Twitter Bootstrap Callouts

Callouts are used on the Bootstrap docs to highlight important contents (hence; callouts). Unfortunately, they are not shipped with base bootstrap.

To add (and use) Twitter bootstrap callouts, here is the additional markup you need

 * Callouts
 * Not quite alerts, but custom and helpful notes for folks reading the docs.
 * Requires a base and modifier class.

/* Common styles for all types */
.bs-callout {
  margin: 20px 0;
  padding: 20px;
  border-left: 3px solid #eee;
.bs-callout h4 {
  margin-top: 0;
  margin-bottom: 5px;
.bs-callout p:last-child {
  margin-bottom: 0;
.bs-callout code {
  background-color: #fff;
  border-radius: 3px;

/* Variations */
.bs-callout-danger {
  background-color: #fdf7f7;
  border-color: #d9534f;
.bs-callout-danger h4 {
  color: #d9534f;
.bs-callout-warning {
  background-color: #fcf8f2;
  border-color: #f0ad4e;
.bs-callout-warning h4 {
  color: #f0ad4e;
.bs-callout-info {
  background-color: #f4f8fa;
  border-color: #5bc0de;
.bs-callout-info h4 {
  color: #5bc0de;

About Being #ForeverAlone

People are horrible.

They’re unpredictable, and unless you live in heaven, they’re usually full of shit. People are boring. Not just the boring kind, but the fun kind too. Everything eventually is boring. People have different schedules. And different tastes. And they object and have opinions. They argue and make it awkward. They don’t get all your jokes. And some even bother you. Granted, unintentionally if they’re nice. But they do.

In my conversations with fellow humans, I like to indulge in the look of shock when I mention I go to the movies alone. More times than I had been with people, as a matter of fact. This is just one of the things in life I enjoy doing alone. I enjoy that same look on movie clerks when I book seats for a movie and I unapologetically pick just one spot. Heck, I once really thought I needed to reward myself so I booked two movies back-to-back.

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The Barrel With Few Strings

I once took part in a soft skills course that illustrated our brain keeps memories in a barrel kind of fashion. A lot of everything is stored in sequence, once you remember something or pull on any string, a whole bunch of things come floating up for easier access.

When I was 18 years old my friends and I had been hanging out at a regular internet cafe, play Medal Of Honour among other games (I always won), and just casually have a chat when we’re waiting for our next course or something.

The place clerk has got to have had a very rough love life because for as long as I could remember, he used to play the above song. Day and night. It was just always on.

And for the string/barrel theory mentioned above, whenever I remember anything from the old times, for whatever reason, this song comes right up and I play it in my head a million times.

He Stopped

Red star is my house. Yellow star is the bus stop. Blue star is where the magic happened.

For those of you unaware of the matter, transportation timings in Europe is a very serious matter. If a bus is scheduled for 10:32, 10:32 people start wondering what’s wrong if the bus isn’t at least in eye-sight. It’s top-notch. It lets everyone plan their days right and gives everyone the ability to get things done in decency if they choose to play by the rules.

To make sure that’s the way it is, everything has to go by the book. The bus driver doesn’t wait at a certain bus stop for more than 20 seconds. Literally. Even if someone comes storming down a road so they could make it on time, a driver can simply drive away. Most drivers even don’t stop if they’re not signaled to stop from someone on the bus or if nobody is even in the bus stop already. It saves a few extra seconds which is good for traffic.

I have a single bus stop next to my place. If I miss a bus I usually have to wait for 15 minutes for the next bus but because it was a public holiday I’d have to wait for about 45 minutes for the next ride. My appointment was at 20 past and it was still a minute or two past so I thought I had time to go, forgetting that I had to take the bus at 6 past. So when it was 4 past, it was an ugly scene at our household.

I threw on my pants, a shirt, a jacket, and with no time to even wear shoes, ran out with just my slippers (it’s cold at night. Not a good idea.) I live on the third floor so I had to jump 3 steps at a time down the stairs. I made it to the front porch by 5 past. 1 minute to go. It’s a 3 minute walk to the bus stop and I didn’t even know which side of the street I had to wait at.

I ran like my life depended on it.

I saw the bus presumably driving by, so I ran even faster, but realised there was no way to make it to the bus stop on time. So I stopped. I looked further ahead and spotted the same bus number coming to the other direction bus stop. That would have to be the right one (I was going in that directions thereabouts so that made better sense.) But no one was in the bus stop and it was definitely not going to wait unless someone was going off. I ran more, getting closer but not close enough for him to even see me but I’m running down the street that the bus will be taking so I’m hoping he’d see me and wait for me. I’m really pulling in closer!

He doesn’t see me.

Nobody is even coming off. He’s not even going to stop at the bus stop.

He drives away from the bus stop, and I slow down one last time. As I do, he takes the turn into the street I’m running down, and finally notices me pulling to almost a complete halt.

He realises I was trying to catch him. And I didn’t.

He stops. Not at a bus stop. But in the middle of the street. He stops for me to get on. He pulls over, and waves for me to come on in quickly.

My legs come back on again but my brain is still in shock of what is happening. I see the people on the bus all looking at me and they too are in quite the shock. I turn around the bus and get on.

I go to the front and thank him, still breathing louder than my voice.

Contrary to popular belief, Germans are not emotionless robots. Some of them are really nice people.

The Future

Someone I know is notorious for dreaming about the future. The interpretations of her dreams have come true on a number of occasions that, for the sake of my argument, let me call her the future teller. The future teller once dreamed about a specific incident that involved me, and she let me in on it, but only when the first milestone of it actually came true.

It was something plausible so I thought I knew the future.

Since, on a number of occasions during my life I was going to do things that would eventually diverge real life from what the dream has had and I deliberately, based on that future-known incident, drifted things back to what I thought would be the outcome of the dream. I thought I knew the future, I acted on it, and I was helplessly making sure it came true. Whether or not I liked it. I worked towards making the future I knew would come true would in fact come true. It sucked because sometimes it felt like I had no choice.

But I did. I thought I knew the future, but I decided I didn’t want it.

Ever since that incident the thought of the future has been coming to my mind often. Is the future really all predetermined? To dodge a religious bullet here, let me shuffle that thought: since the future is predetermined, should we be doing anything regardless of caring for the consequences because what will happen will happen no matter what, or does that future happen because of what is deterministically, too, going to happen by them as a consequence of them knowing the future is determined?

Let me also mention this now, presumably out of order: not doing anything is doing something.

To a large extent, there seems to be a strong analogy between these two thoughts: knowing the future, and acting on behalf of the fact that whatever is going to happen is going to happen regardless of what happens until then.

What happens happens because of what happens for that to happen. Not because it’s been determined to happen. It was determined to happen because what we do for it to happen has been determined. Not the other way round.

Mahmoud Sakr, kamasheto, Mahboud, and everything in between

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