The SmartS Club

Yeah right. People without money hear that all the time. Don't touch my sportscar! James Altucher got that straight by completing the phrase. "Money does not solve all your problems - but it solves your money-problems" Which is a lot. And a driving force behind his extremely successful blog, Altucher Confidential. And he is part of the the '10 easy steps to...', '10 things to take when you go to Mars' - advice columns that infest the net. I once wrote so - mildly critical - spotting the now legendary (and then half-legendary) guy close to this bunch of click-baiters (here) . He was personally offended and posted quite a nice reply - he saw himself as actually helping people (what he did). Got close to Yoga (through personal experience). And his writing was really fast and great. It just sometimes smelled like there was a business-idea somewhere in the machine-room. And indeed, we now get these never-ending videos where you are strung along ('wa

It is magic. Every day at 1 pm straight Smart-S gets hit by a little click-storm. Nothing dangerous - far from a DOS attack. It actually warms my heart to know that somebody has made some code crawl this little-known dusty corner of the net to see what has been deposited there. Some empathetic robot silently weeping when things get rough in the world of the smart-ss's (does it ever?) and chuckling about the shallow jokes (are there any?). Cute. After observing this for a few months, though, I start to wonder whether that little lump of bytes couldn't be extended a bit so it is able to leave some, umm, comments? Maybe? Hello?! Some feedback (supportive, controversial or otherwise) would be nice for once! What good is a silent empathetic reader, ultimately - be it a machine or humanoid? It is like that ever-loving mother who listens to the crap you do in your childhood, the annoying stuff you call freedom while growing up, your self-pity when you fail just another rela

What made America greater than this: Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame With conquering limbs astride from land to land Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. „Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!“ cries she With silent lips. „Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door. Emma Lazarus, 1883  Statue of Liberty

Sometimes you are alive. Sometimes you are dead. Well, you feel like it. Which is strange. Because, I suppose, when you are dead - how does it feel? Deadish? I thought the whole concept of being dead is that all that conscious stuff - and very much so the 'feeling'-thingy - vanishes. Exactly what you sometimes yearn for. When you are too destroyed to get up, for example. New-Years' morning, when you feel like you are dead. Well. We talked about it. So. My blog was dead. When I had to renew my payment-details I got trapped in some super-smart login loop, that always told me to renew my payment-details before I could log-in to go to... you got the idea. Now I got some reanimation done and there we go again. Life looks much better now. Even though some things look very non-ok. But let's not talk politics. Or emotional, private stuff. thanx.