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The United States of America recently turned 250 years old. What a spectacle! The fireworks were amazing, and millions of proud people celebrated across the nation - even around the world. France lit up the Eiffel Tower; Japan had fireworks. French fighter jets flew above New York City with trails of red, white, and blue […]

A running look — in reverse chronological order — at the bigger tech companies that have announced significant layoffs this year with AI as a stated factor.

I built a small Redis clone in C: a RESP parser, a command table, an append-only file for persistence. Recently I started building the same thing again in Rust, and rebuilding a project I had already finished has taught me more Rust than any from-scratch tutorial. The reason is simple. The second time, the design is already solved. I know what the AOF has to guarantee, what the command table dispatches, what the parser must reject. So none of my attention goes to what to build. All of it goes to how Rust wants it built. That turns the domain into a constant and the language into the only variable. Every difference I hit is pure signal about Rust, not noise about key-value stores. The first difference shows up before any logic runs. In C, I built the substrate first: my own dynamic strings, my own hashmap, my own linked list. Hundreds of lines before a single command worked. In Rust, Vec , String , and HashMap are just there, so that whole layer disappears and I start at the actual command logic. A standard library quietly decides where your project even begins. The sharper difference is in dispatch. In C it is a switch with argument counts I check by hand: if ( argc != 3 ) return err ( "wrong arg count" ); switch ( cmd ) { case CMD_SET : return do_set ( argv [ 1 ], argv [ 2 ]); case CMD_GET : return do_get ( argv [ 1 ]); /* forget a case and it is a runtime bug */ } In Rust the same dispatch is an enum and a match, and the compiler will not build until every case is handled: match cmd { Command :: Set { key , val } => self .set ( key , val ), Command :: Get { key } => self .get ( key ), } Same dispatch. One version cannot ship the missing-case bug I actually shipped in C. If you already know a project cold, rebuild it in the language you are learning. You stop thinking about the problem and start feeling the language.

Everything old is new again.

The feedback layer for anything you build with AI. Discussion | Link

In JavaScript and TypeScript, object references are often treated as disposable. An object is created, assigned to a variable, passed around, replaced, copied, spread, cloned, and eventually discarded. That is normal language behavior, but in larger mutable systems it creates a specific class of bugs: stale aliases. A stale alias appears when one part of the program still holds a reference to an old object while another part has already replaced that object with a new one. The old reference is still valid JavaScript, but it no longer points to current data. Hard Object References is a discipline for avoiding that class of bugs. The idea is simple: Object and array references should be stable. Do not replace them as a normal update mechanism. Copy data into existing objects instead. This rule is useful for application state, but it is not limited to global stores. It applies to ordinary variables, local component state, nested fields, arrays, drafts, snapshots, runtime models, and temporary objects. The broader principle is: Replace primitive values. Do not replace object and array references. The First Rule: const for Objects and Arrays The first level is variable bindings. If a variable holds an object or array, it should normally be declared with const : const user = { /* ... */ }; const items = [ /* ... */ ]; not: let user = { /* ... */ }; let items = [ /* ... */ ]; The point is not that the object becomes immutable. It does not. This is still possible: user . name = ' Alex ' ; items . push ( nextItem ); The point is that the variable should not be rebound to a different object: user = nextUser ; items = nextItems ; That replacement changes which object the variable points to. Any other code that still holds the old reference now points to obsolete data. So the first rule is: Use const for object and array references. Mutate or copy data into the object. Do not rebind the reference. This rule also applies to temporary objects. A temporary object may be short-live

