Is “college town” agreed to be a denigration? I’d take it as a fairly complex descriptor that could be good or bad depending on your situation. I loved living in college towns. I’m not desperate to move back to one, but I could easily see myself retiring in one, and if you want a small town with more cultural and sporting options and a better educated populace than its peers, then putting up with some rowdy undergrads and a quirky mix of available businesses could be a perfectly sensible tradeoff.

cultural things that similar-sized other towns don’t have

Exactly. Similar sized. College towns punch above their weight when compared to their population peers, but that only goes so far. I have no doubt Pullman, Washington is cooler and more cosmopolitan than Walla Walla (despite the presence of two very small colleges), but it’s no Seattle, for good or for ill, depending on your perspective.

Okay, my ten year old loves these two games and has occasionally mentioned people playing them on emulators. She has no complaints (possibly because she’s ten), and TBH when watching her play on the living room tv they look… fine? What is so terrible about the way they run natively? Legitimately curious.

Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground. And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check? There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground. I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: Ah, Center, much thanks, We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money. For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A.came back with: Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one. It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

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There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground. Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ HoustonCentervoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houstoncontrollers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed. Twin Beach, I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed. Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check…

This is also age and culturally contextual. If kid and dad are on the same page about why junior is still living there, and if Dad is financially secure, he may want kid to pay down debt and be ready to jump straight to a nice place of their own. Now, if the family unit overall could use the help, and there is no specific plan for junior to move out, and and they’re just sandbagging to have more money in their pocket after paying down student loans, it could be kinda shitty. Paying down the debt is not bad; minimizing overall cost of living for the family is not bad; what Boop2133 does with their money beyond loan payments might be bad.

If it just had three buttons, it’d be perfect. As it is, I’m using the Orbit Fusion as my couch mouse, with the “Forward” button remapped to left-click, which lets me rest my hand similar to how I would on the “classic” Orbit.

I have an Orbit Fusion for the couch. I looked at the Elecoms, but I just really like the scrollring. In my perfect world there’d be a god-damned three-button orbit with scrollring, but in the meantime remapping the Fusion’s “Forward” button lets me use it with similar ergonomics. I notice the stiction, but it’s a very minor little aspect of using the trackball, and it’s not distracting enough for me to feel like I need to replace the bearings. I did do the “rub some nose oil on it” thing and that helped some.

There are a few DIY designs floating around that use BTUs, and some have certainly made their way into ergo keyboards, but I don’t know of a commercial product that uses them.

Yup. This is corollary to the other post talking about diameter. If you make a perfect circle with your perfect meter of perfect string, suddenly you can no longer perfectly express the diameter in SI units, but rather it’s estimated at 31.8309886… cm. Nothing is wrong with the string in either scenario.

They also play college football, mostly in the North. I understand the quality of play is about D3.

That was added in 1981 when it popped back into theatres after Empire. It was not original, but it was a very early addition, and since ESB came out in the interim as Episode 5 from the get-go, very much a retcon in the George style.

I’ve had a fairly decent one with a Canon small-office B&W laser. It needs to be reset every so often, and it doesn’t seem to like my wife (though no printer ever does), but its apps and drivers are mostly business related, so while they are more than happy to help you buy supplies, they don’t force the issue, and the printer doesn’t care what brand of toner you shove in it. 99% of the time it’s just sitting there quietly on its LAN address, ready to print something successfully.

She just got an HP multi-function from work, and dear god that thing is annoying. It kept claiming that its own demo ink was counterfeit. Also fairly mediocre color prints.

The description of the Hogarth series is probably about as close as I’ve seen to what OP seems to be asking for, but obviously creatives in all media have been adapting Shakespeare for ages.

