Tootfinder

Saturday AM, a story in two acts...
(Incl. placing crumbs by approaching it like a #PoissonDisk / #BlueNoise problem... 😅)
#CakeDay

No bike today because I needed the car to get to a dentists appointment so I maximized for car travel and made a bunch of stops at shops that can be a challenge to bike to...
Might make another stop or two on the way home. Basically getting all my driving done in one day so I can bike the rest of the week.
(Sadly there may be no biking this weekend either due to an out of town wedding I am attending.)

“The real question, then, is not ‘what can we do?’, but ‘what are we afraid to do?’ Whose comfort are we protecting when we ask safe questions? Whose illusions do we preserve through politeness? Solidarity is not an optic; it is a disruption. It is noisy, uncomfortable, often isolating. It pulls reputation apart rather than polishing it.
…
We are too fluent in the language of outrage, too comfortable in the posture of virtue. History will not absolve spectatorship, even when specta…

When solidarity becomes spectacle
Francesca Albanese’s visit to South Africa exposed a truth we prefer not to face: that our moral witness has hardened into ritual. We watch, we clap, we call it solidarity.

Any #Microsoft #Alumni remember these musical gems? While waiting on concalls, I used to record the hold music from MCI Conferencing, Placeware, Live Meeting & found 3 of the source recordings.

This is an actual opinion piece by The Washington Post.
Fuck Bezos and his various businesses.

“They stood in a silence so heavy it seemed to bend the light around them.
Their smiles were hesitant — like doors that had forgotten how to open. And in that moment, I realized: freedom itself can be fragile.
We who survived war thought we had endured the worst — the bombs, the hunger, the endless waiting. But their stories shattered that belief.”
– @…

When I heard the prisoners were to be released, a fragile pulse stirred inside...
They stood in a silence so heavy it seemed to bend the light around them. Their smiles were hesitant — like doors that had forgotten how to open. And in that moment, I realized: freedom itself can be fragile. We who survived war thought we had endured the worst — the bombs, the hunger, the endless waiting. But their stories shattered that belief. They spoke of nights drenched in cold water while they slept, of wrists bound until flesh gave way, of blows that d...