Four years of optimizing React and Next.js projects taught me one thing: unoptimized images are everywhere, and nobody wants to fix them. Every project has the same pattern. Heavy PNG and JPG files are sitting inside /public , there is no consistent image pipeline, and some of those files have no business being that large in a production codebase. This is especially common in small and mid-sized projects. There is no CDN transformation layer or dedicated asset pipeline. Images get added while the product is moving quickly, and the cleanup becomes a task for “later.” Later, of course, never comes. Then, at 1am, while refactoring an extremely vibe-coded Next.js project, I found myself doing the cleanup manually again. Find an image. Upload it to an online compressor. Hit the free limit. Open another tool. Convert a few more. Download everything. Replace the original files. Hunt through the codebase for every import and src path. Hope I did not miss one. And I finally thought: I am a developer. Why am I doing this by hand? So I built pixcrush . npx pixcrush . One command to convert the images, compress them, and update their matching code references automatically. “But doesn’t Next.js already optimize images?” Yes, and if your application uses next/image consistently, you should absolutely take advantage of it. The Next.js <Image> component can resize images for different devices, lazy-load them, and serve modern formats such as WebP. Files inside /public can be referenced from the root URL, while statically imported images also give Next.js access to their intrinsic dimensions. The official Next.js image documentation explains these runtime optimizations in detail. But that solves a different layer of the problem. I wanted to clean up the source assets themselves: Replace heavy PNG and JPG files with smaller WebP files when conversion is worthwhile. Update existing imports and string-based image paths across the repository. Identify images that are no longer reference

When you build something people REALLY want, you can pull of ridiculous stunts like Claude's pricing: - Vague limits - Weekly/monthly usage stats ?? - 50% of your usage on Fable 5 - $200/mo subscription that doesn't include Fable 5 - But you can use it with "usage credits" I'm frustrated but am also hooked. Kinda of a lesson in startups in a way.

I built SeamStress. It's a code reviewer with one rule: it only reports what it can prove against your actual code, quoting the exact lines. If it can't prove it, the finding gets demoted to a judgment call. Not presented as fact. That rule is enforced by one small piece of code: the verification gate. It decides whether a finding may be shown as verified_real. Every other part of the tool can be wrong and the damage is bounded. If the gate is wrong, the tool shows you a confident claim it never earned, with a proof label on it, and it renders as success. Silently. So before making the repo public, I ran the tool on the gate. Same pipeline it runs on anyone's code: three blind critics, then synthesis, then per finding verification. Eight model calls. It found two critical defects in its own foundation. Defect one: verified with no evidence behind it The status authority looked like this: const result = verifications . find (( v ) => v . findingId === finding . id ); return result ? result . status : " unverified " ; It trusted the verdict on a finding ID match. It never looked at the evidence. And the schema allowed an empty evidence array and an empty quoted code string. So a result shaped like {status: "verified_real", evidence: []} validated cleanly and certified a finding as proven. The report renderer would put that finding in the headline, under copy promising the exact lines quoted as proof, with nothing attached. The evidence block suppressed the display of the missing proof. It did not remove the finding from the verified set. The fix lives at the authority, not just the schema: if ( ! result ) return " unverified " ; const hasRealEvidence = result . evidence . some (( e ) => e . quotedCode . trim (). length > 0 ); return hasRealEvidence ? result . status : " unverified " ; A verdict is honored only when at least one non empty quote backs it. Checking at the authority also catches the whitespace quote variant that a naive schema minimum would miss. Fixed in

Every beginner developer hits the same issue at some point. You learn a few basics, finish a tutorial, and then you have no idea what to build next. That gap can feel bigger than learning the code itself, because now the question is not “How do I write this?” but “What should I build at all?” This article is for that moment. I want to make it simple, practical, and useful, because project ideas do not need to be too advanced to be valuable. A good project is one that teaches you something, keeps you going, and gives you enough confidence to build the next one. Why project ideas are important There’s a common thing that I have noticed in most of the beginners, that is, watching too many tutorials. Tutorials are helpful, but actual learning starts when you try to build something on your own. That is when you start facing real decisions, small bugs, unclear logic, and the feeling of connecting different parts into one working product. That is one of the reasons why project ideas matter so much. The right idea gives you direction, but it also gives you energy. When the project feels too huge, you get stuck. When it feels too small or boring, you stop caring. The sweet spot is a project that feels possible and still a little exciting. This matters even more today. Tools like ChatGPT or Copilot can help you write code faster, but that doesn't solve the real problem beginners have. Writing the code was never the hard part for long but knowing what to build is. Start with problems you already know The easiest project ideas often come from your own life. Think about small things you do every day that feel annoying, repetitive, or messy. A simple to-do list, habit tracker, note saver, expense log, study planner, or meal planner can all become strong beginner projects if you build them well. This works because the problem is already familiar to you. You do not have to invent a fake use case or force a complicated feature list. You already know what the app should do, what feel

