As someone who runs a Discord server for some close friends, this rings (sad but) very true:

Closed communities are the only safe spaces left which contain productive, valuable, inspiring content, where sharing for the sake of helping someone is natural, where you can still make meaningful connections, and where you can have productive discussions.

When Andrew Liptak writes about Lord of the Rings, I pay attention. This is one of his best yet, drawing a line from Tolkien to our present-day world in an incredible way:

A critical theme throughout Tolkien’s work is the decline of a once-great people, with weak men failing to live up to the lives and stories of their predecessors.

But we should not despair:

Tolkien isn’t throwing up his hands and pointing out that the world is terrible: he’s explaining that there are ways to avoid falling into despair: sticking to one’s morals, distinguishing the things that are objectively good and bad in the world, and recognizing how to move on those instincts to do good in the world. It’s an inherently optimistic story that serves as an excellent guide for us in the dark times ahead of us.

Also see his piece Corruptibility for more thoughts in the same vein:

The core thing that I take away from Tolkien’s work is that power is dangerous to work with, and that very few who encounter it come away unscathed.

I like this idea from Lorin Hochstein about focusing more on the almost-incidents in our products:

Because most of our incidents are novel, and because near misses are a source of insight about novel future incidents, if we are serious about wanting to improve reliability, we should be treating our near misses as first-class entities, the way we do with incidents.

I imagine that a culture of “post near-incident reviews” could be really beneficial for the resiliency of our products—and our ability to predict and avoid some of the really catastrophic incidents.

I finally had a chance to make my way through Liz Pelly’s Spotify exposé that’s been making the rounds, and it is so infuriating. Definitely worth reading the whole thing, but the short version is that Spotify is seeding their most popular playlists with generic “background music” that they pay even lower royalties for. A good summary of the issue:

A model in which the imperative is simply to keep listeners around, whether they’re paying attention or not, distorts our very understanding of music’s purpose. This treatment of music as nothing but background sounds—as interchangeable tracks of generic, vibe-tagged playlist fodder—is at the heart of how music has been devalued in the streaming era. It is in the financial interest of streaming services to discourage a critical audio culture among users, to continue eroding connections between artists and listeners, so as to more easily slip discounted stock music through the cracks, improving their profit margins in the process. It’s not hard to imagine a future in which the continued fraying of these connections erodes the role of the artist altogether, laying the groundwork for users to accept music made using generative-AI software.

I’ve been on the fence about streaming services for a while, but I think going forward I want to use both my Kindle and Spotify in the same way. Sample a book/album to see if I like it, and then buy it in physical form (or Bandcamp!) if I do. Like when we used to listen to CDs in the record store to decide if it’s worth spending that precious music budget on.

I love the Murderbot books, and this interview with author Martha Wells is a delight:

Of all her characters, Wells has said, Murderbot is the one she’s put the most of herself into. It’s a surprising claim, until it’s not. It’s obvious that Wells feels a distance from other humans, even as she’s spent a life trying to relate to them, to understand them.

This is a really interesting rebuttal of some modern parenting methods by Marilyn Simon:

The job of the parent is not to prevent any potential “trauma”, it is to love the child even when they are bad, and to punish them, and most importantly to forgive them. A child can’t understand the lightness of forgiveness without understanding first that one needs it.

I read about Zach Braff and His All-Star Benefit Concert for the 20th Anniversary of ‘Garden State’, and it reminded me how much I loved the movie despite all the hate it gets.

“Back in this era, the Virgin Megastore was around the corner from a movie theater in [New York City’s] Union Square,” Braff recalls in a phone interview. “And so many people were going directly from the movie theater to the Virgin Megastore to buy the soundtrack that Virgin had to put a sign in the CD slot that said, ‘We are out of the Garden State soundtrack. Please stop asking.’ The thing just caught fire.”

The Shins’ frontman, James Mercer, credits the soundtrack with transforming his career. “We have a lot of young people in our audience still, and I think it’s probably because of Garden State,” he tells Rolling Stone.

I always think of Spoon’s song Outlier as the hate example that cuts the deepest:

And I remember when you walked out of Garden State ‘Cause you had taste, you had taste You had no time to waste

Rude.

This is another amazing AHP essay, this time about the critiques of Gen Z employees:

I’ve long argued that the critique of younger generations is a sublimated critique of a generation’s own parenting and child-rearing practices: no one wants to admit that the decisions they made (or tacitly endorsed) are responsible for the type of worker they find objectionable. But that sort of introspection requires, well, work.

It’s well worth reading the whole thing, but I also wanted to highlight the recommendations for what we (Gen X, etc.) can do about this:

So how do we break this cycle? If, upon encountering or even considering the attitude, ambition, or “work ethic” of a younger generation, your impulse begins to drift towards they don’t work like we do, my hope is we consider the following:

• How have we, as a society — and how have I, as a leader — helped foster the conditions that encourage someone to work a certain way, with certain habits, or attitudes, or ambitions?
• How much of my reaction is to the fact that someone is not working exactly the way I did at that point in my life — even though my circumstances were almost certainly wildly different?
• How has our society — or our industry — tacitly agreed on an understanding of excellence that has little room for different ways of navigating the world, of making space to care for others, or collectivism just generally?
• What if working differently is also an attempt to keep people in the industry for longer — and make the industry as a whole more sustainable?
• What can I learn from the way they’re approaching work?

This post about news feeds by Lauren Goode at Wired resonated with me a lot:

For those of us who came of age on the internet some 20 to 30 years ago, the way these recommendation systems work now represents a fundamental shift to how we long thought of our lives online. We used to log on to tell people who we were, or who we wanted to be; now the machines tell us who we are, and sometimes, we might even believe them.

I just can’t get comfortable with algorithmic feeds. I know it’s likely a me problem and I need to get with the times, but that’s the curse of (some of) my generation, I guess. I just want to choose what I want to see online—even if it’s way more work—because I don’t to be told who I am by a social media company.