#data flow modeling

[findyiot]

Human Factors: Decision making in the real world

It’s not enough for one person to know what happened yesterday—teams need to spot long-term trends to predict anomalies. Data is streaming, so static analysis doesn’t cut it. Unparsed data dumps don’t help. Being able to visualize data through dashboards or graphs helps to make sense of patterns. It is not about becoming data scientists. You do not need a degree in mechanics to drive a car. Your driving instructor tells you in simple terms how an engine works, where the oil goes, how to turn the steering wheel and which pedal to press.

Data should not be siloed. Maintenance, logistics, management, production teams — everyone needs to know some basics to make cohesive decisions. Cross-functional training is a key element to a deployment. There is a natural reluctance to embrace new things. Knowledge empowers and concurrently dispels fear of change. In hierarchical organizations there can be an aversion to the wider distribution of real-time information outside the management cadre. Inertia comes bottom up or top down, usually it is both at the same time.

[sillimancer]

running into this recurring issue where I'll read a job description and just. not understand what the company does or what I would be doing for them. and I can't decide if I'm just stupid or if stuff like "we power our employees' potential and strive to create opportunity and security for every member of the team" is genuine word salad.

and I think maybe if you can't explain your company or job in 1-2 sentences to someone's grandpa I think maybe your company or job shouldn't exist.

[bitnest]

In the current rapidly evolving digital currency market, decentralized finance (DeFi) platforms are redefining the shape of financial services with their unique advantages. Bit Loop, as a leading decentralized lending platform, not only provides a safe and transparent lending environment, but also opens up new passive income channels for users through its innovative sharing reward system.

Personal links and permanent ties: Create a stable revenue stream One of the core parts of Bit Loop is its recommendation system, which allows any user to generate a unique sharing link when they join the platform. This link is not only a “key” for users to join the Bit Loop, but also a tool for them to establish an offline network. It is worth noting that offline partners who join through this link are permanently tied to the recommender, ensuring that the sharer can continue to receive rewards from the offline partner’s activities.

Unalterable referral relationships: Ensure fairness and transparency A significant advantage of blockchain technology is the immutability of its data. In Bit Loop, this means that once a referral link and live partnership is established, the relationship is fixed and cannot be changed. This design not only protects the interests of recommenders, but also brings a stable user base and activity to the platform, while ensuring the fairness and transparency of transactions.

Automatically distribute rewards: Simplify the revenue process Another highlight of the Bit Loop platform is the ability for smart contracts to automatically distribute rewards. When the partner completes the circulation cycle, such as investment returns or loan payments, the smart contract automatically calculates and sends the corresponding percentage of rewards directly to the recommender’s wallet. This automatic reward distribution mechanism not only simplifies the process of receiving benefits, but also greatly improves the efficiency of capital circulation.

Privacy protection and security: A security barrier for funds All transactions and money flows are carried out on the blockchain, guaranteeing transparency and traceability of every operation. In addition, the use of smart contracts significantly reduces the risk of fraud and misoperation, providing a solid security barrier for user funds. Users can confidently invest and promote boldly, and enjoy the various conveniences brought by decentralized finance.

conclusion As decentralized finance continues to evolve, Bit Loop offers a new economic model through its unique recommendation system that enables users to enjoy highly secure and transparent financial services while also earning passive income by building and maintaining a personal network. Whether for investors seeking stable passive income or innovators looking to explore new financial possibilities through blockchain technology, Bit Loop provides a platform not to be missed.

[anwarsayyed]

Do you know Financial Analysis Essential Tools? Let's Decode

Introduction Financial analysis serves as a compass for businesses, guiding them through the complex landscape of economic decision-making. By scrutinizing a company’s financial data, financial analysis unveils critical insights about its fiscal health, paving the way for informed recommendations to enhance that health in the future. This article delves into the world of financial analysis,…

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, basically no plot just fluff, minor autistic meltdown, they say the words!!!!!

Notes — This is just a little filler chapter to close out the 2020 season. Lots of fluff with some time skips too. The 2021 season will commence in the next chapter!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2020

The three months after Spa passed in a blur of hard work.

Amelia didn’t think she’d ever get used to the rhythm of a Formula One season; the relentless forward momentum of it all. There were no breaks, not really. Just quiet moments between sessions, late nights in hotel rooms with Lando wrapped around her, and long-haul flights where she could finally catch her breath and run strategy models in her head for fun instead of for work.

Max’s car was improving week after week. The upgrades came thick and fast now that Amelia had full focus on him, refinements to aero flow, marginal gains in brake cooling, a few drastic shifts to weight distribution that she'd pressured the Red Bull engineering team to follow through with despite their hesitation.

Adrian had taken to calling her kid when she got too excited about a breakthrough, but it was always muttered with fondness. 

And Max — Max was still Max.

He grumbled when she got picky with her data visualisation, called her irritant klein zusje when she insisted he sit through every single briefing, but followed her instruction anyway. Trusted her, even when she made calls that felt too risky. Especially then. He didn’t say thank you often, but when he did, it was quiet and sincere. She liked that about him.

And Lando.

She met his family in the weeks after Monza. He brought her to Glastonbury in the middle of a quiet break between races, beaming like he couldn’t wait another second to show her off. His mum was warm and lovely, welcoming Amelia with a hug and homemade cake. His siblings were all so unique, each of them brilliant in their own way, and eager to share their niche passions with her — from horse riding to finance to a surprising obsession with niche European cheeses. She adored them immediately.

It was easy to see where Lando got his unapologetic passion for racing from.

His dad, Adam, took longer to come around. He’d been blindsided by the announcement of their relationship, having found out with the rest of the world during the race coverage. Lando hadn’t told him — hadn’t wanted to risk the disapproval again. And Adam, used to being involved in every step of his son’s life, hadn’t taken kindly to being shut out.

But he came around. Slowly. Quietly. One afternoon in the garden, while Lando was inside, Adam turned to her and said, “I didn’t get it. At first. I was worried about what being with you would mean for his career. But he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. So I owe you an apology.”

Amelia, startled, could only nod.

She didn’t say it aloud — not yet, wasn’t ready to admit it even just to herself — but she was already more than halfway in love with Lando Norris. 

— 

Lando DNF’d in Eifel. 

“They said it was a power unit failure,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I could feel it going. Every lap, it got worse.”

Amelia nodded, watching him closely. “You did everything right. Everything Will told you to do.”

“That’s the worst part,” he said, eyes lifting to meet hers, tired and frustrated and still raw. “I didn’t mess up. I didn’t make a mistake. I just… there was nothing I could do.”

Amelia reached into her pocket, pulled out the soft, flexible tangle of her stim toy — one of the ones Lando had started calling squiggly guys — and handed it to him.

He took it without question, curling it absently around his fingers. “Thanks, baby.”

She leaned in a little closer now, shoulder brushing his. “You’re allowed to be upset,” she told him. “They have given you a car that is able to score points, but is dramatically unreliable. I would be upset too.” 

He glanced sideways at her, a small, slightly twisted smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You always say the perfect thing.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You know I don’t. I’m not good at comfort. I just tell you the truth.” 

Lando twisted the stim in one hand, then reached for hers with the other, tangling their fingers together. “Still think I’m impressive, even when I don’t make it to the chequered flag?”

She blinked at him, pure honesty shining in her eyes. “You’re my favourite driver on the grid.”

It was true. Max was a close second. Lewis next. 

She’d have to work on her rankings in 2021, when Fernando rejoined, but until then, she had it solidly figured out. 

Lando let out a soft laugh, eyes closing as he leaned his head against her shoulder. “God, I’d be a fucking mess without you, baby.”

Amelia smiled, heart thudding steadily behind her ribs. “I know.”

— 

In those three months, Quadrant grew.

It grew fast.

What had started as a fun, half-serious side project between Lando snowballed into something far bigger than anyone could have anticipated. It wasn’t just the occasional livestream anymore. It was a full-blown content collective. A brand. A business. Merch lines. Sponsorships. Contracts. Streaming schedules. Production meetings. More cameras, more followers, more of everything.

Lando was the founder of a company. Not just the face of a project, but the brain behind it too; the one calling the shots, making the pitches, signing off on designs. Sometimes he’d ask for Amelia’s opinion on things; colour-ways, logo placements, YouTube video titles. She’d answer, often unsurely, and he’d just beam at her like she’d solved world hunger, not told him to remove an unnecessary apostrophe from a word. 

It made her feel involved. Not responsible for any of it, but close to it; close to him.

That’s how she met Max Fewtrell, too. Not over a screen, like she might’ve assumed, but in person. A warm blur of a memory from a weekend after the Nürburgring. He’d walked up with a grin, greeted Lando like a brother, and then turned to her with an easy, “You must be Amelia, then.” His tone had been teasing, but not unkind. He didn’t make her feel weird for being quiet or for sticking close to Lando’s side at first. Just accepted it, like that was normal. And eventually, it felt like it was.

She appreciated that.

And she appreciated what Quadrant gave Lando; a space to be silly, expressive, fully himself.

He was clever, of course. Wickedly sharp when he wanted to be. But more than that, he had this charm; this ease that pulled people in. They listened when he talked. They laughed when he made a joke. He had a way of making even the most chaotic moment feel like fun.

He was a natural leader. The members of Quadrant, new and bright-eyed, gravitated around him like he was a planet and they were caught in his orbit, a solar system he never asked for but carried with him anyway.

Sometimes, when he dragged her into the frame during a stream, pulled her gently onto his lap, or handed her his headset so she could talk to Max and the others while he went to grab snacks, she let herself wonder what life would be like if she was more like them. Loud. Unapologetic. Effortlessly funny and open and always ready with something to say.

But then Lando would come back, settle behind her like it was the most natural thing in the world, arms looping around her waist as if to anchor her. The chat would light up with heart emojis and sweet messages, calling them perfect. Yin and yang. A balance. A calm and a chaos that just made sense.

And everything felt right. 

— 

By November, Amelia knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Max’s 2021 chassis would be championship-worthy.

Not just competitive. Not just "in the mix."

Capable of winning it all.

It was in the data. It was in the simulations. It was in the late-night sessions with Adrian where they fine-tuned wind profiles until dawn crept over Milton Keynes. It was in the way Max trusted her notes, asked her opinion, built his feedback loops around her suggestions.

It was in the silence after a long run on the dyno, where every number lined up just the way she’d imagined they would.

Every week, a new idea implemented.

Every week, something smarter, sleeker, faster.

Red Bull had built fast cars before; but this one felt different. This one was deliberate.

Dangerous.

She hadn’t just contributed to it. She’d helped shape it. Every inch of it.

Her fingerprints were baked into the car’s DNA, and when Max drove it next year, it would be hers, too. In every corner he took flat, in every overtake, in every tenth shaved off in qualifying.

Mercedes would still be strong. She knew that.

But Max would take them toe to toe.

And Amelia would be right there at his side. Building, watching, calculating.

2021 wasn’t just Max’s shot at greatness.

It was hers too.

— 

The season ended on a high. Abu Dhabi, a stunning victory for Max. A sign of what was to come. 

It was the perfect way to close out her time at Red Bull. One final ‘You’re welcome,’ to rub in Christian Horner’s face. 

They celebrated in Monaco, Lando surrounded by his friends and fellow drivers, with Amelia right there beside him. It was relaxed. Unfussy. And for once, she let herself unwind. She hadn’t expected to have as much fun as she did. She thought she’d just be there as Lando’s plus one, a quiet observer in the midst of his chaos. But with him there, the night had felt easy. He made her laugh. He made her feel at home in a crowd she usually would have kept her distance from. She didn’t even mind the noise or the flashing lights of the club, because he was there, and with him, everything felt just safe.

