Remember the wild west days of the early internet? I'm thinking back to the GeoCities era, circa '97. I was twelve, hacking together hit counters on table-based pages with manually rounded corners on my parents' AOL account, sandwiched between homework and failed kickflips.

This was Internet 1.0, before JavaScript became ECMAScript, long before TypeScript, years ahead of modern frameworks. Chrome didn't exist, and Google wouldn't appear until late '98. We searched with Excite or HotBot, and honestly, they worked fine. The web was small, pay-per-click ads hadn't invaded, and SEO wasn't even an acronym yet. "Reading your feed" meant diving into crude, hand-crafted "I-made-this-myself"-looking pages, not consuming content from AI-targeted timelines. That looping MIDI track in the background? It wasn't just cheesy music, it was a neon welcome mat shouting, "Come on in!"

The first web was based.

New content wasn't delivered, you had to go out and find it, rummaging through guestbooks and lists of bookmark exchanges, smashing "Random Site" buttons, deliberately losing yourself through webrings. It was the raw first web: pre-AI, pre-bot, 100% human-crafted wilderness before corporate platforms swooped in to package everything into neat little boxes. Digg and Reddit bottle some of that spark, but it's a different culture now. Those early pages were pure maker-energy. Messy, personal, proudly obsessive, not prefab posts lobbying for an algorithmic score.

I wanted in. I needed something that was mine. I frequently cracked open View Source, scavenged loose scraps of code, mashed them together, fixed the breaks, then broke them worse. I could stitch a handful of HyperCard stacks on Mac OS 7, but wiring real event handlers or writing a full-blown app? Sorcery. I'd follow tutorials to use MacsBug to drop into assembly, like glitching the matrix; I could follow the recipes, but couldn't yet write my own. Variables and if-statements I could handle; everything else lacked grounding. How do people just... make all of this up and get it to run? The answer didn't land in a weekend, or even a year. It seeped in drip by drip, through tiny wins and glorious face-plants. Today's learning paths are softened with guardrails and AI lifelines, but that raw thrash, the stubborn fight to connect the dots, remains the rite of passage that rewires your brain for building anything.

My "I-know-kung-fu" moment came halfway through freshman year. New transfer student, marooned in the computer lab while counselors untangled my schedule, I ditched the worksheet and started noodling if-then-else spaghetti in Macromedia Director. Somehow, it actually ran: a janky little Frogger clone with an idea that anyone should be able to hot-swap in their own images, skins as a first-class feature, a nod to my ResEdit days. Feeling cheeky, I dropped the file on the shared drive. Minutes later, holy shit… pixel frogs were leaping across half the monitors. My stomach cratered when the teacher opened remote view. Turns out, I earned my seat in the Senior Projects room as a freshman. A year later that hack landed me a software-engineering internship at the University of Nevada, Reno.

By graduation I was neck-deep in web dev and knee-deep in Internet Explorer bullshit. The world surfed in IE, I coded on a Mac, and every clearfix hack or hasLayout hiccup felt like debugging through a carnival mirror. This was pre-Flexbox, pre-CSS Grid, light-years before Tailwind. Eventually jQuery dropped, and I wrote a mini-clone determined to learn how one-liners could tame chaos with composable, recursive logic. Suddenly I began to speak the language.

When async/await and TypeScript arrived, it finally felt like home. I branched out, exploring PHP/SQL for web backends, Python for data processing and forecasting, C# for gaming engines, Objective-C and later Swift and Dart for mobile, Go for web services, OpenGL for graphics, and eventually Solidity for blockchain. New vocabularies, same grammar. Projects leveled up: band sites became startup platforms, side apps turned venture-backed. I graduated from "just buy me lunch" to "the rate's doubled, still in?"

You don’t get a blueprint, only fragments.

Flash, Shockwave, ActionScript, fossils now, but in those Web 1.0 trenches I learned the ropes and watched code flip from mystery to possibility. Countless paradigm shifts later, I'm still chasing the same rush: vibe-coding like it's dial-up, watching screens spring to life with something I just hacked together.

I never expected those paths to loop back on themselves. A random email to Stephen Wolfram led to a summer mentorship program; years later my automata graphics appeared in the 20th anniversary edition of A New Kind of Science. Childhood tinkering with AppleScript text-to-speech paved the way for a sandbox exploit that scored an Apple security bounty payout. Vector landscapes I'd posted on obscure forums wound up at Art Basel beside Herbert Franke, then on Beeple's studio wall. XCOPY, a web3 icon, went from being collected to becoming a collector. Proof Collective, now under Yuga, asked me to build a code-generated Moonbirds Diamond Exhibit. The code I wrote just to learn keeps boomeranging back to the people who lit the flame.

The takeaway? You don't have to master every stack, just keep the circuit open. Publish, improvise, repeat. Stay curious enough to keep hitting run, and let the web do what it was born to do: share, learn, grow.

Enter "Vibe Coding"

The feedback loop is now super-charged. Modern coding agents, Cursor, Claude Code, Aider, aren't IDE plug-ins so much as jam-session bandmates: I lay down a riff, they answer, we trade solos until the track feels right. Half the time they crush it; the other half they wander off, but the improvisation takes me places I'd never reach alone. The bottleneck is no longer how to build, it's what to build.

