You're in your mother's womb, sitting on a bench in the terminal , waiting for the bus that will get you out of this burg . You've been looking forward to this day for a long time. You've got no particular destination in mind, you just want out. You go to the help desk and ask the attendant, "Which route should I take?" In a very nonchalant manner, as if your question has no gravitas at all, she says, "It doesn't really matter, they're all going to the same place." You're confused, anxious, annoyed, so you ask the obvious follow up question, "And where's that?" She looks up from the stack of papers that she randomly shuffles, rolls her eyes, sighs an exaggerated sigh, and says in a tone that implies you are just one more idiot interrupting her trance, breaking the rhythm of her data shuffle: "The big wide world."
What a snot, you think, what a fooking snark this woman is, and you go back to your bench to wait. You think about writing a big long letter to the department of transportation, you begin drafting it in your head and simultaneously you dream a weird little dream. You are sitting in a high chair, munching on a hairball. Not exactly a hairball, a wadded up tissue entwined with strands of dark brown hair. A depressed woman is sitting next to you, her head hung, her body slack. You notice she is wearing a campaign button that says "Mother". You ask this mother person, "Where did this hairball come from anyway?" She tells you, "The trash." You throw it away in disgust and ask her to get you a clean one, one that doesn't come from the trash. She looks up at you. You see her face for the first time and realize she is the paper shuffler. It all begins to make sense. It's a setup.
What a snot, you think, what a fooking snark this woman is, and you go back to your bench to wait. You think about writing a big long letter to the department of transportation, you begin drafting it in your head and simultaneously you dream a weird little dream. You are sitting in a high chair, munching on a hairball. Not exactly a hairball, a wadded up tissue entwined with strands of dark brown hair. A depressed woman is sitting next to you, her head hung, her body slack. You notice she is wearing a campaign button that says "Mother". You ask this mother person, "Where did this hairball come from anyway?" She tells you, "The trash." You throw it away in disgust and ask her to get you a clean one, one that doesn't come from the trash. She looks up at you. You see her face for the first time and realize she is the paper shuffler. It all begins to make sense. It's a setup.
In computer architecture, a bus is a subsystem that transfers data between components inside a computer, or between computers.
Early computer buses were parallel electrical wires with multiple connections, but the term is now used for any physical arrangement that provides the same logical functionality as a parallel electrical bus. Modern computer buses can use both parallel and bit serial connections, and can be wired in either a multidrop (electrical parallel) or daisy chain topology, or connected by switched hubs, as in the case of USB.
Internal bus
Internal bus, also known as Internal data bus, memory bus or system bus or front-Side-Bus, connects all the internal components of a computer, such as CPU and memory, to the motherboard. Internal data buses are also referred to as a local bus, because they are intended to connect to local devices. This bus is typically rather quick and is independent of the rest of the computer operations.External bus
The external bus, also known as expansion bus, is made up of the electronic pathways that connect the different external devices, such as monitor, printer etc., to the computer.To further confuse issues, it was common in the past to classify bus systems based on the communications system they used, serial or parallel. Many modern systems can operate in either mode, depending on the application.
Your Bus Theory of Autism is just as good as any I've heard by the experts. TIC
ReplyDeleteYeah, but what do you know.
ReplyDelete