Documentation is often the first product a developer experiences. Before they see your architecture, your engineering culture, or your code quality, they interact with your documentation. If that experience is confusing, incomplete, or frustrating, many developers won't make it to their first successful API request. Over the past few weeks, I've been reviewing documentation from AI startups to understand what makes onboarding smooth—and where teams unintentionally create friction. While every company is different, the same patterns kept appearing. 1. Quickstarts assume too much Many Quickstarts jump straight into code without explaining prerequisites. Developers are expected to know: Where to get an API key Which SDK to install Required environment variables Authentication steps A Quickstart should help someone go from zero to a successful request with as little guesswork as possible. 2. Error messages aren't documented Developers don't judge documentation by how it works when everything goes right. They judge it by how quickly it helps them recover when something goes wrong. Instead of only listing error codes, explain: Why the error happens Common causes How to fix it What to try next Good troubleshooting documentation builds confidence. 3. Examples are incomplete Too many examples leave out important details. Developers shouldn't have to infer: Authentication headers Environment variables Request payloads Expected responses Examples should be copy, paste, run, and understand. 4. There's no clear learning path Documentation often feels like a collection of pages instead of a guided journey. A better structure might look like this: Quickstart Core Concepts Tutorials API Reference Advanced Guides Troubleshooting When developers always know what to read next, they make progress faster. 5. Documentation isn't written for AI-assisted development Today, developers increasingly rely on AI coding assistants. That means documentation should also be easy for AI tools to int

Bookship.org seemed to delay this anticipated partnership again, but tells TechCrunch that it has settled business terms and is working on integration.

Let's be honest, you can't scroll through your feed, listen to a podcast, or even make coffee without someone, somewhere, mentioning the impending AI apocalypse. It is usually framed as: "AI is coming for your job, your keyboard, and your favorite coffee mug." But isn't that incredibly ironic? We are the software developers. We are literally the architects building the AI, writing the code, and then using that AI to build even more tools. Are we truly creating our own replacements, or are we just very efficiently automating the boring parts of our day? It feels a bit like a baker building a robot to knead the dough, only to worry the robot will eventually want to run the whole bakery. I've always wanted to weigh in on this discussion and share my perspective, but I was always hesitant because I am not an "AI expert" and didn't want to get ratioed by researchers. However, I read something truly interesting recently that gave me a new perspective, and I had to share it. The Computer Era Paradigm We have all heard the stories of how we moved from papers to digital, and how computers were coming into the picture and they will take the job of the workers who were writing them everything in the registers. The wave that we are experiencing right now is kind of similar to that wave. At that time, people who were doing everything on the papers would have felt terrified and didn't wanna lose to a computer. But as the computers were new, they were quite fast and were efficient in doing the jobs and storing each and everything in the memory to be kept for later use. This tension is perfectly depicted in a movie I watched (Hidden Figures, if you're looking for it). Initially, teams of human "computers" did complex space research calculations and re-evaluated all the answers so the spacecraft wouldn't deviate from its path. Then, electronic computers were introduced, creating the same panic that we experience these days: "All these people doing calculations will be let off!" But

I wanted to give AmblerTS , my Deno/TypeScript state-machine framework, the ability to record non-obvious learnings that would otherwise require significant context to reconstruct across sessions. I turned to the classic note-taking methodology developed by the German sociologist Niklas Luhmann : the Zettelkasten (German for slip box). The methodology is elegantly simple: take atomic notes, link them explicitly to related ones, and organise them so they can be retrieved precisely when they become relevant again. The Concept The idea translates naturally to agentic coding: Describe the protocol in an AGENTS.md file, a convention that coding agents like Gemini and Claude read as project-level instructions. Implement a lightweight abstraction using AmblerTS itself, a unified zettel walk that supports the full set of operations: search , create , get , update , link and delete . The agent searches for relevant notes before working on a prompt, then feeds any new learnings back into the slip box when done. The result is a local SQLite database that accumulates project-specific metadata (design decisions, gotchas, constraints) accessible to any coding agent that works on the repository. Search blends FTS5 keyword matching with optional semantic re-ranking via embeddings (degrading gracefully to keyword-only when no local embeddings host is available). Current Implementation The implementation is intentionally minimal, enough to validate the idea. A single deno task zettel <subcommand> command exposes all six operations: deno task zettel search "<query>" echo '{"title":"...","body":"...","tags":["..."]}' | deno task zettel create deno task zettel get < id > echo '{"body":"..."}' | deno task zettel update < id > deno task zettel delete < id > deno task zettel link <fromId> <toId> "<relation>" What's Next A few variants I have in mind: • User-level note store: a single knowledge base spanning all coding agent activity across projects, backed by a user-level AGENTS.md and a s

