Marc

@dawnalee0305 Voting ID is unconstitutional Dawna.

😡😡😡 @thun

@thesamparr "8 hours labour, 8 hours rest, 8 hours for what we will!" It always rhymes.

We had Rob Dyrdek on MFM a while back. He’s built 18 companies and sold 6 of them. $550M in total exits. He splits every 24 hours of his life into percentages. 30% work. 7 hours. 30% sleep. 7 hours. 30% family. 7 hours. 10% health. 2.5 hours. He calls it "the unified theory." He's never compromised the family time. Was a controversial episode because of how strict he is - but i love it. (Check out the episode on MFM.)

Patience and persistence to reach any kind of worthwhile entertainment. There were definitely a lot of carrots at the end of the tunnel, but it was a lot of hacking through layers of messy technology to get there.

@vxunderground So many positive second-order-effects of this AI revolution. Out with all the Atlassian crap!

Jira and Confluence is badass They're going to train off your data unless you opt-out by August, 17th Thank you AI overlords for draining us of literally everything

@LoganDobson Lol yes, my wife pushed me to 3x my income since we met. She got annoyed with me not fulfilling my potential, and so did I, but she got there earlier.

not kidding when I say that this type of thing (repeated out millions of times) is exactly why, on aggregate, married men are the highest-earning demographic group

@amgmotorsport @Max33Verstappen @VerstappenCOM With all the blinking and close-up driving it feels like your usual autobahn experience to be fair.

#24hNBR – If you ever wondered how it feels like having @Max33Verstappen in your rear mirror: Here you go. 👀 #AMG @VerstappenCOM

@NoContextDutch1 What are we selling to the Icelanders, or are we just buying all their aluminum or something

@devahaz Flown a lot. Business, economy, doesn't matter, never happened.

Frequent flyer followers, are you experiencing this? I read posts about this ALL THE TIME nowadays, but as someone who flies a lot I basically never see it. Have I just been getting really lucky or are people way overstating the level of seating chaos these days?

Some residual republican Amsterdam resentment towards the crown princess during the brunch with the Amsterdam mayor? Even for Dutch standards… this spread is a bit embarrassing for the future monarch visiting the capitals mayor.

@nd_archive If I’m looking in Dutch for Kimchi related to Van Gogh, the only result pages are “which mental illnesses did Van Gogh have?”. Maybe that’s a line of thinking?

갑자기 떠올랐는데... 네덜란드 암스테르담에 있는 고흐 미술관에는 “ 반고흐 김치 ”라는 메뉴가 있다는 걸 아시나요? (저는 반고흐 김치 샌드위치를 먹었어요) 반고흐 씨가 담근 김치는 아닐테고 고흐 가문에서 대대로 김장을 하지도 않을 거고 도대체 어쩌다 이런 메뉴가 탄생했는지 너무너무 궁금함

@tenobrus That's not how I imagined Orbitals to look like, I'd always imagined them more organic somehow. What's the source of that image? Definitely agree though, Culture is the way to go 🚀 Would be nice if @elonmusk tracks more in that direction again instead of 🍊

we should be trying to build The Culture. you all know that right? the whole point of all of this is to build The Culture.

@dennismhogan Espresso and go.

The Italians understand that breakfast foods are not supposed to be delicious because breakfast is meant to be skipped

@Zack31849967 @SaysSimulation Yes.

@thun @SaysSimulation We are using playground rules. Playgrounds are an example of power dynamics where might makes right. There is no teacher or parent to resolve your disputes.

The best way to view the Strait of Hormuz is international law. As a matter of international law, it will be open for free passage when hostilities cease. So, nothing to worry about for international law believers, such as Europe & Canada. What? There's an issue with that? 1/

@Zack31849967 @SaysSimulation If you'd read well you'd see I made no mention of international law or compelling courtroom arguments. Just playground rules, you should be able to level with that. You've a bigger military, fine, you also have a lot more enemies. Let's see how you do with even less friends.

@thun @SaysSimulation Geopolitics isn’t tort law, that’s the whole point. Compelling courtroom arguments don’t matter if they can’t be enforced. Europeans are weak, they will listen to lectures and care because they must, until they are strong enough not to.

@jbillinson I had this as my iPad lockscreen for a while, but needed to change it because it freaked out my wife everytime she saw it. Can see why, but it's such a baller photo.

Spacewalks don’t seem that scary now that they’re all tethered. But for that very brief window in the 80s when they thought this was a good idea? Nope, nope, nope.

@melissa Thanks for this, it's a great summary. Happy to see it mostly aligns with how we do things over here, including some of the literal language. Seems to be working great for toddlerhood, crossing fingers for teenagehood.

i think a lot about how to get a high agency kid here’s what’s working +

@modacitylife Good for you, that *is* super nice.

In South Holland’s polders, joy is found on smooth ribbons of red asphalt, and the freedom to access nature on your own two wheels. With every pedal stroke, the landscape opens up: waterways, wetlands, and wide skies. More than a ride, it’s a reset for the mind, body, and soul.