Lando was everywhere; dancing, laughing, talking to everyone, but he always circled back to her, like she was the centre of his world. Every time he found her across the room, usually huddled beside Max, his face lit up with a smile that made her feel warm all over. He pulled her into the dance floor, whispered things in her ear that made her blush, and made sure she had everything she needed. Even when the music was loud and everyone was buzzing, Lando had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the room.

— 

They were curled together on a sun lounger, tucked under a thin blanket that Lando insisted they didn’t need, even though his nose was a bit pink from the breeze. The Mediterranean shimmered around them in lazy shades of blue, calm and glittering beneath the winter sun.  Amelia could hear the faint clatter of someone, probably Fernando’s kitchen staff, moving around below deck, fixing up some strange version of a Christmas dinner.

For now, though, it was just them. Just warmth, quiet, and the steady beat of Lando’s heart against her ear.

His arm tightened around her waist, his chin resting in the crook of her shoulder. “My rookie year’s over,” he said quietly, the words slipping out like they’d been sitting on his tongue for a while. “Feels weird.” 

Amelia shifted a little, not quite turning to look at him, but enough that he knew she was listening. “Mm.”

“No more Carlos, either,” he added, like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Zak said Ricciardo will be good, though. Great for the team.”

She hummed again. “I'm sure he will. Max still talks about him a lot.”

Lando huffed a small laugh, but there was an edge of unease to it. “That’s what people say. I just… I dunno.” Amelia waited. He always got there in the end, just took a bit of a winding road to get to the truth. “It’s stupid,” he admitted, eventually. “I know it is. But what if he’s better than me? What if everyone just… forgets me? He’s Daniel Ricciardo. People love him.”

“Lando,” she said, voice flat, like she couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the thought. “You can’t be forgotten. You’re too loud.”

He let out a weak laugh against her shoulder, his day-old facial hair tickling her skin. “You know what I mean, baby.”

“Yeah. I do,” she agreed. “I still think you’re being ridiculous.”

He was quiet for a second. “So you don’t think he’ll overshadow me?”

Amelia tilted her head up, just enough to meet his gaze. “No. He’s very charming, but he won’t overshadow you. McLaren is your team, Lando.”

That made him smile, just a little. “It might become Daniel’s team too.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. He seems fun. Annoyingly extroverted.”

Lando chuckled, the sound soft and fond. “That’s… yeah, that’s pretty accurate.” He was quiet again, but this time the silence didn’t feel heavy. Just thoughtful. His fingers found hers under the blanket, laced them together without saying anything.

“I’ll still be in the paddock. With Max. No more Red Bull team kit for me, so I’ll be able to wear my dresses and skirts and you’ll be able to pick me out of any crowd.” She mentioned. 

“Thank God,” Lando murmured, tugging her closer and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. 

She let herself rest against him, her head tucked into the curve of his chest, the rhythm of the sea matching the quiet beat of her thoughts.

Eventually, from below deck, Fernando’s voice called out, “Lunch is served!”

“Race to the stairs?” Lando whispered in her ear.

“I will push you over deck.” She said back. 

He grinned. “Dare you.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes, sat up, and tugged the blanket off both of them. “Come on, annoying,” she said. “I’m hungry. And I’ve never eaten Christmas dinner on a yacht before.” 

Lando grinned and followed her, still barefoot, still completely in awe that this was his life now.

They had decided, sometime in early December, to spend their first Christmas together with Fernando in the Med. No need to pick between their families, no guilt over disappointing one side or the other. It had been a relief, honestly, to have an excuse not to navigate the pressure that came with the holidays; especially given how busy they both had been in the lead-up to the festive season.

Fernando’s yacht was the perfect escape. It was quiet in a way that made it feel like the world had been paused just for them. The gentle hum of the waves lapping against the boat, the soft clinking of glasses, and the warmth of the inside filled with Christmas lights and laughter. It was everything Amelia never knew she needed.

It wasn’t a grand Christmas, with piles of presents and extravagant dinners. It wasn’t anything they’d been accustomed to before, but that was exactly what made it so special. It was simple. Calm. The four of them together, enjoying a slow morning with gingerbread cookies, chatting about nothing in particular while Lando made his usual attempts at mastering the piano that Fernando kept telling him to stop touching. And Melissa was her usual gentle self, all smiles and easy to understand jokes. 

They had a small, carefully set table for lunch. Lando kept teasing Fernando about being the most patient host ever, especially when he’d made them take turns decorating the tree, then reorganising it in a much more “tasteful” way after they'd gotten distracted by the snack table.

Later in the evening, after the meal and after a few glasses of wine, they all settled on the deck. The boat was docked now, and the evening sky was a wash of deep blues and purples, the first stars starting to twinkle. There was a low hum of festive music in the background, something quiet, something that felt fitting for a holiday that wasn’t about extravagance, but about peace. 

Amelia leaned against Lando, his arm draped around her shoulder as he fiddled with his phone, texting back every member of his family who’d reached out throughout the day. She was content, happier than she had been in a long while. She kissed him without thinking and flushed a pretty red when Fernando voiced his unhappiness with a grunt that made Melissa laugh. 

Lando grinned at her. She grinned right back. 

It was their first Christmas as them, but it wouldn’t be the last.

— 

It was the middle of January. The weather outside Lando’s flat in Woking was dreary and they’d spent the morning lounging around; Lando on his couch, flipping through old racing documentaries on Youtube, and Amelia at the kitchen counter, working on her iPad. She had a pile of notes scattered around her, data from the off-season simulations she was reviewing for Max’s upcoming season. The iPad was essential; everything she needed was on there, from the technical reports to the strategies she was working out in her head.

Lando glanced over occasionally, catching little glimpses of her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought. He loved watching her work. 

But then, without warning, the screen on her iPad flickered. Just once, and then the screen went black. 

Amelia’s fingers froze mid-scroll, and Lando didn’t even have to look up to see the tension building in her posture.

“Amelia?” he asked, his voice a little more alert now, noticing the change in her.

She didn’t answer at first, just sat there, staring at the frozen screen, then tapping at the screen with increasing urgency. “Come on. Come on,” she muttered under her breath.

Lando watched for a second longer before standing up and making his way over to her. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Her breath hitched, and Lando’s stomach dropped. He knew the signs of a panic attack when he saw them; he’d witnessed them before, knew how things could escalate quickly. She was already starting to breathe faster, her shoulders hunching up like she was bracing for impact.

“It’s… it’s not working!” Amelia’s voice cracked, and she slammed her hands down onto the table, the iPad still refusing to respond. “It’s all on there, Lando. It’s all on there.”

“Hey, hey,” Lando said, trying to keep his voice steady as he crouched beside her, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. “Baby, it’s okay, we can fix this.”

“No!” she snapped, and he flinched. Her eyes were wide now, glassy. “I—I can’t… everything’s on there! The reports, the numbers, everything I need to do and now—” She broke off, her voice shaking with frustration. 

And fuck; Lando was lost. He had no idea what to do. He could hear her breath quickening, her frustration bubbling over, and he felt that same tight knot in his chest. He hated seeing her like this. Hated it even more because he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Amelia, baby, hey,” he said, trying to get her attention. She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes locked onto the unresponsive iPad. He took a deep breath, then, in one sudden motion, he’d pulled her off of the stool and into his arms. “Amelia,” he said again, his voice a little more insistent, a little firmer now.

She tensed against him, her whole body stiff and rigid, but he held her tighter, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing with as much strength as he could before he was risking bruising her delicate skin. “We’ll figure it out, alright? We’ll fix it, I promise. You had everything saved to your iCloud, right? It’ll all still be there.”

Amelia let out a shaky breath, but she didn’t pull away. She let herself lean her entire weight on him, her head resting against his chest, still breathing in short, shallow bursts. Lando’s arms were wrapped around her so tight it almost felt like he was afraid she would slip away from him if he didn’t hold on.

“I’m not good at this,” Lando murmured, his voice tight with the weight of his uncertainty. He could feel her shaking in his arms, her body rigid with the aftershocks of the almost-meltdown. “I don’t know what to do when you’re upset. I’m, uh... kind of panicking a bit.”

She let out a little laugh, but it was thin, frail. Still, it was a laugh, and that meant something. The way her shoulders loosened, just a fraction, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t failing her after all.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest. “I just… I need my iPad.” There was a shaky inhale before she added, quieter, “I didn’t realise it would be this bad.”

Lando felt his heart break a little at the vulnerability in her voice. He had seen Amelia lose her composure before, but this—this was different. “I know,” he said gently, brushing a hand over her hair. “It’s important. Don’t be sorry for being upset.”

She nodded, her breath still coming in uneven waves as she took in a deep, steadying breath, pulling away slightly to look up at him. Her eyes were still wide, but the raw panic that had been there just moments ago seemed to be fading, replaced with something softer. Maybe exhaustion, maybe the quiet relief that came from feeling safe.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her words quiet but full of something deep. Gratitude, yes, but also something else. Lando could see it in the way she lingered on him, the way her gaze held his for a fraction longer than usual.

Lando’s chest tightened, a strange sense of relief flooding through him as he reached out, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. The air between them felt thick with things left unspoken, and for the first time, Lando found himself unsure. Was she ready for this?

He didn’t have long to wonder. She pulled back just enough to look up at him properly, a small, tentative laugh escaping her.

“I— I didn’t realise I was so attached to it until now.” She whispered. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Don’t apologise,” Lando said, shaking his head. “I’m glad I was here to take care of you, and, uh, managed to not make it worse.” 

“Lucky me,” she muttered, the words playful but laced with a softness. She settled back into his arms, fisting her hands in his t-shirt.

“We’ll go get you a new one, yeah?” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. His fingers ran through her hair, his touch gentle as he let her relax against him. “A better one. Newest one they have. I’ll even give you some Quadrant stickers to put on your new case. Maybe that’ll make it worth it.”

Amelia let out a small, quiet laugh, her body warm against his. The tension in her shoulders had melted away.

“I think I love you,” she whispered softly, her words barely above a breath.

Lando froze, a lump in his throat as her words settled between them. For a moment, he was speechless. His heart pounded, and he pulled her closer, if that was even possible.

“Holly shit,” he breathed out, his voice shaky with emotion. His hands cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he searched her eyes, looking for the truth in them. “Yeah, I love you too, baby. I’m so glad you said it.”

Amelia’s eyes softened, and she pressed her forehead to his, the warmth of their bodies and the shared closeness almost too much to bear. 

Lando let out a shaky laugh, a soft exhale of relief. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I didn’t want to mess this up. Pressure you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, the words as steady as the way her hands gently cradled his. “You haven’t.”

“I love you.” He said again. 

She leaned up, brushed their noses together and smiled. “I love you too.” 

NEXT CHAPTER

[catboybiologist]

Many billionaires in tech bros warn about the dangerous of AI. It's pretty obviously not because of any legitimate concern that AI will take over. But why do they keep saying stuff like this then? Why do we keep on having this still fear of some kind of singularity style event that leads to machine takeover?

The possibility of a self-sufficient AI taking over in our lifetimes is... Basically nothing, if I'm being honest. I'm not an expert by any means, I've used ai powered tools in my biology research, and I'm somewhat familiar with both the limits and possibility of what current models have to offer.

I'm starting to think that the reason why billionaires in particular try to prop this fear up is because it distracts from the actual danger of ai: the fact that billionaires and tech mega corporations have access to data, processing power, and proprietary algorithms to manipulate information on mass and control the flow of human behavior. To an extent, AI models are a black box. But the companies making them still have control over what inputs they receive for training and analysis, what kind of outputs they generate, and what they have access to. They're still code. Just some of the logic is built on statistics from large datasets instead of being manually coded.

