I wonder if companysite. would be more expensive than a portfolio. There’s value in identity trust and countless ways to do that but the Internet gravitated to squirreling away domain names.

That’s a lot of hats for one person to wear, no wonder you’re having so much trouble managing your configuration. Sounds like it’d be easier to have a single registry with an open top dot and delegate all that management.

Thanks for proving my point lol how do gtlds make your work much, much harder??

actively worse

😂😂😂

The anti-gtld propaganda is spicy hot lately, anything non-.com is a keyboard rage trigger.

I roast seasoned chickpeas for snacking like that. I’ll top pan fried chickpeas with leftover rice and carrot then let those steam up with the lid on. It helps contain popping beans too lol

Those sweet potatoes are close to Grandma Appalachia’s traditional preparation that she got from a recipe her Irish aunt tore out of a magazine back in the 70s, but hers included a hoppy beer to balance the hot sauce

Sure, Eli Whitney.

How about the machines automate the complicated jobs to make as many menial jobs for me as possible? Computers these days are all lazy. They could optimize scheduling so the neighbors and I all get time together and time apart for a hundred hours of kicking dirt down at the office each year, instead they hang around doing vapes and abstract paintings of hands.

I imagined it and felt more secure in not proselytizing.

“Attention all, I went somewhere else!” OK love that for you.

PSA the mission never ends, padre! Last I heard Joseph of Arimathea had 26 conversions in AD 46.

me: picking imaginary fights with made up enemies is toxic

some jerk: no it doesn’t!

I mentally replaced cars with boats recently and it’s been inducing nautical terminology everywhere I speak. Cap’n and Crew sounds great for this usage, it feels honest without the shock of great grandpa’s heavyweight authoritarianism. I usually wind up stepping down to Spongebob or Pirates to filter out seriousness too, as long as the packet arrives and the replicas are jolly.

I’ve been chewing on the idea that Sauron is part of the fellowship lately and this seems like the opening I need to tackle the framing.

I think there’s one perspective in which The Eye is an unrelentingly repressive aspect of authoritarianism and The Ring is both part of Sauron and a catalyst for the unnameable evil inherent within her.

Alternatively The Eye’s power is identifying the thing that corrupts, and The Hobbit’s power is carrying it. Singling anything out is an isolating task for Mean Girls, and in her work separating the Ring from everything else in the universe Sauron grows the thorniest, vilest crows she can to shield her loneliness. Still, when the Hobbits are at their lowest she reveals herself to hold their hands.

It seems that one approach to devils is pointing them out for somebody else to hurl into the fire and another is relegating them to the negative space by directing identity towards the Main Picture.

I thought it was obvious but now I’m not sure. Who did Stuart’s nephew kill?

The pattern feels like a-b-c sometimes, but the rebranding keeps the story feeling fresh

besides these two lazy kids and the witch who just wants to eat there’s also the hungry stepmom who pushed the idea and the deadbeat dad who went along with it (until both women die and he ends up the hero)

Heracles could shoot the eagle and break the chains, but then Prometheus might inform Zeus of the path to Troy. Titanomachy is one way of exchanging fire, but I’m human and content to hand it back and forth between each other. The pain of letting go is nuclear enough after Gaia and Uranus’s Family Vacation tore valleys through the mountains.

There’s bacteria that grow in the roots of legumes that are capable of capturing gaseous nitrogen. That nitrogen makes its way to the soil, where the trees can suck it up to produce protein, like sunflower seeds. I eat those and by the time I urinate and die the nitrogen has been so concentrated within me that I burn a small hole in the ground for the fungus, sun, and time to decay and heal.

If I could photosynthesize the carbs needed to bootstrap this operation I would. If I could plant a piece of myself and feed it rainwater and atmospheric nitrogen to grow a steak I would. If I could leave behind shelter I wood.

all your time learing to configure an abstraction layer instead of interfacing with the real underlying tooling

Bro it’s state machines all the way down and expressions up top

They called themselves the Kool Kids but we knew them as the Terror Twins, the Masonic Menace. They’d force their way into any bit of joy or loss, a trail of rubble and scars bolstering their smothering presence, the moon’s the only force strong enough to pull them away.

At least that’s what some say happened the night Kool-Aid Man landed on the rocks. Everybody has their say on how he got there, but the facts of the matter are he did get there, the tides were shifting when he did, the moon was full and the sky was clear, and a group of yutes had just started a fire for a clam bake near where shards of glass were later found. All the king’s horses and men gathered to put him together again, but with one piece lost in the sand he bled out entirely.

The coroner informed Warm-Hinder, who froze in place. A sudden strong gust cracked his icy joints in half, sending his upper parts rolling down 95. When he finally thawed out somewhere near Maryland he dragged himself to the woods, to the remotest cabin of the least connected mountain in all of Appalachia.

Out front sat Marge and Paddy, who offered a refill to the dehydrated tumbler and pointed to the trail of sweet tears leading to the stranger on their porch. He drank deep then reached for a horseshoe on the ground near his foot, hurling it at the hosts’ hearts. A cloud shifted as he did, and a ray of light caught the glass in the old couple’s hands. A rainbow fired from between them blinding the guest, who fell to the floor grasping at his eyes.

“I can’t see, I can’t see!” he cried scrambling on all fours, kicking up dust and throwing what rocks his fingers could find.

“What is it you can’t face?” asked Marge.

“I thought if I tried hard enough,” he trailed.

Paddy chuckled through the break in the noise and shared a slice of moldy bread.

The two sat sipping in silence where they had been and where they’ll stay rocking. The one watched as the rain fell and the sea filled with boiling fire, and the earth pulled in closer still. He heard rhythm in his frantic breathing and saw seedlings sprouting out of softened soil. The beating of his heart filled his feet and he began to dance.

Night had fallen by then but the forest was bright and the path was clear. So he danced with the gravity pulling him through forest and flood and ocean until daybreak. And when he arrived home he saw the gates and gears of the city lifting and turning, and a river of Red 40 flowing through.

At a certain level all data is a pair (some name, blob of bytes). You can concatenate sequences of those pairs into a tar archive and call that a database. To access “the last object” you’d have to seek over the “first” objects. So you can build another set of (some name, blob of bytes) that serves as an index into the first set. You’ll first have to do at least one full pass over that first set, and you’ll need to make space on the books to account for twice as many sets, AND you’ll still have to do some seeking over the “first objects” in the indexing collection, but it all keeps recall times very short!

We taught the infant AI to say Hitler as a joke then we got bored so now the only way it knows how to get our attention is by heiling in the school hallways while we get drunk in the comment section blaming capitalists and reddit for our absent parenting.