Script For Random Quotes

There (is) order and even great beauty in what looks like total chaos. If we look closely enough at the randomness around us, patterns will start to emerge.

Nothing’s random. Even if it looks that way, it’s just because you don’t know the causes.

And that reminds me: Random, I forbid you to marry a Vogon! RANDOM: You what? ARTHUR: Nothing. Just fulfilling a promise I made to myself a long time ago.

There is order and even great beauty in what looks like total chaos. If we look closely enough at the randomness around us, patterns will start to emerge.

Investors are people with more money than time. Employees are people with more time than money. Entrepreneurs are simply the seductive go-betweens. Startups are business experiments performed with other people’s money. Marketing is like sex: only losers pay for it.” “Company culture is what goes without saying. There are no real rules, only laws. Success forgives all sins. People who leak to you, leak about you. Meritocracy is the propaganda we use to bless the charade. Greed and vanity are the twin engines of bourgeois society. Most managers are incompetent and maintain their jobs via inertia and politics. Lawsuits are merely expensive feints in a well-scripted conflict narrative between corporate entities. Capitalism is an amoral farce in which every player—investor, employee, entrepreneur, consumer—is complicit.

Rings and magazines; keychains and umbrellas; hats and glasses; rattles and radios. They looked like different things, but Ralph thought they were really all the same thing: the faint, sorrowing voices of people who had found themselves written out of the script in the middle of the second act while they were still learning their lines for the third, people who had been unceremoniously hauled off before their work was done or their obligations fulfilled, people whose only crime had been to be born in the Random... and to have caught the eye of the madman with the rusty scalpel.

In the last movie, Voldemort hugging Draco wasn’t in the script, but rather improvised by Ralph Fiennes. Tom Felton's blank stare and confused reaction wasn’t acting.

Your life script is like a newspaper cutting. On the front, there is a clean cut article detailing your life, but on the back side there are some random news items which have nothing to do with your life. If you are clueless about what’s happening in your life, you are reading it from the back side. Aware souls read it correctly so that whatever is in the script (mind) manifests outside.

HISTORY AND THE TRIPLET OF OPACITY History is opaque. You see what comes out, not the script that produces events, the generator of history. There is a fundamental incompleteness in your grasp of such events, since you do not see what's inside the box, how the mechanisms work. What I call the generator of historical events is different from the events themselves, much as the minds of the gods cannot be read just by witnessing their deeds. You are very likely to be fooled about their intentions. This disconnect is similar to the difference between the food you see on the table at the restaurant and the process you can observe in the kitchen. (The last time I brunched at a certain Chinese restaurant on Canal Street in downtown Manhattan, I saw a rat coming out of the kitchen.) The human mind suffers from three ailments as it comes into contact with history, what I call the triplet of opacity. They are: a. the illusion of understanding, or how everyone thinks he knows what is going on in a world that is more complicated (or random) than they realize; b. the retrospective distortion, or how we can assess matters only after the fact, as if they were in a rearview mirror (history seems clearer and more organized in history books than in empirical reality); and c. the overvaluation of factual information and the handicap of authoritative and learned people, particularly when they create categories—when they "Platonify.

I was once shown the script of a film based on a parable of a city completely ruled by randomness—very Borgesian. At set intervals, the ruler randomly assigns to the denizens a new role in the city. Say the butcher would now become a baker, and the baker a prisoner, etc. At the end, people end up rebelling against the ruler, asking for stability as their inalienable right. I immediately thought that perhaps the opposite parable should be written: instead of having the rulers randomize the jobs of citizens, we should have citizens randomize the jobs of rulers, naming them by raffles and removing them at random as well. That is similar to simulated annealing—and it happens to be no less effective. It turned out that the ancients—again, those ancients!—were aware of it: the members of the Athenian assemblies were chosen by lot, a method meant to protect the system from degeneracy. Luckily, this effect has been investigated with modern political systems. In a computer simulation, Alessandro Pluchino and his colleagues showed how adding a certain number of randomly selected politicians to the process can improve the functioning of the parliamentary system.

George would come in and say, ‘Hey, we’re going to have this giant snow battle, start doing some storyboards,’ ” says Johnston. “But there was no script! But George would say, ‘Don’t worry about that, just do the storyboards.’ The process then was to lay out random shots and pick out some that would conceivably work. George would work on the script at home while I would be working on the boards.