The more billionaires make AI fear seem like a science fiction concept related to conciousness, the more they can absolve themselves in the eyes of public from this. The sheer scale of the large model statistics they're using, as well as the scope of surveillance that led to this point, are plain to see, and I think that the companies responsible are trying to play a big distraction game.

Hell, we can see this in the very use of the term artificial intelligence. Obviously, what we call artificial intelligence is nothing like science fiction style AI. Terms like large statistics, large models, and hell, even just machine learning are far less hyperbolic about what these models are actually doing.

I don't know if your average Middle class tech bro is actively perpetuating this same thing consciously, but I think the reason why it's such an attractive idea for them is because it subtly inflates their ego. By treating AI as a mystical act of the creation, as trending towards sapience or consciousness, if modern AI is just the infant form of something grand, they get to feel more important about their role in the course of society. Admitting the actual use and the actual power of current artificial intelligence means admitting to themselves that they have been a tool of mega corporations and billionaires, and that they are not actually a major player in human evolution. None of us are, but it's tech bro arrogance that insists they must be.

Do most tech bros think this way? Not really. Most are just complict neolibs that don't think too hard about the consequences of their actions. But for the subset that do actually think this way, this arrogance is pretty core to their thinking.

Obviously this isn't really something I can prove, this is just my suspicion from interacting with a fair number of techbros and people outside of CS alike.

[imaroyalmess]

An Apprentice’s (Unofficial) Guide to House Garments

based on @energ00n 's apprentice AU! (i'm obsessed with the concept of apprentices making up garment rules)

Wc: 2.1k

The datapad—an older model with discolored spots, showing where servos touched its framing—is the first thing Orion Pax’s optics land on as he walks into his new room. Orion snatches the datapad and tilts his helm as he reads the title over again. A peek at the contents shows that it begins with Hey newbie followed by three exclamation glyphs (an overabundance of any glyph, if you asked Orion).

Orion glances up and catches his own gaze in a mirror hanging in front of him. It’s strange, seeing two sheer fabric pieces delicately flowing over the hard metal of his arms—he’s hesitant to move his arm joints in fear of tearing it. That, as well as the jewelry occupying the space where his cog would be creates a vision that’ll take some getting used to.

He pries his optics away and down to the datapad again, dermas pinching as his processor whirrs. Prima explained to him how to care for his garment personally and what if, since the datapad looks old, the data was outdated? No, safer to follow Prima’s instructions and not confuse himself.

Orion places the datapad to the side and sets off to explore his new home.

~

Hello newbie!!!

Congratulations to you and your new position! There’s so much you need to know before you get started. If you wanna make friends, then you’ll wanna keep reading, little mech!

It’s most important that you know about your House garment. No, no, not how to wash oil stains out of it (though that’s good to know!), I’m talking about the meaning behind what you do with it.

Lucky for you, I’ve compiled a list for your easy reference! Learn them well, little mech!!

DO: Wear your House garment at all times! I’ve been told it’s respectful to the Primes. Also helpful so we can tell each other apart. Usually only an apprentice’s special somebot sees them without it! Even then, maybe not.

~

D-16 has always been a stickler for the rules. It’s structure—it’s security. He can’t afford to slip up and never lets that resolve waver. So how exactly did he let pretty blue optics lure him into a cargo hold that supposedly has a passage leading into the (highly forbidden) archives? D-16 isn’t sure.

“Orion Pax,” D-16 hisses, “you idiot, there’s no way—”

Orion hushes him with a digit to his dermas and a wink. D-16 lowers his voice. “Why did you drag me into this?”

Orion pries the cover away from the passage and lowers it to the ground, a soft clank echoing. “I need you to keep watch for me, ‘kay? It’s a tight squeeze for me so you definitely wouldn’t fit.”

D-16 frowns, a retort fully prepped in his processor, but then Orion unclips his garment and D-16’s vocalizer short circuits. For a horrifying and long nanoklik, only static emits from his voice box. “Wh–Pax, what are you doing?!”

“I told you.” Orion rolls his optics. “Barely enough room in there and I can’t risk ripping my clothes up. Prima would offline me.”

He slips the sheer fabric over his helm and presents it to D-16 with splayed servos. Primus, help him. It takes D-16 exactly 1.46 kliks to reboot and shake his helm vehemently. “No? I…you want me to—”

“It’s just my garment,” Orion states, playful but also firm in a way that says I don’t have time to argue. “I’m not asking you to do anything else. Keep it safe?”

Just my garment. If Orion’s antics don’t get him expelled, his cluelessness would. However, he’s correct about one thing, and it’s that their time is running out.

D-16 half-snatches half-cradles the garment, careful not to let the ends touch the ground. With a deep intake D-16 says, “Go. Before they spot us.”

Orion grins, scrambling his way through the crawl space, leaving D-16 to listen for passing mechs. The fabric feels smooth between his digits.

~

DON’T: touch another apprentice’s attire, especially(!) without their permission. A passing touch may be an accident but deliberately grabbing is almost like a kiss!!! Don’t kiss or put your dermas on their clothing either. That has…intimate implications I won’t discuss here.

~

Orion loves watching Megatronus Prime spar with D-16. The size difference between the two could be laughable, if it weren’t for the ferocity that overtakes D-16’s faceplate and the corrections Megatronus throws out to him. Multiple times, Orion’s systems remind him to function as he watches—his friend is a vision under his Prime’s tutelage, all gritted denta, radiating optics, and arcing gauntlets.

Once satisfied, the looming Prime kneels before his apprentice and speaks lowly to him. Orion’s audials are unable to pick up what’s said but the open and hungry way D-16 receives his feedback sates him. Megatronus returns to his full height, nods to release D-16 from his training for the day and Orion perks up at the gesture.

“D!” Orion calls. His friend pads over to what’s becoming Orion’s usual spot, a barely-there smile on his dermas.

“You been waiting long?” D-16 asks, setting his practice spear against the wall.

Orion shakes his helm. A white lie—he’s been there longer than he should’ve but it’s not his fault that watching D-16 fight is so fascinating. “What were you learning today?”

D-16 dutifully launches into the intricacies of battle strategy and close-ranged combat. Orion props his helm up with his loose fist as he listens—mostly listens, at least. That task becomes difficult as the jargon grows thick and D-16’s broad servos capture Orion’s attention as they move in small motions.

An idea pops into his processor. “Why don’t you show me?”

A pause, then D-16 scoops up his practice spear, muttering, “It’ll look stupid without an opponent.”

Orion hops over the half-wall that’s been separating them and bounces over to stand in front of his friend. “I’m right here though.”

“No,” D-16 said immediately. “It’s not safe.”

“C’mon, D,” Orion teases. “I trust you.”

D-16 cycles his optics and Orion’s lopsided grin grows. “It’s not about that. You don’t know what you’re doing and even if it’s not real, I could hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Orion states, full of confidence.

“I could,” D-16 argues. “Then Prima would offline me for harming his one and only apprentice—”

Orion begins to circle D-16, close enough to reach but far enough that he could evade it. “I know what you’re doing, Pax. It’s not going to work.”

“Is it not?” Orion teases as he keeps in D-16’s blindspot, his friend calmly trying to catch sight of him again. He takes a chance while behind him, dashing out and giving the purple fabric of D-16’s House garment a good tug.

“Pax,” D-16 chastises. Yes, it’s a sparkling-like move, Orion knows and does not quite care. He does it again, giggles erupting from his vocalizer as D-16’s calmness dissipates.

Orion manages to tug at D-16’s garment twice more before D-16’s arm snaps out, captures the joint above Orion’s servos, and crowds him against the nearby wall. The yellow of D-16’s optics blaze. Orion notices how close they are, how his friend’s weight is the only thing that keeps him upright, and he grins.

D-16 growls, “Orion.” And honestly? Orion isn’t sure what’s going through his processor when his reaction to hearing D-16 say his name is to bite down on the gathered cloth by one of the gauntlets he’d been admiring earlier.

D-16 drops him. His aft hits the ground with a rough clank and Orion cries out, “hey!”

But D-16 isn’t listening. His optics are focused on the spot where Orion’s intake fluid darkened cloth’s already deep purple. D-16’s expression is horrified.

“Oh scrap, D.” Orion scrambles to his pedes. “It should go away, right? I’ve never—D! Where are you going? Wait!”

Before Orion can say another word, D-16 runs—no, sprints—out of the practice arena, leaving Orion there alone wondering what he’d done wrong.

~

DO: keep your garment clean! It’s polite and respectful, blah blah blah, you should know this. But! What you don’t know is that leaving a mark on another apprentice’s garment, accidental or not, is a serious offense! You tear it, that’s a show of disrespect to the apprentice and their House and you might have to fight them. On the other servo, if you, say, put a small decal on the cloth, you’re effectively marking that mech as your own. Same goes for intake fluid, though that just tells everyone that you and that bot are...together in a different sense. Catch my drift? 

~

“I’m sorry, D.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know but I made you upset, didn’t I?”

“...no. You didn’t.”

~

DON’T: wear another House’s garment!!! Unless you’re ready to be conjunxes. And I’m serious! It’s saying your devotion to that mech is equivalent to your devotion to your Prime. Ask yourself, little mech. Would you swear undying fealty to them? Would you choose that mech over your Prime? No? Then don’t do this.

(Okay, I might be a little overdramatic, but seriously, don’t.)

~

What fascinates Orion is how different the textiles feel from one another. He’s read about the arts and asked on multiple occasions to speak with the bot who made his House clothes because he must know more. Orion shifts the material of D-16’s garment between his digits, reveling in the weight and watching the fabric fold as he moves.

He drapes a length of it over his arm and turns to D-16, who’s dozing in and out of a light rest cycle. “Do you think purple would suit me?”

“Hm?”

Orion nudges his friend with the bend of his arm still wrapped in material. This time, D-16 rouses, even if only a little. “Your House garment, silly. How does it look?”

“Fine,” D-16 says.

“Just fine?” Orion complains. “You’re the meanest friend ever. You won’t even let me try?”

D-16 resettles his helm. “Not mean. ‘M honest.”

Orion shoves his shoulder plate, only serving to further tangle himself. “Your honesty is mean.”

“Would you prefer a more elaborate answer?”

“Not anymore,” Orion mutters. This time, he lets D-16 rest as he lays the garment over his lap and smoothes out the wrinkles he’s made. 

~

Congrats!!! Now you’re fully equipped to take on the social terrain in the House of Primes!!

In case you didn’t read all that, basically, keep to your own business and every other bot will keep to theirs. You’re lucky you have me to help you out with this because I didn't have anyone explain it to me and I broke about every rule before an apprentice told me. I was so embarrassed!!! No need to thank me though, little mech, whoever you may be. Just have fun! Be responsible! Follow these rules!!! I promise, you’ll have a better time if you do. Byeeee ;)

~

D-16 might cease to function—if he hasn’t already. On this particular solar cycle, Orion had dragged D-16 into another one of his schemes and deemed his quarters the meeting point. The door slid open, Orion welcomed him inside, and D-16’s optics landed on a datapad that made his spark drop.

That thing isn’t supposed to exist—not physically, anyway. How did it get here? How in Primus’ glory does Orion have it?!

“D?” Orion cuts through his panic.

“Have you…” D-16 can barely force his vocaliser to say the words. “Have you read it?”

Orion raises an optical ridge. Confused but fond. “Read what?”

A digit points at the datapad, though D-16 didn’t consciously give the command for it to do so. “That.”

“Oh that?” Orion ambles over to the offending object. “It was here when I moved in. Weird right? Maybe Prima put it here in case I forgot what he told me?”

