In April 1945, as US soldiers overtook Merkers, Germany, stories began to surface to Army officials of stolen Nazi riches stored in the local salt mine. Eventually, the Americans found the mine and began exploring it, ending up at a vaulted door. Here’s the story, as told by Greg Bradsher: the Americans found the main vault. It was blocked by a brick wall three feet thick…In the center of the wall was a large bank-type steel safe door, complete with combination lock and timing mechanism with a heavy steel door set in the middle of it. Attempts to open the steel vault door were unsuccessful. Word went up the chain of command about the find and suspected gold hoard behind the vaulted steel door. The order came back down to open it up. But what to do about this vault door that, up until now, nobody could open? One engineer looked at the problem and said: forget the door, blow the wall! One of the engineers who inspected the brick wall surrounding the vault door thought it could be blasted through with little effort. Therefore the engineers, using a half-stick of dynamite, blasted an entrance though the masonry wall. To me, this is a fascinating commentary on security specifically [insert meme of gate with no fence] But also a commentary on problem-solving generally. When you have a seemingly intractable problem — there’s an impenetrable door we can’t open — rather than focus on the door itself, you take a step back and realize the door may be impenetrable but the wall enclosing it is not. A little dynamite and problem solved. Lessons: You’re only as strong as your weakest point. Don’t miss the forest for the trees. A little dynamite goes a long way. Footnote to this story, in case you’re wondering what they found inside: [a partial] inventory indicated that there were 8,198 bars of gold bullion; 55 boxes of crated gold bullion; hundreds of bags of gold items; over 1,300 bags of gold Reichsmarks, British gold pounds, and French gold francs; 711 bags of American twenty-dollar gold pieces; hundreds of bags of gold and silver coins; hundreds of bags of foreign currency; 9 bags of valuable coins; 2,380 bags and 1,300 boxes of Reichsmarks (2.76 billion Reichsmarks); 20 silver bars; 40 bags containing silver bars; 63 boxes and 55 bags of silver plate; 1 bag containing six platinum bars; and 110 bags from various countries Email · Mastodon · Bluesky

Makarounas Vineyards Unveils Exclusive Release of Morokanella Fermented in a Concrete Egg. Makarounas Winery presents its latest limited release—an exceptional...

Carson Gross has a post about vendoring which brought back memories of how I used to build websites in ye olden days, back in the dark times before npm. “Vendoring” is where you copy dependency source files directly into your project (usually in a folder called /vendor) and then link to them — all of this being a manual process. For example: Find jquery.js or reset.css somewhere on the web (usually from the project’s respective website, in my case I always pulled jQuery from the big download button on jQuery.com and my CSS reset from Eric Meyer’s website). Copy that file into /vendor, e.g. /vendor/jquery@1.2.3.js Pull it in where you need it, e.g. <script src="/vendor/jquery@1.2.3.js"> And don’t get me started on copying your transitive dependencies (the dependencies of your dependencies). That gets complicated when you’re vendoring by hand! Now-a-days package managers and bundlers automate all of this away: npm i what you want, import x from 'pkg', and you’re on your way! It’s so easy (easy to get all that complexity). But, as the HTMX article points out, a strength can also be a weakness. It’s not all net gain (emphasis mine): Because dealing with large numbers of dependencies is difficult, vendoring encourages a culture of independence. You get more of what you make easy, and if you make dependencies easy, you get more of them. I like that — you get more of what you make easy. Therefore: be mindful of what you make easy! As Carson points out, dependency management tools foster a culture of dependence — imagine that! I know I keep lamenting Deno’s move away from HTTP imports by default, but I think this puts a finger on why I’m sad: it perpetuates the status quo, whereas a stance on aligning imports with how the browser works would not perpetuate this dependence on dependency resolution tooling. There’s no package manager or dependency resolution algorithm for the browser. I was thinking about all of this the other day when I then came across this thread of thoughts from Dave Rupert on Mastodon. Dave says: I prefer to use and make simpler, less complex solutions that intentionally do less. But everyone just wants the thing they have now but faster and crammed with more features (which are juxtaposed) He continues with this lesson from his startup Luro: One of my biggest takeaways from Luro is that it’s hard-to-impossible to sell a process change. People will bolt stuff onto their existing workflow (ecosystem) all day long, but it takes a religious conversion to change process. Which really helped me put words to my feelings regarding HTTP imports in Deno: i'm less sad about the technical nature of the feature, and more about what it represented as a potential “religious revival” in the area of dependency management in JS. package.json & dep management has become such an ecosystem unto itself that it seems only a Great Reawakening™️ will change it. I don’t have a punchy point to end this article. It’s just me working through my feelings. Email · Mastodon · Bluesky

Our world treats information like it’s always good. More data, more content, more inputs — we want it all without thinking twice. To say that the last twenty-five years of culture have centered around info-maximalism wouldn’t be an exaggeration. I hope we’re coming to the end of that phase. More than ever before, it feels like we have to — that we just can’t go on like this. But the solution cannot come from within; it won’t be a better tool or even better information to get us out of this mess. It will be us, feeling and acting differently. Think about this comparison: Information is to wisdom what pornography is to real intimacy. I’m not here to moralize, so I compare to pornography with all the necessary trepidation. Without judgement, it’s my observation that pornography depicts physical connection while creating emotional distance. I think information is like that. There’s a difference between information and wisdom that hinges on volume. More information promises to show us more of reality, but too much of it can easily hide the truth. Information can be pornography — a simulation that, when consumed without limits, can weaken our ability to experience the real thing. When we feel overwhelmed by information — anxious and unable to process what we’ve already taken in — we’re realizing that “more” doesn’t help us find truth. But because we have also established information as a fundamental good in our society, failure to keep up with it, make sense of it, and even profit from it feels like a personal moral failure. There is only one way out of that. We don’t need another filter. We need a different emotional response to information. We should not only question why our accepted spectrum of emotional response to information — in the general sense — is mostly limited to the space between curiosity and desire, but actively develop a capacity for disgust when it becomes too much. And it has become too much. Some people may say that we just need better information skills and tools, not less information. But this misses how fundamentally our minds need space and time to turn information into understanding. When every moment is filled with new inputs, we can’t fully absorb, process, and reflect upon what we’ve consumed. Reflection, not consumptions, creates wisdom. Reflection requires quiet, isolation, and inactivity. Some people say that while technology has expanded over the last twenty-five years, culture hasn’t. If they needed a good defense for that idea, well, I think this is it: A world without idleness is a truly world without creativity. I’m using loaded moral language here for a purpose — to illustrate an imbalance in our information-saturated culture. Idleness is a pejorative these days, though it needn’t be. We don’t refer to compulsive information consumption as gluttony, though we should. And if attention is our most precious resource — as an information-driven economy would imply — why isn’t its commercial exploitation condemned as avarice? As I ask these questions I’m really looking for where individuals like you and me have leverage. If our attention is our currency, then leverage will come with the capacity to not pay it. To not look, to not listen, to not react, to not share. And as has always been true of us human beings, actions are feelings echoed outside the body. We must learn not just to withhold our attention but to feel disgust at ceaseless claims to it.