CCA-Audit — open source (MIT) AI code review has a trust problem, and it's not that it misses bugs. It's that it invents them. If you've run an LLM over a diff, you've seen it: a "possible null dereference" on a value that's guarded three lines up. A "SQL injection" your ORM already parameterizes. A "race condition" that can't happen. And then — worse — it confidently rewrites working code to "fix" the thing that was never broken. The real bug, meanwhile, sits quietly in the noise. The problem isn't intelligence. It's that most AI reviewers report their first impression as a verdict. A model reads a diff, pattern-matches "this looks like X," and emits a finding — without ever going back to check whether X is actually reachable in this code. Humans do a second pass ("wait, is price validated upstream?"). Most AI-review pipelines skip it. Here are two gates that add that second pass — and a stress test showing what they catch. Gate 1: verify findings before you fix (anti-hallucination) The idea is simple: no finding is allowed into the fix plan until a separate step re-checks it against the real code. After the auditors produce findings, a verification pass takes each one and asks three questions: Does the issue actually exist at the cited line? Is it in the code that changed, or a pre-existing thing outside the diff? Is the stated impact real, or already mitigated elsewhere — a guard upstream, a value validated before this point, a config defined in another module? The key design choice: bias the verifier toward refuting. A wrongly-confirmed finding causes a needless (sometimes harmful) fix; a wrongly-dropped one is cheap to recover. So when the evidence isn't clear, drop it or escalate to a human — don't fix on a hunch. This one step kills the majority of hallucinated findings, because hallucinations rarely survive contact with "show me the exact line, and prove the impact can occur." Gate 2: prove the fix maps to the finding (anti-regression + provenance) Catching

We are two friends building Pageonaut , a collection of 126 free browser tools (converters, calculators, PDF and image utilities, dev helpers). Early on we committed to one constraint: everything runs client-side . No file uploads, no accounts, no server-side processing. That one decision shaped the whole architecture, and it broke things in ways I did not expect. Here are the lessons, including the one where our server filled up with 419 GB of cache and took the site down twice. Why client-side only Every time I needed a quick converter, the top search results wanted me to upload my file to their server, create an account, or pay to remove a watermark. For work that a browser can trivially do locally. So the rule became: drop a file into one of our converters and it never leaves your device. You can watch the network tab while using it. This is great for privacy and trust, and it has a nice side effect: our server does almost nothing per user, so hosting stays cheap even if a tool gets popular. The cost: some tools are genuinely harder to build. PDF manipulation in the browser (we use client-side libraries instead of a server queue), image processing on the main thread without freezing the UI, and no "just call an API" escape hatch. When a tool truly needs the network (say, fetching a URL you give it), the page says so explicitly. Lesson 1: Unbounded URL params + ISR = a full disk This is the expensive one. We built shareable challenge pages: beat my score, try this color, that kind of thing. The URLs look like /tools/<slug>/challenge/<value> , where <value> is user-generated. With Next.js ISR, every unique URL that renders gets persisted to the filesystem cache. You can see where this is going. The value space is infinite. Bots found the pattern and started enumerating it. .next/server/app grew to 419 GB . The disk filled up, the site went down, and because we did not understand the root cause immediately, it happened a second time a few days later. The fix was tw

This story originally appeared in The Algorithm, our weekly newsletter on AI. To get stories like this in your inbox first, sign up here. OpenAI CEO Sam Altman’s oft-discussed promise that Americans will share in the wealth AI creates was in the news again last week. On Thursday, the Financial Times reported that Altman is in…

A place to make beautiful emails. Discussion | Link