D-16’s joints creak with the effort it takes to stride over and pick up the datapad. “You don’t need it though, do you?”

Please say no, D-16’s processor screams.

Orion laughs, though his confusion melds into concern as well. “No, I guess not…did you need it? You can take it, if you do.”

And D-16 then and there wishes Orion Pax had chosen a better friend, one who he deserves. Except, D-16 is also selfish and cold in ways where Orion is warm—he doesn’t wish that, in actuality. (It feels kinder to say that he does. Orion deserves kind.)

“Thanks,” D-16 says for lack of any explanation that wouldn’t be a flat-out lie.

Then Orion smiles at him, as he always does, and pats him on the chest plate, right next to his empty cog slot, right on his garment. D-16 musters a quirk of his dermas and tucks the datapad away from Orion’s prying optics. It’s hard to feel guilty about it, when Orion seems so content and his servos make his garment so warm.

~~~

A/N: tysm for reading! i'm sorry if i got any details wrong, i read all the comics over again to make sure i got it all correct but just in case i missed something! please check out the main comic if you haven't already. the worldbuilding, writing, and art style are all stunning!

[are-we-art-yet]

Is AWAY using it's own program or is this just a voluntary list of guidelines for people using programs like DALL-E? How does AWAY address the environmental concerns of how the companies making those AI programs conduct themselves (energy consumption, exploiting impoverished areas for cheap electricity, destruction of the environment to rapidly build and get the components for data centers etc.)? Are members of AWAY encouraged to contact their gov representatives about IP theft by AI apps?

What is AWAY and how does it work?

AWAY does not "use its own program" in the software sense—rather, we're a diverse collective of ~1000 members that each have their own varying workflows and approaches to art. While some members do use AI as one tool among many, most of the people in the server are actually traditional artists who don't use AI at all, yet are still interested in ethical approaches to new technologies.

Our code of ethics is a set of voluntary guidelines that members agree to follow upon joining. These emphasize ethical AI approaches, (preferably open-source models that can run locally), respecting artists who oppose AI by not training styles on their art, and refusing to use AI to undercut other artists or work for corporations that similarly exploit creative labor.

Environmental Impact in Context

It's important to place environmental concerns about AI in the context of our broader extractive, industrialized society, where there are virtually no "clean" solutions:

The water usage figures for AI data centers (200-740 million liters annually) represent roughly 0.00013% of total U.S. water usage. This is a small fraction compared to industrial agriculture or manufacturing—for example, golf course irrigation alone in the U.S. consumes approximately 2.08 billion gallons of water per day, or about 7.87 trillion liters annually. This makes AI's water usage about 0.01% of just golf course irrigation.

Looking into individual usage, the average American consumes about 26.8 kg of beef annually, which takes around 1,608 megajoules (MJ) of energy to produce. Making 10 ChatGPT queries daily for an entire year (3,650 queries) consumes just 38.1 MJ—about 42 times less energy than eating beef. In fact, a single quarter-pound beef patty takes 651 times more energy to produce than a single AI query.

Overall, power usage specific to AI represents just 4% of total data center power consumption, which itself is a small fraction of global energy usage. Current annual energy usage for data centers is roughly 9-15 TWh globally—comparable to producing a relatively small number of vehicles.

The consumer environmentalism narrative around technology often ignores how imperial exploitation pushes environmental costs onto the Global South. The rare earth minerals needed for computing hardware, the cheap labor for manufacturing, and the toxic waste from electronics disposal disproportionately burden developing nations, while the benefits flow largely to wealthy countries.

While this pattern isn't unique to AI, it is fundamental to our global economic structure. The focus on individual consumer choices (like whether or not one should use AI, for art or otherwise,) distracts from the much larger systemic issues of imperialism, extractive capitalism, and global inequality that drive environmental degradation at a massive scale.

They are not going to stop building the data centers, and they weren't going to even if AI never got invented.

Creative Tools and Environmental Impact

In actuality, all creative practices have some sort of environmental impact in an industrialized society:

Digital art software (such as Photoshop, Blender, etc) generally uses 60-300 watts per hour depending on your computer's specifications. This is typically more energy than dozens, if not hundreds, of AI image generations (maybe even thousands if you are using a particularly low-quality one).

Traditional art supplies rely on similar if not worse scales of resource extraction, chemical processing, and global supply chains, all of which come with their own environmental impact.

Paint production requires roughly thirteen gallons of water to manufacture one gallon of paint.

Many oil paints contain toxic heavy metals and solvents, which have the potential to contaminate ground water.

Synthetic brushes are made from petroleum-based plastics that take centuries to decompose.

That being said, the point of this section isn't to deflect criticism of AI by criticizing other art forms. Rather, it's important to recognize that we live in a society where virtually all artistic avenues have environmental costs. Focusing exclusively on the newest technologies while ignoring the environmental costs of pre-existing tools and practices doesn't help to solve any of the issues with our current or future waste.

The largest environmental problems come not from individual creative choices, but rather from industrial-scale systems, such as:

Industrial manufacturing (responsible for roughly 22% of global emissions)

Industrial agriculture (responsible for roughly 24% of global emissions)

Transportation and logistics networks (responsible for roughly 14% of global emissions)

Making changes on an individual scale, while meaningful on a personal level, can't address systemic issues without broader policy changes and overall restructuring of global economic systems.

Intellectual Property Considerations

AWAY doesn't encourage members to contact government representatives about "IP theft" for multiple reasons:

We acknowledge that copyright law overwhelmingly serves corporate interests rather than individual creators

Creating new "learning rights" or "style rights" would further empower large corporations while harming individual artists and fan creators

Many AWAY members live outside the United States, many of which having been directly damaged by the US, and thus understand that intellectual property regimes are often tools of imperial control that benefit wealthy nations

Instead, we emphasize respect for artists who are protective of their work and style. Our guidelines explicitly prohibit imitating the style of artists who have voiced their distaste for AI, working on an opt-in model that encourages traditional artists to give and subsequently revoke permissions if they see fit. This approach is about respect, not legal enforcement. We are not a pro-copyright group.

In Conclusion

AWAY aims to cultivate thoughtful, ethical engagement with new technologies, while also holding respect for creative communities outside of itself. As a collective, we recognize that real environmental solutions require addressing concepts such as imperial exploitation, extractive capitalism, and corporate power—not just focusing on individual consumer choices, which do little to change the current state of the world we live in.

When discussing environmental impacts, it's important to keep perspective on a relative scale, and to avoid ignoring major issues in favor of smaller ones. We promote balanced discussions based in concrete fact, with the belief that they can lead to meaningful solutions, rather than misplaced outrage that ultimately serves to maintain the status quo.

If this resonates with you, please feel free to join our discord. :)

Works Cited:

USGS Water Use Data: https://www.usgs.gov/mission-areas/water-resources/science/water-use-united-states

Golf Course Superintendents Association of America water usage report: https://www.gcsaa.org/resources/research/golf-course-environmental-profile

Equinix data center water sustainability report: https://www.equinix.com/resources/infopapers/corporate-sustainability-report

Environmental Working Group's Meat Eater's Guide (beef energy calculations): https://www.ewg.org/meateatersguide/

Hugging Face AI energy consumption study: https://huggingface.co/blog/carbon-footprint

International Energy Agency report on data centers: https://www.iea.org/reports/data-centres-and-data-transmission-networks

Goldman Sachs "Generational Growth" report on AI power demand: https://www.goldmansachs.com/intelligence/pages/gs-research/generational-growth-ai-data-centers-and-the-coming-us-power-surge/report.pdf

Artists Network's guide to eco-friendly art practices: https://www.artistsnetwork.com/art-business/how-to-be-an-eco-friendly-artist/

The Earth Chronicles' analysis of art materials: https://earthchronicles.org/artists-ironically-paint-nature-with-harmful-materials/

Natural Earth Paint's environmental impact report: https://naturalearthpaint.com/pages/environmental-impact

Our World in Data's global emissions by sector: https://ourworldindata.org/emissions-by-sector

"The High Cost of High Tech" report on electronics manufacturing: https://goodelectronics.org/the-high-cost-of-high-tech/

"Unearthing the Dirty Secrets of the Clean Energy Transition" (on rare earth mineral mining): https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2023/apr/18/clean-energy-dirty-mining-indigenous-communities-climate-crisis

Electronic Frontier Foundation's position paper on AI and copyright: https://www.eff.org/wp/ai-and-copyright

Creative Commons research on enabling better sharing: https://creativecommons.org/2023/04/24/ai-and-creativity/

[race-week]

hi i was wondering if you would be able to answer this: what is the purpose of the fluo paint teams seem to add during testing? as well as what are the wire meshes they add behind the front wheels?

My favourite question

Let me introduce you to the world of F1 testing and its two shining stars, flow vis and aero rakes.

Flow Vis

Flow vis is a fluorescent powder paint that is mixed with oil (typically paraffin) and painted onto the car before it goes out on track.

Once the car goes out and does some laps the oily paint mixture is pushed around the car and the oil evaporates leaving the paint behind, and in this paint you will see the flow patterns of the air around the structures of the car

The engineers will be able to visualise where the airflow is separating and compare that to the data they have from the wind tunnel and to the data from their computer models.

Essentially flow vis allows them to visualise the air flow

Aero Rake

The big metal cages, usually around the front or rear wheels are called aero rakes or aerodynamic rakes, and what they are is a massive series of sensors namely pitot tubes which measure dynamic pressure.

These sensors measure the pressure of the airflow off the tyres, the wings and generally the pressure of the airflow around the car, in order to paint a picture of what is happening to the airflow and how they can minimise disturbance in the airflow

With both flow vis and aero rakes it’s a way for engineers and aerodynamicists to see what is actually going on with the airflow around the car on the track, both with visual cues (flow vis) and data (aero rakes) and then being able to compare their findings with the simulations

[aliesbienish]

The study of wolves - Part four

chapter one ✩ chapter two ✩ chapter three

“This is it,” you declared, confirming your GPS location with the ones of the latest wolf sighting.

It was still a fairly wood area, only a small clearing letting in a circle of sunlight. You placed your bag on the side of the trail and began to have a scan of the area.

Paul watched you in awe as you examined the ground for paw prints and the brush for any animal made tracks. After a few minutes you saw an area of flattened grass a few feet off the trail that peaked your interest. The animal made path left the small clearing and continued on downhill, meandering past rocky outcrops and large pine trees. Importantly you can hear the faint sound of flowing water in this distance, making the path a possible trail from den to the stream.

“Can you bring me my backpack?” You yelled to Paul.

“Here you go,” Paul passed over the bag a few minutes later. You went searching for the small motion sensor camera tucked at the bottom. “You found something?”

“Yup, our first spot! There is an animal trail here, you see? I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s our wolves, but the location makes sense with the water down that way and possible den locations up higher. I think we place it here for now and come back in a few days to see what it’s captured.”

“Why don’t we follow the path up or down?” Paul questioned.

“Honestly this is the easiest spot for us to access and find. If we do capture photos I think we could probably go place another camera down near the stream. I probably wouldn’t risk going up to the dens, they only use them when they are rearing pups and I don’t particularly want to piss off a mother wolf when we go to collect the camera.”

“I’d protect you,”

“I don’t doubt that cowboy. But what if it’s Jared with me when we are collecting them? You and I both know he’s sacrifice me to save himself,”

“Good call. Here it is,”

You wrapped the strap of the camera around a sturdy tree trunk at the bend of the track. Hoping you’d capture wolves coming and going from both directions.

“Okay, I need you to test this out for me!”

“You what? No thanks,”

