I think generally the opposite is true. A place with bad coffee but great decor can charge the same as a place with good coffee but crappy everything else. And so to maximize profitability, it does just that, meaning that at any price level, the place with the worst non-coffee has the best coffee. If you judge them by their posters, then what you’re paying for is the posters.
I think people complaining about AI art at businesses are making an aesthetic argument and then laundering it into ones with more heft. I mostly agree with the aesthetic argument, but it’s only that, not some wider indictment.
I actually wanted it to play them as it went, so that it would be <unsorted><sorted> each time through, with the former shrinking and the latter growing.
I use it regularly when driving an unfamiliar car. I also don’t think it’s ambiguous: it’s a drawing of a gas pump and an arrow telling you where it should be from here, which is a convention from signage the world over. “Paris ->” has never meant “you are this way relative to Paris.”
The design I used to find confusing was the controls for periodic windshield wipers: does the width the triangle indicator represent frequency or period? I eventually just managed to memorize that it means frequency because you get more wiping as you turn it “up”. I don’t think anyone else ever found this ambiguous; we all have our little intuition gaps, I guess.
In 2004 or so, 1.00 was an intro to Java course. I took it very cynically to pad out my units; I was a course 6 senior at the time. I got side-eyed by TAs a lot.
Luxon author here. Obviously I (and many others!) put a lot into Luxon, but only because it seemed so useful. Now that it's hopefully becoming obsolete, I get to look at it fondly as a nice bridge to the future, and I appreciate all the love it's gotten. All things end.
Putting aside all the sleazy parts for a moment, there is some good advice on actually writing a cold outreach email. But this part seems mistaken, or at least would be if I were your outreach target:
> My best rule for writing good subject lines is that they feel like they could be the subject lines of an internal email—this helps them feel natural in the inbox. For example, “Quick question”, or “Idea for better outbound” are two casual, natural-feeling subject lines.
I immediately delete any email with a subject line like “quick question”. It does not give me any reason to think I will get any value from it, and what are the chances I will care about answering whatever the question turns out to be? I’m not sitting around waiting to answer questions from strangers, so an email subject line has to tell me what I’m being offered for me to invest that time. In fact “quick question” is already asking me for something (“answer my question”) which just seems unreasonable from an unsolicited email.
I don’t get it. The document setting out this fact is the license, which also tells them they’re allowed to use it at all. The MIT license is short and simple and very explicit about lack warranty.
If we were to say “no one reads the license; it’s just boilerplate!” and add it elsewhere — say the bottom of the readme or in another file like disclaimer.md — it would quickly just become other, different boilerplate that no one reads.
You can’t solve the problem of understanding norms by writing copy. I’m resigned to everyone learning the hard way.
Seems like it enables you do things like use git repos as per-customer or per-some-business-object storage, which you otherwise wouldn't even consider. Like imagine you were setting up a blogging site where each blog was backed by a repo
I notice this one a lot. My sense of time is attached to how much I’ve changed, and my rate of change—-at least for music consumption—-attenuates as I age, dilating time. A couple years can seem like an eon when you’re 14 and each new album transforms you. Now a decade of music feels static and irrelevant and I barely notice it go by.
Related: it sure seemed like the mid-90s were special for rock music; I was 13 when Dookie came out and I felt (still feel) like I was in a sort of alternative renaissance, just crammed with amazing new music. But I’m sure every generation feels that way about whatever happened to be popular when they were teenagers.
It’s loud enough you hear earlier repetitions as a vague buzz in the distance, then crescendoing to a blare on your block, then receding with agonizing slowness like some hellish echo. And the whole time you thinking, awake now and very annoyed, “I don’t even own a car.”
I don't see why the security question answer has to be stored in the clear. If you have to give it over the phone, the agent can type it into a form field that hashes it and compares, just like a password on the site.
Instead of patronizingly giving women a false hero, instead introduce them to a real one: Klara Von Neumann (yes, that Von Neumann) who was the first coder for what we might recognize as a digital computer in the modern sense. She had to pioneer a lot of stuff!
To have all these thoughts, I think you'd have to have never really used an LLM to help you code, or to be almost comically closed-minded when you do. What they feel like when you actually use them is a combination of a better SO and a very prescient auto-completer. It does not at all feel like delegating programming work to a robot. No loss of artistry comes into play, and it's damn useful.
In an ideal world, our abstractions would be so perfect that there would be no mundane boiler-platey parts of a program; you'd use the abstractions to construct software from a high level and leave details be. But our abstractions are very far from perfect: there's all kinds of boring code you just have to write because, well, your program has to work. And generally that code is, if you look, most of your code. This because making good abstractions is really hard and constructing fresh ones is often more work than just typing out the different cases. If you think this is mistaken, I'd gently suggest you take a fresh look at your own code.
Anyway, that's where LLMs come in. They help write the boring code. They're pretty good at it in some cases, and very bad at it in others. When they're good at it, it's because what the code should do is sort of overspecified; it's clear from context what, say, this function has to do to be correct, and the LLM is able to see and understand that context, and thus generate the right code to implement it. This code is boring because it is in some vague sense unnecessary; if it couldn't be otherwise, why do you have to write it at all? Well you do, and the LLM has taken care of it for you.
You can call this work the LLM is displacing "art", but I wouldn't. It's more the detritus of art performed in a specific way, the manual process required to physically make the art given the tools available.
You could object that the LLMs will get better in the sense that not only that they will make fewer mistakes, but they will be able to take on increased scope, pushing closer to what I'd consider the "real" decisions of a program. If this happens -- and I hope it does -- then we should reevaluate our lofty opinions of ourselves as artists, or at least artists whose artistry is genuinely valuable.