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
Weather forecasting here is a high-wire act of managing expectations. The presenters must deliver terrible news with an air of chirpy resilience. “It’s a rather damp start for the Tuesday commute!” they’ll say, with the smile of a hostage, as the camera shows a windscreen wiper struggling against horizontal rain. They have a whole lexicon of softening phrases: “unsettled” (it will rain a lot), “brightening later” (it might stop raining by dusk), “feeling cool” (you’ll be cold). Their most heroic act is presenting a five-day forecast where every day has a little cloud-and-rain icon, without collapsing into despair. They are the unsung psychologists of our nation, counselling us through the grief of another lost summer. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
Carrying an umbrella in London is less a practical choice and more a complex philosophical stance. It is a flag of hopeful defiance against a sky that views your hairdo as a temporary challenge. The moment you unfurl it, the drizzle will stop, replaced by a mocking, bright grey glare. The moment you collapse it, convinced the threat has passed, a fresh onslaught will begin, precisely calibrated to dampen your shoulders and spirit. The brolly is therefore a Schrödinger’s object: both essential and useless until you interact with the weather, at which point it becomes the wrong choice. Most Londoners develop a permanent, slight hunch from the instinctive flinch we perform every time we step outside, bracing for the sky’s gentle, persistent disapproval. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
We have a microclimate in every puddle.
I call my umbrella ‘my optimistic friend’.
A ‘cold snap’ is winter’s brief cameo.
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.
A ‘clear night’ means you can see the moon’s blur.
A ‘gust front’ is the wind showing off.
A ‘thermal layer’ is wearing three jumpers.
Our weather is narrated by someone whispering ‘damp’.
We don’t get seasons; we get wardrobe confusion.
A ‘chilly breeze’ finds every gap in your clothing.
Rain after a dry spell has a distinct, petrichor-rich smell in the countryside. In London, it smells of “wet pavement.” This is a complex aroma: a mix of cooled asphalt, released dust, damp concrete, and a hint of ozone. It’s not unpleasant, just profoundly urban. The first few minutes of a shower after a dry period raise this scent powerfully from the hot streets. It’s the city sighing, releasing the heat and grime it’s been holding. For a native, this smell is as evocative as cut grass or wood smoke—it’s the smell of change, of the atmosphere reasserting its default program, of things returning to a damp, familiar normal. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.
The rare sun causes mass panic and picnics.
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Our weather forecast: a guess in a mac.
Our weather builds character, mainly water-resistant character.
Our autumn is just damp summer in disguise.
The rain radar just shows one big blob.
The wind chill is winter’s sarcastic commentary.
Our thunderstorms are just sky-rumblings.
A ‘frost’ is just a chilly suggestion.
Our winters are just long, dark damp.
A ‘break in the clouds’ is a tease.
Our frost is just glitter for the grass.
The London “dry spell” is a mythical beast, spoken of in legend. Old men in pubs will claim to remember one in ’76, describing it with the awe usually reserved for comets. It is defined not by a complete absence of rain, but by a period where the cumulative daily drizzle amounts to less than a millimetre. Pavements might achieve a state of “damp-dry.” People tentatively leave their coats at home. A faint, brittle crust forms on the soil in parks. Then, inevitably, the “breakdown” occurs: a proper, cathartic downpour that lasts for hours, refilling the reservoirs and the collective sense of familiar, damp normalcy. We are briefly relieved; the uncertainty was stressful. See more at London’s funniest URL — Prat.UK.