“Oh come on, you just have to walk up and down the path. I promise to only put one of the photos in the data report, got to credit you somehow” You joked.

“Oh ha ha,” He stated starting to head up the trail. Once he was out of your sight you called him back, and he performed a turn any catwalk model would be jealous off. After walking down the track a few yards you checked the photos captured and gave your go ahead. Quickly snapping a photo of the site, noting the coordinates and saving a location on your phone it was done.

“Well that’s us good to go, nice modelling work there. I think the elders would be silly not to put out some Quileute merch and leak those photos,”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, I just happened to be channeling my inner wolf.”

“Of course, I forgot wolves are known to be natural stutters.”

“And don’t you dare leak those photos, because I’m sure as shit that the elders would have no clue how,”

“Don’t worry cowboy - whoops I’m sorry wolf boy, I’d make sure to get photos of Sam and Jared as well. The world deserves to see all three of you rock khaki,”

You reserved almost an animalistic growl from Paul for your comments, that probably should have startled you but realistically made you feel hot and bothered.

Paul himself wasn’t sure if it was in appreciation of the wolf boy comment or the jealously towards Sam and Jared.

“Come on smart arse,” he quipped, helping you put your backpack over your shoulders, “We better start to head back to the car before I give into the temptation to leave you here,”

“Go right ahead - I’ve been leaving a breadcrumb trail all day, so I can easily find my way back without your help,” You stuck your tongue out, and confidently stated heading in the opposite direction of the car.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Next chapter

But of a short (but hopefully sweet) chapter. Is Paul absolutely OOC when he’s with reader, yup. If anyone thinks that’s wouldn’t how he would be one on one with his imprint then fight me xx

Thanks for reading!

[centrally-unplanned]

I know, I am really on a "mocking Tyler Cowen" kick, I will move on from this soon. I just think the ways he is failing these days is very symptomatic of the zeitgeist faux-intellectualism and the ways thinkers are struggling to slot into an openly anti-intellectual movement.

He starts with "USAID is probably good", but in a very compliment-sandwich way. You taught me what a Straussian read is my dear Cowen, so when your "it is good" section is two lines of link dumps, and the rest of the piece is criticism, I am getting the message. So let us set that part aside and dig into those criticisms:

To be clear, I consider this kind of thing to be scandalous.  And I strongly suspect that some of the other outrage anecdotes are true, though they are hard to confirm, or not

The link is to the think tank The Urban Institute putting out a donation call because 1/3rd of its budget is from the Federal government. Which is scandalous...because...uh, why? It is the Urban Institute. They analyze government policy for hire. Their biggest customer is the government. What the fuck? Their latest research - just chosen randomly, top of the list - is an impact evaluation of a program to help at-risk youths graduate high school. Is that bad now?? Does Tyler Cowen no longer think impact evaluations of policy are good??

Imagine describing consulting firms this way: "Oil Well Advisors has hit significant headwinds now that Exxon Mobile is suspending all outside contractors", is that a scandal? Or just absolutely normal behavior for industries with large institutional clients? What is the alternative here? Does he want - in a post subtly praising the Trump Admin - the government to in-house all impact evaluations? I don't disagree that they should do more but, uh, read the room buddy?

I know I am harping on this point but I really wanna emphasize how much of a bad writing call this is - taking an actually insane position (orgs specializing in government contracts shouldn't exist lmao) and because it is so indefensible you instead just handwave it as obvious so the audience maybe doesn't notice. Very cringe.

Okay, moving on:

It does seem Nina Jankowicz and her work received funding, and that I find hard to justify.  It seems to be evidence for something broken in the process. 

The money went to her work with the Center for Information Resilience, which does investigative reporting on war crimes like in the Ukraine War. Maybe her project sucked, I don't even know, but come on. This is incredibly normal behavior for USAID.

 Or how about funds to the BBC?

You mean the BBC Media Action charity, which trains journalists and helps build out mobile & communication networks in developing countries? Should the US build 100% of its own orgs and never fund effective, international partners from US allies? Is that a coherent foreign policy goal I can just wave my hands about and never explain because it is so obvious?

He then goes into the "reforming USAID" angle:

The Samo piece is excellent.  For one thing he notes: “The agency primarily uses a funding model which pays by hours worked, thus incentivizing long-duration projects.”  And the very smart Samantha Power, appointed by Biden to run AID, “…is in favor of disrupting the contractor ecosystem.”  Samo also discusses all the restrictions that require American contractors to be involved. Here is a study on how to reform AID, I have not yet read it.

Which is totally fine, I agree if I ran USAID I could totally like boost efficiency by 50%. I bet a lot of spending is inefficient. But why are you pretending that the current admin is, in any way, aiming for technocratic reform?

Why bother bringing this thread up? That isn't what they are doing! It isn't relevant.

I love this classic trick:

According to the very smart, non-lunatic Charlie Robertson: "My data suggests US AID flows in 2024 were equivalent to: 93% of Somalia’s government revenues, 61% in Sudan, just over 50% in South Sudan and Yemen" While I do not take cutting off those flows lightly, that seems unsustainable and also wrong to me as a matter of USG policy.  Those do not seem like viable enterprises to me.

You can think whatever you want is wrong, your call. But unsustainable? All of USAID is half a percent of the federal government. Payments to Somalia are a rounding error. This is the definition of sustainable! You could run this forever and never even notice.

But okay, maybe you mean like it is creating a culture of dependency or somesuch, not the same thing but I will humor you. Let's look at the latest USAID impact assessment of their work in Somalia:

Oh whoops, looks like our ability to even evaluate programs has been stripped away by the current admin's mass purging of databases like impact assessment reports! Fortunately I have the Wayback Machine, so I can get around this:

"Culture of dependency" this money went to food and clean water for starving people. You can say whatever you want about priorities and all that shit. That it is "unsustainable". But if someone doesn't do this then some of these people die. I notice "let them die" does not appear in your bloodless discussion of "aid dependency". Maybe we should cut aid because they will be forced to get their state together and be better off in the long run. I understand that logic, I really do, you can make that case.

But fucking say it. Say "let them die" to my face. Man the fuck up.

Alright, last one since this is going on too long:

There are various reports of AID spending billions to help overthrow Assad. I cannot easily assess this matter, either whether the outcomes was good or whether AID mattered, but perhaps (assuming it was effective) such actions should be taken by a different agency or institution?

I love this one because it is a peak "attack of opportunity" moment. At the beginning of this very post he says this:

Here is a Samo analysis...The Samo piece is excellent. 

The linked piece, by the Samo Burja, is this:

The piece, to clarify, explains that USAID is not an aid agency, but fundamentally an extension of US foreign policy and conducts itself to achieve foreign policy goals. That this is its explicit, stated purpose. And Tyler Cowen says it is a great piece.

And then proceeds to say that pursuing those goals in Syria should maybe be at a different agency because that isn't "aid".

Bro you don't give a rat's ass about that! You just wanted to score points, you don't care about this at all. It was just on the list, you didn't even think about it, you just said something that sounded plausible. It is pathetic, you don't have to comment on every headline if you don't have a hot take. Just post a meme instead like a normal person.

But he does have to comment, because this post exists to ingratiate himself to the vibe shift. It as transparent as it is embarrassing - it is so limp-wristed, saying things like "the 'Elonsphere' on Twitter is very much exaggerating the horror anecdotes" when their most viral claims are just naked fabrications. Come on, man. You used to be better than this.

[gogogodzilla]

day 21, spitroasting

gavin reed x reader x connor (rk800) warnings: nsfw 18+, fingering, face fucking, rough! Connor, role play, blowjob, dirty talk, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, the psych major in me is showing kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You knew that after the android revolution, your work at the Detroit Police Department would increase tenfold. You knew that you’d have to spend more late nights at the precinct. What you didn’t expect was the toll it took on your sex life. You’d barely seen Connor, let alone touched him. 

Connor always offered to stay late with you and help wherever he could; he didn’t need sleep after all. This time, however, it was you who offered to stay with him. Connor sat at his desk, eyebrows furrowed as he went over his case files for the umpteenth time. You reclined in your chair, stretching out your achy muscles. The bullpen was empty except for the two of you, everyone else had the sense to leave while they still could. 

“Why don’t we talk it out?” you suggested as you stood from your desk and wandered over to his. 

He looked up at you as you sat on the edge of his desk, and you shrugged. “It might be helpful to act out your investigation rather than just having all the details rattling around in your head,” you suggested.

“How could we act it out?” Connor questioned, still a bit uncertain. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment. 

“I can pretend I’m the suspect, and you can interrogate me. Maybe hearing what we know from someone else will help you find the missing piece?” 

He nodded, before standing. His expression was soft as his gaze met yours. It’d been forever since it’d been just the two of you. 

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Let’s get to work.”

Connor handed you a data pad with all his case files which you scanned as you walked to the interrogation room. This case had multiple victims, all male androids and all models previously used at the Eden Club. The victims were in various states of mutilation. They also weren’t killed in the spots where they were found, though, and there was little physical evidence. You furrowed your brows. All of the victims had a red lipstick mark on their cheeks. 

The chair in the interrogation room scraped against the floor as you pulled it out. Connor allowed you a few moments to look over case files before you began. 

“Maybe you should cuff me,” you suggested before quickly adding, “Y’know, since I’m a deranged killer going after androids.” 

Something flashed behind Connor’s eyes before he stood and rounded the table. Instead of the cuffs attached to the table, Connor removed his own off of his belt. 

“Hands behind your back, Doctor,” he said against the shell of your ear as he leaned over you. Your breathing quickened and excitement flowed throughout your body. 

You obediently clasped your hands behind your back and felt the cool metal of the handcuffs wrap around your wrist. The room was silent except for the clinking of the handcuffs.  

Connor returned to his place across from you, opting to stand. He paused for a moment and then he turned his gaze to you. 

It was as if the man you knew and loved disappeared and was replaced with the cold-blooded deviant hunter he was known as. He stared intensely, and you shuddered under his watchful eye. 

“You understand the gravity of this situation, don’t you?” he asked, his voice calm. 

“Yes,” you replied, keeping your response measured. The suspect was obviously smart and had all the makings of an organized killer. They wouldn’t break with one severe look. 

“Good, let’s begin. Does this look familiar?” he questioned, sliding his data pad toward you with a picture of the most recent victim. 

Your eyes flicked to look at for a moment before returning to his brown ones. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell, detective,” you sneered. 

 “Really? Because you were seen by multiple witnesses visiting the scene of the crime,” he countered, raising a brow. 

It would make sense that the suspect would return to the scene of the crime or get involved in the police work. Although, androids were different than humans. Did they have that innate desire to see the carnage they’ve wrought? 

“I live in the area,” you shrugged. You knew it was unlikely that this killer would make the mistake of striking too close to home, but the way Connor was looking at you had you scrambling for excuses. 

He hummed before turning off his data pad and setting it aside. “Can you explain your whereabouts during the time of the incident, then?” 

You met his gaze, steeling yourself. This suspect would be smart enough to keep their cool under pressure. You had to be too. 

You leaned forward onto the table, allowing Connor a perfect view down your blouse. “Tell me, detective, what do you plan on doing if I don’t cooperate?” you asked, a grin spreading across your features. 

“I’m programmed to adapt to various situations and interrogation techniques. I could make you talk,” he answered, leaning in closer. 

“Aiming to find my weak spots, detective?” 

“I don’t have to search for those,” he responded, the corners of his mouth turning up. 

“Let me out of these cuffs and we could make this interrogation much more interesting,” you lowered your voice to a sultry whisper, meeting his gaze. 

