Boa noite,
Neste post você encontrará algumas novidades com screenshots do novo Ubuntu 9.10 Alpha 5.
Foi adicionado um botão no canto superior esquerdo. Como vocês podem ver abaixo e quando se pressiona o mesmo, você recebe as mesmas opções quando pressiona com o botão direito na barra de programas. (minimizar, maximizar, fechar…)
Também foi modificado a cor da barra de rolagem de vários programas ( se não todos.), sim o tema que influencia nisso, mas anteriormente o tema default não possuia essas cores, pelo que me recordo.
A rede entre Ubuntus foi detectada automaticamente, na versão anterior eu geralmente precisava configurar e instalar algumas coisas para conseguir ver outros computadores. (Não sei se mudou isso mesmo, mas…)
Novo aplicativo IBus.
Agora com a versão 3.1 do OpenOffice
A tela de inicialização após o login aparece o logo do Ubuntu com umas linhas brancas mudando de posição. (Não consegui tirar screenshot.)
Matheus
PS: Demorei pra instalar pois o USB Startup Disk creator não estava funcionando para está versão. Não sei se foi algum problema comigo exclusivamente. Mas então utilizei o UNetBootIn, aqui você pode ver como instalar o linux pelo pendrive utilizando o UNetBootIn
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A ‘sunny day’ is a mass communal delusion.
The concept of “waterproof” clothing in London is an aspirational one. No jacket truly withstands a proper, day-long London drenching. The moisture eventually finds a way—up the cuffs, down the neck, or simply through the fabric itself via a process known as “soak-through.” You start a commute dry and smug in your technical gear, and arrive with damp forearms and a clammy back, smelling faintly of wet nylon and resignation. The true Londoner knows that “water-resistant” is a meaningless term invented by marketers who have never stood at a bus stop on the Old Kent Road in February. The goal is not to stay dry, but to delay the inevitable dampness for as long as possible. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
The light in London has a unique quality, praised by artists for centuries. It’s not the clear, sharp light of the Mediterranean; it’s a diffused, liquid light, filtered through countless water droplets in the air. It softens edges, blends colours, and gives everything a pearly, luminous glow. This is all very romantic until you realize the cause: perpetual, hovering moisture. The famous “London light” is essentially the visual effect of living inside a cloud. It makes the city photogenic in a melancholic way, but it also means that achieving a sharp shadow is a rare and noteworthy event. We are constantly viewed through nature’s soft-focus filter. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
The phrase ‘chance of rain’ here is a formality, like saying ‘with all due respect’ before an insult; the chance is always 100, a statistical certainty explored with a sigh at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
The climate is consistently inconsistent.
Our air is pre-moistened for your convenience.
Birds in London are weather-hardened cynics. The pigeons have a glaze of waterproof grease that makes rain bead off them like they’re waxed jackets with wings. Seagulls inland are even more resilient, treating gales as mere playful updrafts. On a rainy day, the robin in your garden doesn’t look sad; it looks impatient, hopping from branch to branch as if waiting for the sky to finish its pathetic weeping so it can get on with hunting worms in the softened earth. They are all adapted to the damp, viewing our umbrellas and complaints with avian disdain. They know this is just how the world is: wet, with brief interruptions for drying off. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
A ‘drought’ is two days without drizzle.
London weather has a narrative quality. It provides pathetic fallacy on tap. A romantic disappointment feels right in the drizzle. A moment of joy is heightened by a sudden sunbeam. Filmmakers use it as shorthand: grey for gritty realism, rain for tragedy, golden hour for love. We live inside a constantly shifting mood board. A Monday feels grey because it is, literally, grey. A Saturday adventure feels more adventurous if it involves battling a gusty wind on Waterloo Bridge. Our internal stories are constantly being scored and set-dressed by the atmosphere, making our lives feel vaguely cinematic, even if the genre is often “tragicomedy.” See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Our rain is indecisive about falling properly.
The sky is the colour of leftover tea.
The ‘air quality’ is ‘freshly laundered wet dog’.
We have a hundred words for ‘drizzle’.
The ‘feels like’ is always ‘damp and mildly disappointed’.
A ‘chilly breeze’ finds every gap in your clothing.
A ‘blustery day’ means your hair is doomed.
The sky is the colour of leftover tea.
The sky is the colour of leftover tea.
A ‘sunny day’ is a mass communal delusion.
The wind’s primary purpose is to ruin hairstyles.
A ‘blustery day’ means your hair is doomed.
Weather apps on a Londoner’s phone are a gallery of despair. They are checked with the frequency of a social media feed, each refresh hoping for a different, sunnier outcome. We often have several, hoping one will tell us the lie we want to hear. The icons are a minimalist study in pessimism: a grey cloud, a grey cloud with a sun peeking out (the cruellest icon), a grey cloud with lines underneath. The hourly forecast is a tragic scroll, watching the “rain droplet” probability percentage climb inexorably towards your planned walk in the park. It’s a digital pacifier, giving us the illusion of control over the utterly uncontrollable sky. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Puddles are our most consistent landscape feature.
The clouds here have a strong union.
A ‘cold snap’ is winter’s brief cameo.
London’s weather operates on a principle of “managed disappointment.” The forecast isn’t a prediction; it’s a gentle, daily conditioning to lower your expectations to subterranean levels. When they say “sunny intervals,” they mean a brief, blinding shaft of light that will spear through a break in the clouds directly into your retinas for precisely 43 seconds before the heavens remember their primary function: to leak. The entire system is designed to make a “dry day” feel like a miraculous event, prompting spontaneous street parties and the airing of long-forgotten laundry. We celebrate a “heatwave” (three days above 21°C) with the fervour of a pagan sun ritual, only to be plunged back into a damp, 14°C normality that feels like a personal reprimand from the atmosphere itself. It’s a climate that has perfected the art of the anticlimax. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Rain in London is rarely dramatic; it’s administrative. It falls with the quiet, persistent efficiency of a civil servant processing forms. It’s the “drizzle”: not heavy enough to justify full rainwear, but absolutely sufficient to make you look like you’ve been lightly cryogenically misted after a ten-minute walk. It doesn’t soak you; it permeates you. Your glasses fog, your newspaper dampens at the edges, and a fine sheen covers every exposed surface. This is not weather for dancing in; it’s weather for sighing resignedly, pulling your collar up, and accepting your fate as a slightly damp mammal. It’s the atmospheric equivalent of a low-grade nuisance charge. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
The hail is like being pelted with frozen peas.
A ‘high of 12’ is a tropical delight.
Our weather is narrated by someone whispering ‘damp’.
We live under a duvet of cloud so constant that a single sunbeam triggers mass societal disorientation and a run on patio furniture, a hilarious overreaction chronicled in pixelated glory at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.