They may find a basic “nuts and bolts” adaptation to be a bit lacking though. Ol’ Willy Shakes tended to lift his plots from middle-brow history books and from earlier plays. The brilliance came in the specific use of language and from stretching the psychological intimacy and realism of the characters in ways that were unprecedented, but which has become the norm, and might feel stale at this point. Frankly, the plays would have been viewed as sloppy and vulgar by many in the upper class, even if they found them compelling in a “best of that lower sort of thing.” Shakespeare had to hustle and write “proper” poetry to build a reputation during his lifetime, and what was the net result of being the most brilliant literary innovator in English since Chaucer and possibly ever? He got to be like the second or third richest man in little Stratford-upon-Avon and told enough lies and paid enough bribes to get his dad a coat of arms.

That’s his preferred coffee taste and that’s what he demands the company makes.

I’m sure it’s also completely coincidental that burnt coffee tastes mostly same no matter where and when the beans came from. :-)

I normally use that same coffee in an Ikea French Press and while I won’t say it’s gourmet, it meets my needs for “not particularly bitter caffeine juice”. Honestly, I slowed it down the next time I did a single cup pourover and that took most of the battery acid notes out of it.

I don’t have a particularly sophisticated palate and still want some sugar and milk in there; I just don’t like Starbucks very much and hate paying a premium for a product that I like less than my homemade half-assery. :-)

If you need drinkable brewed coffee from SB, you have to order the blonde roast. They scorch the everliving fuck out of their regular stuff to ensure consistency regardless of source, so even if you normally don’t, if you want “black” coffee from SB, you’ll be better off with the blonde. If you’re brewing by volume of grounds, lighter roast will have more caffeine anyway (they’re the same if you brew by weight).

So it’s not a lawsuit (yet), it’s a complaint to the state attorney general of Washington accusing Starbucks of unfriendly consumer practices related to their gift cards, in part because they can recognize unspent gift cards as revenue, and also because it’s instant cashflow for them even if the accounting revenue lags behind. The need to come up with a calculation for how much deferred revenue to recognize can be abused by execs to nudge the revenue higher (and with no additional costs associated with it, profit as well) and thereby improve stock price and trigger bonuses and whatnot.

The actual complaint reads as a bit of pearl-clutching (“involuntary subscription” because customers don’t want to leave a balance OR talk to a real human at their local Starbucks!) , but on a the “death by a thousand cuts” model, yeah, I suppose Starbucks is being kinda dickish. The app doesn’t give you as many rewards if you pay with CC, buries the other payment options a couple of layers deep in a menu, doesn’t let you reload gift cards in increments equal to a purchase, doesn’t let you split payment methods, and sets a high default reload so (on iOS at least) it isn’t immediately visible that you even could scroll up to reload in smaller amounts.

It’s sort of garden variety asshole app design meant to soft-lock customers in, but it’s not really fraud in any meaningful way if someone is motivated. You add money, you get bitter overpriced coffee that your partner really likes for some reason. I prefer CHEAP, ACIDIC coffee because I did the pourover too fast on mediocre store-bought grounds that are too fine, LOL. Still, maybe worth a public scolding or some fines to get them to modify it so people can save a few bucks without diving into the finer nuances of their coffee app.

Agreed, and I’m not sure it was EVER used that way. I’ve only ever seen it written, and in places where someone wanted to distinguish it from the other codes without giving the impression they were excluding Canadian football. It’s a useful term in the right context, but it’s not “the full name”. Contrast to soccer, where many teams have “Association Football Club” right there in their names as “AFC.”

It would require more research than I’m willing to do, but the only part of that article that set off my sports-history-nerd Spidey Sense was this:

In full, it was known as gridiron football, but most people never bothered with the first word.

I don’t know that anyone actually involved in playing or codifying the game ever used “gridiron football” in anything like the same official way that Association football or Rugby football were used. It feels much more like outside observers trying to impose logical categories from afar, British exceptionalism at its finest. AFAIK, gridiron was always used as a nickname for the field, and the sport itself was only ever widely referred to as “football,” American exceptionalism at its finest.