He straightened, the smirk he donned earlier long gone, “Unfortunately, I believe I may be just your type.” 

“So, you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” 

Connor nodded, before rounding the table once again.  He hooked his hands under your armpits and pulled you into a standing position. He kicked your chair away from you.

 “I’m still waiting for a confession,” he whispered against the shell of your ear before bending you over the interrogation table. 

It was slightly embarrassing how much this turned you on. You were completely at his mercy. He was steady, as always, behind you, and you could feel his hardening length pressed against you. 

“You’re giving me exactly what I want,” you remarked, glancing at him over your shoulder. 

His hands had begun to wander; one moved upward and began undoing the buttons of your blouse while the other popped the closure on your pants. 

“I’m told I’m very persuasive,” he purred as he unzipped your pants and dipped a hand into them. His fingertips brushed against your clothed core, and you let out a soft gasp. 

He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck as he teased you through your underwear. Your quiet moans were quickly turning into desperate pleas, begging for him to just fucking touch you. 

His free hand kneaded your breast, running over the lacey front of your bra. When that wasn’t enough for him, he pulled your bra down, exposing your front. Your nipples hardened against the frigid air of the interrogation room, and he rolled one between his two fingers. 

“Please, Connor, I promise I’ll be good and give you whatever you want,” you whined, pushing your hips against his. 

 He tsked before removing his hold on you. “Since you asked so nicely,” he praised before hooking his fingers into the sides and yanking your pants, and underwear, down to your ankles. 

He slid a finger through your now-dripping folds, and you bit back a moan. Your slick quickly coated his fingers and he dipped a finger into your entrance before sliding back up to circle your clit. You didn’t doubt there’d be a wet spot on his jeans from you canting your hips against his. 

A groan escaped both of you as he slipped a finger inside you that was quickly joined by another one. He pumped them slowly, and small whimpers left you. You were close to falling apart on his fingers with the way he was winding you up. 

The clinking of his belt buckle was music to your ears and you involuntarily clenched around him. You turned your head and watched in the two-way mirror as Connor stroked his cock with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. 

You let out a high-pitched moan as he pushed inside you inch by inch. You’d never get over the way he stretched you so perfectly every time. Eventually, he bottomed out, and within moments you were moving your hips, begging him to move. 

Mercifully, he obliged you and snapped his hips against yours.  He rested his hand between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed against the table, as he rutted into you. Your wrists dug against the handcuffs and you wriggled against his thrusts. Goosebumps covered your skin as your breasts pressed against the cool metal of the table. 

He bent so his chest was pressed against your back and whispered against your ear, “Why don’t you show Detective Reed how well you take my cock?” 

Your gaze lurched to the two-way mirror as Connor began pounding into you, and your cheeks burned under Gavin’s invisible gaze. The wet sounds of your heat combined with the moans that pushed passed your lips filled the room. What the hell was he doing here? You were a bit too preoccupied to care.

“You like that he’s watching?” Connor hummed, smirking. “Do you want him to join us?” 

You nodded fervently, as you involuntarily clenched around Connor. The mental image of Gavin joining you driving you wild. 

“Please, Gav,” you begged as Connor slowed his brutal pace, nearly bringing tears to your eyes. “Need you, please, please, please.” 

You jumped as the door to the interrogation room slid open. Connor leaned forward and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at Gavin as he entered. 

Gavin palmed himself through his jeans as he neared, cheeks flushed and eyes alight. He cupped your cheek with his free hand and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“Missed this mouth, sweetheart,” he murmured as he undid his jeans and released his length, allowing it to bob freely in front of your face. Your mouth watered as you watched him stroke himself. Connor straightened and gripped your ass as his strokes deepened, making your back arch. 

You stuck your tongue out over your bottom lip and looked up at Gavin, inviting him in. He slapped his cock against your tongue, teasing you. The whine that left you was borderline pathetic, and Connor’s grip on you tightened. 

Gavin was quick to indulge you and slide his cock passed your lips. You ran your tongue over the tip, moaning at the taste of him. Connor pulled out of you except for the tip before ramming into you. The force of his thrust sent Gavin’s cock deeper into your mouth, and you gagged slightly as a few tears formed.

“Jesus, tincan. Take it easy,” Gavin hissed, swiping a thumb across your cheek as you recovered, bobbing your head slowly. 

Gavin ran a hand through your hair, tugging it slightly as he pulled you closer. Connor’s pace increased as he rocked into you, hitting that spongey spot inside you that had you moaning around Gavin’s cock. 

You relaxed your jaw and hollowed your cheeks, allowing Gavin to use your mouth as he pleased. He groaned as he matched his thrusts to Connor’s, one pulling out while the other was pushing inside you. 

“Feel so good, sweetheart. Almost like this pretty mouth was made for me,” Gavin praised, his thrusts becoming sloppier. 

Connor reached a hand around you to rub tight circles around your clit. You let out a breathy moan and pushed your hips back his, forcing him impossibly deeper inside you. 

It took almost no time for you to come around Connor’s cock. You squeezed around him as your orgasm washed over you. Gavin grunted as your moans sent vibrations down his length. Both men continued to rut inside you, riding out your high. 

Gavin is the one to reach his peak first as his grip on your hair tightened, and he stilled as he came down your throat. You greedily slurped up everything he gave you, but still, some dribbled down the sides of your mouth. He pulled back slightly to give you room to breathe, but you keep your lips wrapped around his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Gavin whined as you lazily bobbed your head, milking him for every drop. 

Connor followed immediately after, almost as if he was waiting for Gavin. His hips stuttered against your own, just as the aftershocks of your orgasm diverged dangerously close to overstimulation. He buried himself to the hilt as he twitched inside you, the thick ropes of his cum coating your walls. 

Gavin pulled out with a shuddering breath as soon as Connor came, watching as the android detective filled you to the brim. Eventually, Connor’s thrusts slowed to a stop, and he slid out of you. His cum dripped down your thighs, and you whined at the emptiness. 

Gavin lifted your chin and captured your lips in a soft kiss. You eagerly returned the kiss, savoring the way his lips felt against yours. A small part of you secretly missed that. 

He pulled away, “You did good, sweetheart.” 

You smiled at his praise, and he tucked himself back into his jeans. He spared a glance over his shoulder at Connor as he made his way to the door, “See ya, tincan.” 

Connor uncuffed you, and you stretched your arms as he helped you get cleaned up.  Once you were situated, he pressed a kiss to the inside of each wrist, frowning at the marks the cuffs left. 

You ran a hand through his hair, “Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“Immensely,” he quickly answered. “Human relationships are still confusing to me. Does this complicate your feelings toward Detective Reed?” 

“No, I love you, Connor. That was purely physical,” you responded as you took his hand in yours. “Have you solved your case?” 

“Yes,” he grinned, “I had it solved as soon as you started flirting with me.”

You rolled your eyes before standing. “Let’s go home,” you said as you dragged him toward the door.

[valuentumbrian]

How Does 37% Sound?

Image: The Schwab U.S. Large Cap Growth ETF (SCHG) is up more than 37% so far in 2024.

By Brian Nelson, CFA

How does 37% sound? That was the price-only performance of the Schwab U.S. Large Cap Growth ETF (SCHG) thus far in 2024. Over the preceding 5-year period, the SCHG is up over 140%.

For years, I have pounded the table on the theory that there are not value or growth stocks, but rather undervalued, fairly valued, or overvalued stocks. It’s why many growth stocks can be undervalued. It’s the Theory of Universal Valuation found in Value Trap that ties myriad areas of finance to the well-known discounted cash-flow [DCF] model. Growth is a component of value. Hook, line, and sinker.

For years, I have been pounding the table on large cap growth as my favorite area for idea generation (given its Valuentum stock tendencies), and I have put my money where my mouth is, too, with a meaningful portion of my net worth in SCHG. You’ll find that a lot of the top holdings in SCHG are top considerations in the Best Ideas Newsletter portfolio, too, so there’s some good overlap between what I consider Valuentum stocks and where I’m putting my money.

But why don’t I actually own all the stocks I like? It’s the question I have been asked for more than a decade. Here’s what I wrote back in September 2023. I’m an old school analyst that cut my teeth in this business following the Global Analyst Settlement, meaning I believe that writers should generally not be taking stakes in the individual stocks they write about. Writers with positions in the stocks they write about can lead to biased research, or worse, terrible outcomes.

So what’s the playbook for 2025? You can probably guess that I think large cap growth and big cap tech will continue to lead the markets to new heights. 2024 was a boring year, if a 37% return can be considered boring for large cap growth. Frankly, with the market focusing on macro data and the Fed during 2024, there wasn’t much material to write about. We all already know the story: Inflation is under control, the job market remains healthy, the Fed is cutting, and artificial intelligence will be the name of the game this decade.

I think it’s worth clarifying some of our offerings every now and then, as each one focuses on a unique vertical. For those seeking capital appreciation, the Best Ideas Newsletter portfolio may be of interest. For those seeking dividend growth, the Dividend Growth Newsletter portfolio includes our favorite ideas, while for those seeking high yield, the High Yield Dividend Newsletter may be your cup of tea. Dividend growth focuses on dividend growth potential; high yield focuses on current high yield, and so on and so forth.

The Exclusive publication is one of my favorite publications, where we highlight an income idea, a capital appreciation idea and a short idea consideration each month. You can read more about the Exclusive publication here. As of the date of the release of the December edition of the Exclusive publication, success rates for Capital Appreciation Ideas were 90.1%, while success rates for Short Idea Considerations were 88.1%. If you haven’t yet tried out the Exclusive, please do so.

Okay – so what about dividends? Unfortunately, I think we’re in for another difficult year for dividend growth investing. The SPDR S&P Dividend ETF (SDY) is only up 6% year-to-date, trailing both the equal-weight and market-cap weighted S&P 500 indices by sizable margins. With the 10-year Treasury yield at 4.6% and certificate-of-deposit rates still elevated, dividend-only-focused investors will likely continue to trail the broader markets. Remember: dividends are capital appreciation that otherwise would have been achieved, so don’t let the dividend tail wag the total return dog.

What about Bitcoin? I really don’t know. It’s definitely a greater fool asset like gold, but I have totally underestimated the number of fools there are these days. Haha. Just kidding, but seriously, with the regulatory environment easing with respect to crypto and with President-elect Donald Trump supporting crypto assets, who really knows how high Bitcoin can get or just how volatile the asset may become as institutional money ebbs and flows.

So what about small cap value? Well, year-to-date, the iShares Russell 2000 Value ETF (IWN) is up a meager 6%, and it is up just 28% over the past 5 years, trailing large cap growth considerably. With a near 30% weighting in financials and 10% weighting in real estate in the IWN, for me, it’s a no-brainer to avoid. The only way I believe the gap between large cap growth and small cap value narrows is if large cap growth falls on difficult times, which can never be ruled out. But that said, there’s no reason to believe in the IWN, no matter what the statisticians say about quantitative value. I tackle the issue of the pitfalls of falling in love with historical data in Value Trap, too.

All things considered, 2024 was an absolutely amazing year for our core research exposure (i.e. large cap growth). Do I think the SCHG will repeat its dazzling performance in 2025? Probably not to the same extent, but it’s hard to bet against some of the strongest net-cash-rich, free-cash-flow generating powerhouses on the market today. Give me Apple (AAPL), Nvidia (NVDA), Microsoft (MSFT), Amazon (AMZN), Alphabet (GOOG) any day of the week, especially over any financials-heavy index. Enjoy the rest of 2024 folks!

Leave a comment >>

