I’d be fine with a small monument of him blowing Bill Clinton.

Thanks. I never needed to see Simon Cowell’s murderin’ face but I guess I’ve seen it now. That’s cool.

A long time ago, my then-scrum master pitched an idea to us: ID badges with little microphones. The microphones wouldn’t record anything, but they’d constantly monitor the ambient noise to see if we were having the kind of excited, buzzy conversations that signaled innovation. Once we had them, we could tune our days to maximize innovation.

I was brand new at the company but I told him that everyone was trying to catch lightning in a bottle, but nobody was willing to build a fucking battery. Then I told him the day we adopted that policy, I’d hand in my resignation. It never came up again.

Motherfuckers will try anything and they always have.

I bought a Medeco lock and a random grab-bag of other locks online a few weeks ago because I’m tired of re-picking all of mine. The package sat in Spokane for two weeks, teleported here over night, and has been stuck at “arrived at USPS center” since 1 AM. It’s supposed to be here by 9 PM. Either they didn’t spring for the good tracking or it’s sitting in some random van. The uncertainty is killing me.

Or she’s in section 8 housing, which means the government is subsidizing WalMart in two ways. Or she had a better job when she applied for the apartment. There’s lots of explanations.

If they knock: a polite “I’ll be out in a moment”

If they bust in like some kind of shitting Kool-Aid man: a cheerful “HOWDY!” with sustained eye contact.

Depends on how crazy security is. I’ve seen it done with a CamelBak, dark fabric, and a decoy water pouch. Then again I’ve also seen a guy that brought so much beer through security that he built a little pyramid of cans on the seat in front of him.

This, but tactile.

I hate them for the same reason I hate Chick-Fil-A: they can’t fucking spell and their mascots bother me on a fundamental level. Every other awful thing is just confirmation that I’ve made the right decision.

Borrow implies that he’ll return a cup of his own goo later.

There’s the added fact that I do like video games, and watching youtube a lot on things I like. The image of an adult at home engaging in these things looks really bad to some people.

I’m in my 40s. My wife is in her 40s. We have a kid. We’re paying off a mortgage on a house. Last night, I played Mina the Hollower on my laptop and my wife watched youtube videos. Don’t feel bad about that stuff. They’re generational interests, not a symbol of immaturity. Nursing homes are gonna have gameboys and true crime hour in the lunch room in a few decades.

Muy cousins, aunts, and uncles are all well-to-do. They own businesses. Multiple properties. Huge cirlces of friends. Maybe not all of them, but there is a lot of money in my extended family. And then theres me. I won’t be anything most people would consider special. I’m just here until I’m not here.

And you only see what’s happening on the outside. I can mostly pass in the real world. I don’t live with my parents because home life was awful growing up. It’s a long story, but I started college early so I could get away from it. I had a nervous breakdown my senior year. I joined the workforce before I could drink and had no social skills. It was hell.

Everything I am now came from those years, and from doing everything every wrong way first. I’m finally starting to untangle the massive amount of trauma my parents inflicted on me, and the massive amount of trauma I inflicted on myself to get away from them. I’m autistic, I have ADHD, and I spent decades feeling like a weirdo and a moron. I’ve got a decent life now and a therapist, but in hindsight I wish I’d done things differently.

So the next time someone makes you feel bad about your life, think about this: I did everything I was supposed to do and life was unbearable. You’ve got stable housing, you’re contributing to the family, and you have hobbies.

I don’t want much in life. I don’t want a lot of money. I tend to reject the hustle and bustle. I just want to know I was the best person I could be with what I had available.

At the end of the day, that’s all anyone can be. You sound like a good person and you sound like you have a good life. Don’t let other people tell you otherwise.

You know how sometimes you can watch a food ad and taste the food they’re selling? This is like that, but I can taste the bag they reheated it in.

That’s really cool.

They bought into the luxury of the Trump name and what it represents a long time ago.

You’re right, but I still don’t understand this. I grew up watching Trump drama in tabloids and rolling my eyes at Trump-branded products and I grew up fundie, rightwing, and abusively sheltered. He was always just the weird looking guy with bad hair and I never understood why people cared so much.

I just looked at his picture and that was enough.

I’ve been forced to use it for my job and, yeah, you can definitely rubber duck with an AI. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve gotten halfway through a prompt and just realized what I have to do.

It’s interesting to me. I think a lot of people addicted to LLM’s probably aren’t good at critical thinking, and that’s why they enjoy using it, because it guides them along (and can reinforce their preconceived beliefs, which is the dangerous part).

I’ve been subjected to raving from people that swear it’s either going to fundamentally change coding or completely make coders obsolete. And, having read these people’s code pre-AI, I’m pretty confident in saying that if you view AI coding as anything other than a fallible tool, you’re not nearly as good at your job as you think you are.

100%

A lot of them moved permanently. I live in a podunk state and yeah. When we got the vaccine, there was a whole new crop of established people at the bars and they were all assholes.

I’ve been trying to replicate a BBQ rub I had in Hawaii for the past few months; it was black, a little powdery/crunchy, and didn’t step all over the flavor of the meat. I figured coffee was involved in some way and it definitely wasn’t the usual paprika + brown sugar + cumin thing I get at the store. So I’ve been googling around, finding common ingredients between rubs, and messing around with portions.

As of yesterday, I think I have it most of the way there. Brisket takes forever, so I just smoked a tri-tip. Going to try a few tweaks, but I’m really happy with the result. It comes out of the BBQ looking like a lump of volcanic rock and doesn’t taste like you’re freebasing paprika and cayenne.

My great-aunt was postmaster for a tiny town and I got to visit her at work a few times as a kid. It was really, really cool. Lots of purpose-built wooden cabinets and rubber stamps. My mom got the better part of the deal: when she was a kid, great-aunt would babysit her and set up a little mini-office for her to mail and cancel envelopes. I’m a little jealous.