@tleilax___ Thanks. This makes me happy Twitter long form is a thing now.

A Trading Lore story : Calories, Credit and Kalashnikovs They sent us to Yemen to sell sugar. That was the official wording, anyway. In commodity trading, the official wording is usually the funniest part. We were not shipping teddy bears or Swiss watches. We were shipping cheap calories in fifty-kilo bags to one of the poorest places on earth, through a war zone, to men our compliance department would have preferred to describe only in the passive voice. I was middle-aged by then, old enough to know better and still young enough to get on the plane. My company wanted a long-term sugar deal in Yemen. The buyers controlled the only refinery in the part of the country they held. If you wanted to feed those provinces something cheap, safe, and easy to move, sugar was the obvious answer. People who have never been poor tend to underestimate sugar. It keeps. It travels. It does not ask for refrigeration, stable electricity, or functioning roads. Stir it into tea and you have calories. Tea, in turn, means boiled water, which in places like that is not a lifestyle detail. It is risk management. At the airport, a four-wheel drive was waiting on the tarmac side of the chaos. So was an armed escort. Someone handed me a bulletproof vest with the cheerful efficiency of a hotel porter offering a rain umbrella. Three or four hours, they said. Through the desert, they said. Better to leave now, they said. Nobody said anything reassuring, which I appreciated. Reassurance in those places is usually a sign that somebody is lying. We drove for hours across a landscape that looked less like a country than like the aftermath of an argument between God and artillery. Villages were broken open. Houses were pocked and slumped. Children stood in the dust and watched us go by with the flat expressions of people who had already seen too much to be impressed by another convoy. Yemen was poor before the war. War had simply made the place more honest about it. By the time we arrived, the light had turned the color of old brass. The gathering was set around a large tent, because the men we had come to meet were semi-nomadic and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. There were a few hundred people, maybe more. Boys, old men, cousins, guards, spectators. Everyone seemed to have an AK-47. Not metaphorically. Literally everyone. If there had been a kid carrying a rifle, I would not have been surprised. We waited off to one side in a smaller tent while the choreography sorted itself out. Tea arrived. More men arrived. A few very serious-looking fellows stared at me as if calculating my resale value. Half an hour later, I was ushered forward to meet the man who mattered. He was perhaps in his sixties. Perhaps in his seventies. In that part of the world, age is often less a number than a texture. He sat on carpets inside the tent, calm and composed, and to my surprise he reminded me a little of my grandfather. Not in politics, obviously. More in the face. The eyes. The way some men can sit perfectly still and make everybody else seem hurried. Tea was poured. Polite conversation was made. Then we discussed the real matter at hand, which was whether his side would buy roughly half a billion dollars' worth of sugar from my side over the next five years. There is something wonderfully absurd about the fact that global trade, for all its models and freight curves and credit committees, eventually comes down to one man in a tent deciding whether he likes the other man's manner. We negotiated, because one must. Nobody ever feels they have made a good deal unless they have suffered a little on the way to it. There was some back and forth, a little theatre, a little firmness, a few pauses to let silence do its work. In the end we shook hands on terms. We agreed on a fixed lump sump premium for payment terms, because in Islam, credit itself is haram. That was the contract. No lawyers. No signatures. No polished conference room. The man did not write, and in any case had no interest in memorialising the agreement in the style preferred by European auditors. His word was his bond. Which is a noble principle, though a difficult one to explain to compliance. I remember thinking, not for the last time in my career, that the internal memo would be far stranger than the actual risk. Afterward they gave us lunch. Meat grilled over fire. More tea, won't sleep. Late afternoon settling over the camp. For a brief hour it all felt almost ordinary, which is the most dangerous feeling in places like that. Once something starts to feel ordinary, you begin to forget where you are. Fortunately the guards had not forgotten. They told us it was time to leave. You did not want to drive those roads after dark. Too many ways to disappear. Mines. Ambushes. Bad luck. Storms. Mechanical issues. The desert has a broad imagination. So we climbed back into the vehicle and began the long drive out, racing the light over dirt roads and through the mountains, all the way back to where civilization, such as it was, resumed its administrative duties. That should have been the end of it. A good trading story. One more entry in the large and not especially honorable anthology of how commodities actually move around the world. But a week later, a humanitarian convoy took the same dirt road through the mountains that we had taken. The Americans droned it. Same road. Same type of vehicle. Same landscape. Different luck. That was the moment, I think, when I decided that physical commodity trading in those parts of the world had become too literal for me. I had always known the business involved freight, credit, politics, and appetite. I had not realized until Yemen that sometimes the margin was measured in timing, dust, and whether somebody looking at a screen from very far away decided your car belonged in the world. In the trade, we say "time is of the essence". In Yemen, I learned just how true that could be.

@pmarca Your cultural memory.

In our cultural memory, 1866-1928 might as well not even exist. Lost decades, despite virtually the entire modern world as we know it conceived and built then.