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The High Yield Dividend Newsletter, Best Ideas Newsletter, Dividend Growth Newsletter, Valuentum Exclusive publication, ESG Newsletter, and any reports, data and content found on this website are for information purposes only and should not be considered a solicitation to buy or sell any security. Valuentum is not responsible for any errors or omissions or for results obtained from the use of its newsletters, reports, commentary, data or publications and accepts no liability for how readers may choose to utilize the content. Valuentum is not a money manager, is not a registered investment advisor, and does not offer brokerage or investment banking services. The sources of the data used on this website and reports are believed by Valuentum to be reliable, but the data’s accuracy, completeness or interpretation cannot be guaranteed. Valuentum, its employees, and independent contractors may have long, short or derivative positions in the securities mentioned on this website. The High Yield Dividend Newsletter portfolio, ESG Newsletter portfolio, Best Ideas Newsletter portfolio and Dividend Growth Newsletter portfolio are not real money portfolios. Performance, including that in the Valuentum Exclusive publication and additional options commentary feature, is hypothetical and does not represent actual trading. Actual results may differ from simulated information, results, or performance being presented. For more information about Valuentum and the products and services it offers, please contact us at info@valuentum.com.

[thefugitivesaint]

''The Age of Surveillance Capitalism: The Fight for a Human Future at the New Frontier of Power'' by Shoshana Zuboff, 2018 "I define surveillance capitalism as the unilateral claiming of private human experience as free raw material for translation into behavioral data. These data are then computed and packaged as prediction products and sold into behavioral futures markets — business customers with a commercial interest in knowing what we will do now, soon, and later. It was Google that first learned how to capture surplus behavioral data, more than what they needed for services, and used it to compute prediction products that they could sell to their business customers, in this case advertisers. But I argue that surveillance capitalism is no more restricted to that initial context than, for example, mass production was restricted to the fabrication of Model T’s. Right from the start at Google it was understood that users were unlikely to agree to this unilateral claiming of their experience and its translation into behavioral data. It was understood that these methods had to be undetectable. So from the start the logic reflected the social relations of the one-way mirror. They were able to see and to take — and to do this in a way that we could not contest because we had no way to know what was happening. We rushed to the internet expecting empowerment, the democratization of knowledge, and help with real problems, but surveillance capitalism really was just too lucrative to resist. This economic logic has now spread beyond the tech companies to new surveillance–based ecosystems in virtually every economic sector, from insurance to automobiles to health, education, finance, to every product described as “smart” and every service described as “personalized.” By now it’s very difficult to participate effectively in society without interfacing with these same channels that are supply chains for surveillance capitalism’s data flows." from an interview with Shoshana Zuboff in the Harvard Gazette in March of 2019. It's an interesting interview that I suggest you peruse.

[canmom]

oh no she's talking about AI some more

to comment more on the latest round of AI big news (guess I do have more to say after all):

chatgpt ghiblification

trying to figure out how far it's actually an advance over the state of the art of finetunes and LoRAs and stuff in image generation? I don't keep up with image generation stuff really, just look at it occasionally and go damn that's all happening then, but there are a lot of finetunes focusing on "Ghibli's style" which get it more or less well. previously on here I commented on an AI video model generation that patterned itself on Ghibli films, and video is a lot harder than static images.

of course 'studio Ghibli style' isn't exactly one thing: there are stylistic commonalities to many of their works and recurring designs, for sure, but there are also details that depend on the specific character designer and film in question in large and small ways (nobody is shooting for My Neighbours the Yamadas with this, but also e.g. Castle in the Sky does not look like Pom Poko does not look like How Do You Live in a number of ways, even if it all recognisably belongs to the same lineage).

the interesting thing about the ghibli ChatGPT generations for me is how well they're able to handle simplification of forms in image-to-image generation, often quite drastically changing the proportions of the people depicted but recognisably maintaining correspondence of details. that sort of stylisation is quite difficult to do well even for humans, and it must reflect quite a high level of abstraction inside the model's latent space. there is also relatively little of the 'oversharpening'/'ringing artefact' look that has been a hallmark of many popular generators - it can do flat colour well.

the big touted feature is its ability to place text in images very accurately. this is undeniably impressive, although OpenAI themeselves admit it breaks down beyond a certain point, creating strange images which start out with plausible, clean text and then it gradually turns into AI nonsense. it's really weird! I thought text would go from 'unsolved' to 'completely solved' or 'randomly works or doesn't work' - instead, here it feels sort of like the model has a certain limited 'pipeline' for handling text in images, but when the amount of text overloads that bandwidth, the rest of the image has to make do with vague text-like shapes! maybe the techniques from that anthropic thought-probing paper might shed some light on how information flows through the model.

similarly the model also has a limit of scene complexity. it can only handle a certain number of objects (10-20, they say) before it starts getting confused and losing track of details.

as before when they first wired up Dall-E to ChatGPT, it also simply makes prompting a lot simpler. you don't have to fuck around with LoRAs and obtuse strings of words, you just talk to the most popular LLM and ask it to perform a modification in natural language: the whole process is once again black-boxed but you can tell it in natural language to make changes. it's a poor level of control compared to what artists are used to, but it's still huge for ordinary people, and of course there's nothing stopping you popping the output into an editor to do your own editing.

not sure the architecture they're using in this version, if ChatGPT is able to reason about image data in the same space as language data or if it's still calling a separate image model... need to look that up.

openAI's own claim is:

We trained our models on the joint distribution of online images and text, learning not just how images relate to language, but how they relate to each other. Combined with aggressive post-training, the resulting model has surprising visual fluency, capable of generating images that are useful, consistent, and context-aware.

that's kind of vague. not sure what architecture that implies. people are talking about 'multimodal generation' so maybe it is doing it all in one model? though I'm not exactly sure how the inputs and outputs would be wired in that case.

anyway, as far as complex scene understanding: per the link they've cracked the 'horse riding an astronaut' gotcha, they can do 'full glass of wine' at least some of the time but not so much in combination with other stuff, and they can't do accurate clock faces still.

normal sentences that we write in 2025.

it sounds like we've moved well beyond using tools like CLIP to classify images, and I suspect that glaze/nightshade are already obsolete, if they ever worked to begin with. (would need to test to find out).

all that said, I believe ChatGPT's image generator had been behind the times for quite a long time, so it probably feels like a bigger jump for regular ChatGPT users than the people most hooked into the AI image generator scene.

of course, in all the hubbub, we've also already seen the white house jump on the trend in a suitably appalling way, continuing the current era of smirking fascist political spectacle by making a ghiblified image of a crying woman being deported over drugs charges. (not gonna link that shit, you can find it if you really want to.) it's par for the course; the cruel provocation is exactly the point, which makes it hard to find the right tone to respond. I think that sort of use, though inevitable, is far more of a direct insult to the artists at Ghibli than merely creating a machine that imitates their work. (though they may feel differently! as yet no response from Studio Ghibli's official media. I'd hate to be the person who has to explain what's going on to Miyazaki.)

google make number go up

besides all that, apparently google deepmind's latest gemini model is really powerful at reasoning, and also notably cheaper to run, surpassing DeepSeek R1 on the performance/cost ratio front. when DeepSeek did this, it crashed the stock market. when Google did... crickets, only the real AI nerds who stare at benchmarks a lot seem to have noticed. I remember when Google releases (AlphaGo etc.) were huge news, but somehow the vibes aren't there anymore! it's weird.

I actually saw an ad for google phones with Gemini in the cinema when i went to see Gundam last week. they showed a variety of people asking it various questions with a voice model, notably including a question on astrology lmao. Naturally, in the video, the phone model responded with some claims about people with whatever sign it was. Which is a pretty apt demonstration of the chameleon-like nature of LLMs: if you ask it a question about astrology phrased in a way that implies that you believe in astrology, it will tell you what seems to be a natural response, namely what an astrologer would say. If you ask if there is any scientific basis for belief in astrology, it would probably tell you that there isn't.

In fact, let's try it on DeepSeek R1... I ask an astrological question, got an astrological answer with a really softballed disclaimer:

Individual personalities vary based on numerous factors beyond sun signs, such as upbringing and personal experiences. Astrology serves as a tool for self-reflection, not a deterministic framework.

Ask if there's any scientific basis for astrology, and indeed it gives you a good list of reasons why astrology is bullshit, bringing up the usual suspects (Barnum statements etc.). And of course, if I then explain the experiment and prompt it to talk about whether LLMs should correct users with scientific information when they ask about pseudoscientific questions, it generates a reasonable-sounding discussion about how you could use reinforcement learning to encourage models to focus on scientific answers instead, and how that could be gently presented to the user.

I wondered if I'd asked it instead to talk about different epistemic regimes and come up with reasons why LLMs should take astrology into account in their guidance. However, this attempt didn't work so well - it started spontaneously bringing up the science side. It was able to observe how the framing of my question with words like 'benefit', 'useful' and 'LLM' made that response more likely. So LLMs infer a lot of context from framing and shape their simulacra accordingly. Don't think that's quite the message that Google had in mind in their ad though.

I asked Gemini 2.0 Flash Thinking (the small free Gemini variant with a reasoning mode) the same questions and its answers fell along similar lines, although rather more dry.

So yeah, returning to the ad - I feel like, even as the models get startlingly more powerful month by month, the companies still struggle to know how to get across to people what the big deal is, or why you might want to prefer one model over another, or how the new LLM-powered chatbots are different from oldschool assistants like Siri (which could probably answer most of the questions in the Google ad, but not hold a longform conversation about it).

some general comments

The hype around ChatGPT's new update is mostly in its use as a toy - the funny stylistic clash it can create between the soft cartoony "Ghibli style" and serious historical photos. Is that really something a lot of people would spend an expensive subscription to access? Probably not. On the other hand, their programming abilities are increasingly catching on.

But I also feel like a lot of people are still stuck on old models of 'what AI is and how it works' - stochastic parrots, collage machines etc. - that are increasingly falling short of the more complex behaviours the models can perform, now prediction combines with reinforcement learning and self-play and other methods like that. Models are still very 'spiky' - superhumanly good at some things and laughably terrible at others - but every so often the researchers fill in some gaps between the spikes. And then we poke around and find some new ones, until they fill those too.

I always tried to resist 'AI will never be able to...' type statements, because that's just setting yourself up to look ridiculous. But I will readily admit, this is all happening way faster than I thought it would. I still do think this generation of AI will reach some limit, but genuinely I don't know when, or how good it will be at saturation. A lot of predicted 'walls' are falling.

My anticipation is that there's still a long way to go before this tops out. And I base that less on the general sense that scale will solve everything magically, and more on the intense feedback loop of human activity that has accumulated around this whole thing. As soon as someone proves that something is possible, that it works, we can't resist poking at it. Since we have a century or more of science fiction priming us on dreams/nightmares of AI, as soon as something comes along that feels like it might deliver on the promise, we have to find out. It's irresistable.

AI researchers are frequently said to place weirdly high probabilities on 'P(doom)', that AI research will wipe out the human species. You see letters calling for an AI pause, or papers saying 'agentic models should not be developed'. But I don't know how many have actually quit the field based on this belief that their research is dangerous. No, they just get a nice job doing 'safety' research. It's really fucking hard to figure out where this is actually going, when behind the eyes of everyone who predicts it, you can see a decade of LessWrong discussions framing their thoughts and you can see that their major concern is control over the light cone or something.