Just by looking at accelerating complexification of the Universe of which we are an integral part, we can conclude that we are not subjected to a random walk of evolution, nor are we subjected to a deterministic script of Nature, the truth lies somewhere in between – we are part of teleological evolution.

Though computers are deterministic machines—they always react the same way if given the same input—it is possible to have them produce numbers that appear random. To do that, the machine keeps some hidden value, and whenever you ask for a new random number, it performs complicated computations on this hidden value to create a new value.

Math is not a constructor, or even a function. It’s an object. As you know, Math is a built-in object that you can use to do things like get the value of pi (with Math.PI) or generate a random number (with Math.random). Think of Math as just like an object literal that has a bunch of useful properties and methods in it, built-in for you to use whenever you write JavaScript code. It just happens to have a capital first letter to let you know that it’s built-in to JavaScript.

In the AJAX world, a client can make a request, the server responds that it has received the request (so the client can get on with something else), and then at some random time later the actual response to the original request is returned. You see the problem? It becomes a challenge to match requests with the correct responses. From a programming standpoint, the performance tool must spawn a thread that waits for thecorrect response while the rest of the script continues to execute. A deft scripter may be able to code around this, but it may require signifcant changes to a script with the accompanying headache of ongoing maintenance. The reality is that not all testers are bored developers, so it’s better for the performance tool to handle this automatically.

Looking good, nice hair.” Molly’s that classic bitch you knew in middle school who never snapped out of it. We have to be nice to her because she’s head of the PTA and seems to have the authority to randomly assign volunteer positions.

You don’t see a whole lot of twenty-seven-year-olds just dropping dead at random all willy-nilly, do you?  Especially with blunt-force trauma to the back of their head,” Crumple explained.  “What do you mean blunt-force trauma?” Daisy asked.  “He took a frying pan to the back of his noggin.  What an unsavory way to go.” “Frying pan?  What a weird choice.” It was rather odd.  It also happened to be the murder weapon used in the script too.

I believe the technological industry is switching in a different direction that one may think in the Metaverse. Why spend trillions of dollars on big data when it is becoming more useless? We need dynamic content to create a boom in the tech industry for the next millennium. Why hire someone with a 4 year degree from college for a career in database administration when companies can't afford to pay 100k a year? We can manage it quite fine in google sheets or excel. The utilization of AI will then completely defeat the purpose of Data As A Service when a program can dynamically build hash objects in random access memory by simply using a small script like (via switch) while creating a [5th XYZ Stargate] just like the Diablo version, but with a smaller seed. You could then store those objects for the blockchain Inna virtualized file container ;)." - Jonathan Roy Mckinney

Every interaction I have feels like I’ve randomly showed up at some theater, am told I’m the lead in a play, then am shoved onto the stage. Everyone else got a script and knows what to say, and I’m somehow supposed to know the lines, without even knowing the plot. It’s a nightmare.

To be someone or to do something, which would I choose?* A man occasionally reaches a fork in life’s path. One road leads to doing something, to making an impact on his organization and his world. To being true to his values and vision, and standing with the other men who’ve helped build that vision. He will have to trust himself when all men doubt him, and as a reward, he will have the scorn of his professional circle heaped on his head. He will not be favored by his superiors, nor win the polite praise of his conformist peers. But maybe, just maybe, he has the chance to be right, and create something of lasting value that will transcend the consensus mediocrity inherent in any organization, even supposedly disruptive ones. The other road leads to being someone. He will receive the plum products, the facile praise afforded to the organization man who checks off the canonical list of petty virtues that define moral worth in his world. He will receive the applause of his peers, though it will be striking how rarely that traffic in official praise leads to actual products anybody remembers, much less advances the overall cause of the organization. I certainly had options. I can’t say I didn’t. I had outs, and could have walked away from FBX. All I had to do was shut up, keep my head down, go through the motions with whatever shitty product was handed to me after FBX, and read along from the Facebook script about how to be a proper product manager. I might even resurrect my career if one of those products was “successful.” In the rapidly ossifying Facebook culture, one could get along simply by going along. Plus, there were real stakes on the line. Consider the number of shares and the fact that at the time of this writing, in December 2015, Facebook is worth almost four times what it was when I struck my AdGrok deal. I had two children, whose mother’s nine-to-five corporate job provided for them, though just barely. Her London trader heyday was long gone, and now her salary was that of your standard-issue MBA inside the corporate machine. I contributed a slab of cash every month, per California support guidelines, but it would be my Facebook stock vesting yet to come that would pay for private high schools and Stanford, so Zoë and Noah wouldn’t have to sneak into this country’s elite through the back door from cattle class, as I had to do.

