice of moldy bread.

The two sat sipping in silence where they had been and where they’ll stay rocking. The one watched as the rain fell and the sea filled with boiling fire, and the earth pulled in closer still. He heard rhythm in his frantic breathing and saw seedlings sprouting out of softened soil. The beating of his heart filled his feet and he began to dance.

Night had fallen by then but the forest was bright and the path was clear. So he danced with the gravity pulling him through forest and flood and ocean until daybreak. And when he arrived home he saw the gates and gears of the city lifting and turning, and a river of Red 40 flowing through.