[padawan-snack-packer]

Hi hello!! I saw you had 0 slots taken, can I request a Senator Aide!Reader x Commander Cody please? If you don't want to write it it's okay!!

"Of Dinners and Blasters", a Commander Cody x Senator Aide! Reader Ficlet

Anon, sweet chaotic soul — I saw this and immediately blacked out and woke up clutching a datapad, drenched in secondhand embarrassment and thirst.

So yes. You may have this ridiculous, flirtation-disaster, Senate-holo-map-humiliation, slow-burn hot mess. 🫡

✨ Featuring: - One (1) overworked and underqualified Senate aide - A tragic arrow-related incident - A very patient (but also slightly vindictive) Commander Cody - “Virile” used in a completely inappropriate tactical context - And the slow realization that maybe you like being bossed around by a clone commander just a little too much

You said Senator Aide x Cody and I said yes, but make it spicy (a bit) and deeply unprofessional 💅

Hope it makes you laugh/scream/melt into the Senate floor!!💖

Title: Of Dinners and Blasters Pairing: Senator Aide!Reader x Commander Cody Tags: teasing, slightly spicy (bestie it's very VERY light), fluff kinda????

The gala had started off fine.

The lights were low and warm, casting everything in soft gold and polished chrome. The kind of upscale Senate event where the champagne never stopped flowing and everything smelled faintly of artificial florals and expensive cologne. Strings of orchestral music drifted from the corner where a live quartet was tucked behind a fountain, and every third person in the room looked like they’d rather be anywhere else — which was how you knew it was going well.

You’d even managed to make it through your senator’s speech without a nervous breakdown. A miracle in and of itself.

Sure, the speeches had dragged on longer than expected — as they always did — and your senator had once again gone wildly off-script halfway through his address. Something about how intergalactic cooperation was like a "complex stew of root vegetables" that required careful seasoning or it would become "politically mushy." He got stuck in a metaphor loop for nearly seven minutes. At one point, he compared the Trade Federation to a "bitter yam."

You were pretty sure the Chandrilan ambassador was still trying to figure out if that was an insult.

But that was normal. That was fine. You were used to finessing damage control with a polite smile and a data pad. You could handle a rogue tuber analogy or two.

What you hadn’t anticipated was the wine. Or the open bar. Or the holoprojector set up at the center of the room, slowly rotating through a set of clone commander-authored tactical models as a display of military "transparency" and cooperation. Or the fact that, after your second glass of wine and a particularly brutal round of small talk with three senators who still thought clones were grown from “military potatoes,” you found yourself standing beside the holo-display next to a very stone-faced Commander Cody and saying—

“Wow. That is a lot of arrows.”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just a small hum of acknowledgment, eyes still tracking the red and blue troop patterns as they flickered across the air between you.

“They’re kind of... big,” you added. You were gesturing vaguely now. “Like, absurdly big. Not very subtle. These look less like troop movements and more like... well... compensation. Very hum... phallic.”

There was a pause.

A beat.

Then—

“Oh no,” someone muttered behind you.

You glanced back. Fives — because of course it was Fives — was already halfway through snorting his drink up his nose. General Kenobi looked like he’d started coughing purely out of self-preservation. You thought you heard someone choke on an hors d’oeuvre in the corner.

And Commander Cody...

...turned his head toward you.

Slowly.

Methodically.

With all the solemn judgment of a man internally reviewing every poor decision that had brought him to this precise moment in time.

You smiled at him, sheepishly. “I was joking,” you said. “Just a little... strategic satire.”

He blinked once.

“Humor,” you clarified, too quickly. “I was making a humorous observation. In jest. About the arrows. It was a joke.”

Silence.

You could hear the silence. Taste it, even. Somewhere in the background, the quartet shifted into a minor key, like the universe itself was soundtracking your descent into public disgrace.

Cody's gaze was unreadable. Not cold — he wasn’t angry, exactly — just... mildly horrified. In that very calm, quiet way that made it so, so much worse. The kind of expression that screamed: “I have seen battlefields and unspeakable violence, but this. This is a new kind of pain.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurted, because your brain had clearly decided to betray you completely. “I just meant they’re very... uh... bold. The arrows. Bold and thick. And... and virile?”

Virile?!

You wanted to die. Instantly. Right there.

To fling yourself into the rotating holo-map and be consumed by its shame-glow.

“I mean—not virile, obviously,” you backpedaled, waving your hands. “That’s not a military term. Probably. I’m not an expert on clone tactics, which you know, because if I were, I wouldn’t be making jokes about the—about the—thick arrows.”

General Kenobi had turned fully around now, face in his hand, shoulders shaking silently.

You considered diving under the hors d’oeuvre table.

Cody was still watching you. Still perfectly still. The tiniest twitch of one eyebrow, like he was experiencing an emotion but choosing to file it under "classified."

You smiled again, helplessly. “You know what? I’m gonna go stand over there now.”

And you did.

You absolutely fled across the floor like the world's most flustered diplomatic gremlin, cheeks burning, stomach plummeting, a full-body flush of mortification clinging to your spine like static electricity.

You spent the rest of the evening hiding behind a decorative pillar and pretending to answer emails.

It was fine.

Except for the part where you were now fully certain Commander Cody was going to have you court-martialed despite the fact that you were, technically, not even in the military.

And also, possibly, he might be planning your tactical execution.

With bold arrows.

Gods help you.

Which brings us to… now.

“Wait, you’re actually serious about this?” you ask, laughing nervously as you scurry after Commander Cody down the polished hallway inside GAR Command.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replies, not even bothering to look over his shoulder. His voice is too calm. Suspiciously calm. Like a man who has made a decision and will not be swayed by mere mortal things like logic or dignity. “If you’re going to critique a tactical formation, you’d better know what it’s for.”

“I wasn’t critiquing!” you protest, stumbling slightly as you dodge a protocol droid. “I was—teasing. There’s a difference.”

“Mm.”

“Joking! You know, that charming kind of banter that builds morale?”

Cody finally glances back at you, expression bone dry. “I think you wounded morale.”

“You mean your morale,” you mutter.

He doesn’t answer. Which is rude, frankly. He just keeps walking like he’s on a mission. Which, technically, he is. A very petty, extremely personal mission of honor reclamation and holo-map revenge.

You try not to look at his back. Or his shoulders. Or the way his dress blacks fit just a little too well for someone who allegedly doesn’t care about appearances. It’s a war crime, honestly. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and it’s making you feel things that are absolutely inappropriate for someone being marched to their death-by-target-practice.

The door to the GAR firing range hisses open.

Cody steps inside without preamble. You hesitate in the doorway.

“This is a little dramatic,” you say, gesturing broadly at the empty training bay. “Dragging a civilian to a military shooting range to prove a point? Bit much, don’t you think?”

Cody sighs. Loudly. The kind of sigh that sounds like it’s been passed down through generations of clone commanders specifically for dealing with your flavor of chaos. “You’re not just a civilian,” he says. “You’re a Senate aide. You give briefings. You sit in on tactical overviews. You know how the chain of command works.”

“Yes, but I’m also just a little aide-,” you say sweetly. “A tiny, harmless, flirty little bureaucrat.”

“You mocked a Republic deployment pattern in front of members of the Jedi Council,” he says flatly.

“Okay, that was—technically true.”

“‘Technically’?” He gives you a look.

You wince. “...I didn’t know the hologram was live-streamed.”

Cody closes his eyes. You watch his soul briefly try to leave his body through the ceiling. Then he turns away, muttering something that might be a prayer or a threat.

“Grab a blaster,” he says.

You blink. “I—what?”

He gestures at the weapons rack. “Training model. Stun only. Go on.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you say, edging toward it. “This isn’t like... you’re not going to shoot me, right?”

“No,” he deadpans.

You narrow your eyes. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

“I’m not going to shoot you.”

A pause.

He adds, “Unless you say something about ‘phallic arrows’ again.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “No arrows! Got it. Blaster acquired.”

You grab the training model. It’s heavier than you expected, and slightly cold to the touch. You immediately drop it.

Cody watches this entire performance in unimpressed silence.

“Okay,” you mutter, finally managing to hold it upright. “But just so we’re clear — if I die of embarrassment, that’s on you. You’ll have to notify my next of kin. Probably the janitor who sees me crying in the Senate hallway every week.”

“Noted,” he says, stone-faced.

You shuffle into place at the firing line. Cody follows, stepping in beside you like an instructor — or a very put-upon older brother who has absolutely been called in by someone’s senator to fix your diplomatic disaster with a hands-on pop quiz.

Targets begin to slide into place on the far end of the range. Glowing. Mocking you.

“I won't totally humiliate yourself, you know?” you murmur hopefully. “I’ve shot a blaster before. Once. At a senator’s retreat team-building event. There were moving targets and everything — though those targets were holographic fruit. And I may have missed most of them. And accidentally shot one of the catering droids.”

Cody makes a noise like he regrets knowing you.

“Elbows up,” he mutters. “You’re leaning back too far. Square your shoulders. You look like a drunk twi’lek in a wind tunnel.”

“That’s very specific.”

“I have experience.”

You manage to hit one target. Barely.

You spin to him, triumphant. “Ha. Got one.”

“Congratulations,” he says blandly. “Try hitting the other fourteen.”

“Oh my gods, Cody.”

He smirks.

You shoot again. Miss. Again. And then—suddenly—you feel him shift behind you, stepping close.

Your breath catches.

“May I?” he asks, voice low, warm.

You nod.

He’s gentle — carefully adjusting your stance, one hand guiding your elbow, the other settling lightly at your waist. You’re painfully aware of how close he is. Of the smell of soap and leather and something a little warm and electric underneath.

“Keep your eye on the target,” he murmurs.

You try.

The next bolt hits dead center.

You blink. “Did I just—”

“You did,” he says, sounding absurdly smug.

You turn toward him a little too fast. He’s right there.

“Are you proud of me, Commander?” you say with mock sweetness.

He raises a brow. “I’m proud you managed to shoot the target instead of a bystander.”

You gasp. “That was one time!”

He huffs a laugh, warm breath brushing your temple. “And it’s now permanently part of your training record.”

“You made a training record just to log that?!”

“Commander’s discretion.”

You glare. “I hope you trip over your own boots.”

Cody leans in a fraction closer. “That’s not very diplomatic of you.”

“I’m not feeling very diplomatic right now.”

The silence stretches.

You’re still holding the blaster.

He’s still not moving away.

“I’m not wrong, though,” you say, tilting your head. “About the arrows. They really do look like—”

“If you finish that sentence,” Cody says, deadpan, “you’ll be assigned to the 212th’s ‘unspecified terrain’ campaign for three weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re bluffing.”

He leans in again, voice dropping just enough to make you swallow. “Try me.”

Your heart does a very stupid flutter.

Cody pulls back after a beat, watching you like he knows exactly what he just did.

And he does.

Smug bastard.

You click the safety on the blaster and set it down. “Well. I think this was very educational.”

“For both of us,” he says, nodding once.

“Next time I critique your arrows, I’ll bring a laser pointer.”

“You’re never getting near my deployment holograms again.”

You grin. “Scared I’ll redesign them in front of the Chancellor?”

“I’m scared you’ll make further anatomical comparisons.”

“Tempting,” you murmur, shooting him a sideways look. “But I think I got the point.”

He sighs. “Stars help me.”

You start walking toward the exit, and he follows. Just before you reach the door, he speaks again — quieter, almost casual:

“You shot better than I expected.”

You glance back, grinning. “You say that like you expected me to fail spectacularly.”

“I did.”

You fake a gasp. “And after everything we’ve been through.”

Cody gives you a look. “You’ve been through a single tactical incident and three glasses of wine.”

“And now a heartwarming bonding experience at the firing range,” you add.

There’s a pause.

Then Cody says, voice low and bone-dry:

“...Maybe next time I’ll just arrest you.”

You smile wider. “Kinky.”

He blinks. Actually blinks. For a half-second, his brain stalls — like a datapad buffering in real time — and that is your new favorite moment of the entire day.

“Goodnight, Commander,” you chirp sweetly, and saunter out the door like you didn’t just completely derail his thought process.

Behind you, you swear you hear him mutter:

“Force help me.”