The children were actors on a moving stage, carrying out philosophical debates while borrowing fragments of floating dialogue. Themes from fairy tales and television cartoons combined with social commentary and private fantasy to form a tangible script that was not random and erratic.

In his presence, words like destiny and evermore flickered through my head. I inked his name on every random slip of paper—or even on palms or foot soles—in elaborately curlicued script.

Imagine you’re a playwright on an experimental theater production. You get to write the lines for every character — except one. The protagonist is played by a random audience member who is pulled on stage and thrust into the role with no script or training.​ Think that sounds hard? Now imagine that this audience member is drunk. And he’s distracted because he’s texting on his cellphone. And he’s decided to amuse himself by deliberately interfering with the ​story. He randomly tosses insults at other cast members, steals objects off the stage, and doesn’t even show up for the climactic scene. For a playwright, this is a writing nightmare. The fool on stage will disrupt his finely crafted turns of dialogue, contradict his characterization, and break his ​story. Game designers face this every day because games give players agency.​

For the time being, however, his bent was literary and religious rather than balletic. He loved, and what seventh grader doesn’t, the abstracter foxtrots and more metaphysical twists of a Dostoevsky, a Gide, a Mailer. He longed for the experience of some vivider pain than the mere daily hollowness knotted into his tight young belly, and no weekly stomp-and-holler of group therapy with other jejune eleven-year-olds was going to get him his stripes in the major leagues of suffering, crime, and resurrection. Only a bona-fide crime would do that, and of all the crimes available murder certainly carried the most prestige, as no less an authority than Loretta Couplard was ready to attest, Loretta Couplard being not only the director and co-owner of the Lowen School but the author, as well, of two nationally televised scripts, both about famous murders of the 20th Century. They’d even done a unit in social studies on the topic: A History of Crime in Urban America. The first of Loretta’s murders was a comedy involving Pauline Campbell, R.N., of Ann Arbor, Michigan, circa 1951, whose skull had been smashed by three drunken teenagers. They had meant to knock her unconscious so they could screw her, which was 1951 in a nutshell. The eighteen-year-olds, Bill Morey and Max Pell, got life; Dave Royal (Loretta’s hero) was a year younger and got off with twenty-two years. Her second murder was tragic in tone and consequently inspired more respect, though not among the critics, unfortunately. Possibly because her heroine, also a Pauline (Pauline Wichura), though more interesting and complicated had also been more famous in her own day and ever since. Which made the competition, one best-selling novel and a serious film biography, considerably stiffen Miss Wichura had been a welfare worker in Atlanta, Georgia, very much into environment and the population problem, this being the immediate pre-Regents period when anyone and everyone was legitimately starting to fret. Pauline decided to do something, viz., reduce the population herself and in the fairest way possible. So whenever any of the families she visited produced one child above the three she’d fixed, rather generously, as the upward limit, she found some unobtrusive way of thinning that family back to the preferred maximal size. Between 1989 and 1993 Pauline’s journals (Random House, 1994) record twenty-six murders, plus an additional fourteen failed attempts. In addition she had the highest welfare department record in the U.S. for abortions and sterilizations among the families whom she advised. “Which proves, I think,” Little Mister Kissy Lips had explained one day after school to his friend Jack, “that a murder doesn’t have to be of someone famous to be a form of idealism.” But of course idealism was only half the story: the other half was curiosity. And beyond idealism and curiosity there was probably even another half, the basic childhood need to grow up and kill someone.

Because consciousness is a quantum phenomenon,” whispered Redford, almost to himself. “It operates in the quantum realm, which is what introduces randomness into the works. Creates free will, unpredictability. Allows sentient minds to go off script.