Because agents thrive on rules, I give them a house style before they touch a key. For Cursor I pin a short manifesto at the top of every chat:

1. NEVER modify config files unless I explicitly type `manual override`

2. NEVER suggest edits to those configs

3. NEVER "fix" bugs by changing configs without `manual override`

4. NEVER create new tsconfig, eslint, or jest configs unless requested via `manual override`

Cursor pauses before touching the code: "I'd like to change X. May I override rule #1?" About half the time I wave it on through. Boundaries first, collaboration second.

Design rules get the same treatment. To keep theming painless I paste this at the top of UI threads:

• ALWAYS use the CSS variables defined in `globals.css`.

• NEVER hard-code hex values or use tailwind swatches; add to `globals.css` when a new color definition is needed.

• By ONLY using theme variables, global style changes should cascade everywhere automatically.

The agents respect it and my dark-mode toggle works on day one.

Lately I'm feeding them prompt templates that scaffold docs and tests while I sleep. A snippet I drop into a "write tests" request looks like this:

# {{test_name}} Tests Documentation

## Overview

Explain what each test in `{{test_directory}}` is validating.

## Tests and Their Purpose

### `[FileName1].test.js`

- **Purpose:** <!-- one-liner -->

- **Covers:** <!-- component or function -->

### `[FileName2].test.js`

- **Purpose:**

- **Covers:**

## Why These Tests Matter

Summarize the risks they catch and the confidence they add.

Aider turns that into a filled-out doc, hands it to Claude: Extended Thinking for a second opinion, and Gemini cleans the diffs then patches the Typescript types. Agents assigning tasks to agents while I sip coffee and watch the branches bloom.

So what happens when the distance from concept to compile drops to near-zero? When the real work shifts from how to why? We're about to find out.

Cheers!
🍻Ryan

There’s a peculiar tension in tech nostalgia — we romanticize the tools of the past not because they were necessarily any better, but because they remind us what we once hoped technology would have become. Lately, I’ve been retracing the DNA of early social platforms, hunting for clues about where we might rebuild genuine connection in an age of bot-driven engagement and algorithmic noise.

I fondly remember early Twitter circa 2008–2009 — a time when 140 characters was enough. Our timelines were simple, chronological opt-in feeds. No ads, no algorithms filtering our view, no influencer engagement. It was free, and so were we.

Back then, I used Twitter to stash tech bookmarks and share thoughts with whoever was around. There was no pressure to go viral or dunk on others. Thoughts percolated; short-form felt like long-form. Ideas had to be unpacked. Conversations were richer and news moved slower. You had time to sip on them.

Looking back at the platform as it existed at this time, there were no Like counts. There was no Retweet functionality. There was no filtered “Replies” view. This was before the platform had any concept of comments. We each had one stream to tweet little bits of compressed information throughout the day. That was it.

The Changing Face of Social Media

Since its rebrand to X, my feed feels like a different beast. Ads and promoted posts blend seamlessly with organic content, and topics I've muted or blocked still continue to pop up. Between updates from my network, I scroll past walls of posts from sources I've never interacted with on subjects I have no interest in (or have explicitly tried to mute), full of wild videos of violence caught on camera and half-naked OnlyFans profiles.

One recent ad stood out. It was a post labeled as a paid advertisement yet offered no product or service for sale. It depicted a war zone and had even been flagged by the platform's own Community Notes for spreading misinformation, yet it kept on running, front & center.

It felt like switching from a TV with hundreds of channels to one that randomly cycles through infomercials and static.

Even basic features have been glitchy. Tweet counts and Likes don't always add up correctly, and preview images from competitor domains are often removed. Access to my own content is now paywalled through the API, throttling organic discovery.

In the early days, the API was free. You could read your own content, freely search for keywords — do whatever you wanted. I used it to host my X feed on my site and even made apps. This openness meant everything was indexed, allowing discovery from external sources like Google.

But now, that same (free) Basic API costs a staggering $200 per month for limited access. To circumvent this steep paywall, bots masquerade as regular users, engaging just enough to avoid being flagged. Ironically, this fuels the creation of more bots that better mimic human behavior, training ever more engaging bots.

It's surprising how much data is collected — from tracking cookies and shared purchase histories to location info, plus the countless thoughts I've posted over the years. Yet, despite all this information, they seem to care so little about these interests. On X, the "interests" tagged to my account (found in Settings > Content You See) seldom align with me. Instead, they seem to reflect what they'd like me to pay attention to.

What Else Is There?

In search of "the next old-style-Twitter," I ventured into several new platforms:

• Warpcast / Farcaster

• Bluesky

• Threads

• Mastodon

• Nostr

Warpcast / Farcaster

Warpcast initially seemed promising — a new space for NFT artists as X's algorithm shifted.

On Warpcast, all posts are made within channels, which are somewhat like a blend of Reddit communities and Twitter threads. Users can purchase — or more accurately, lease — these channels, as there's no guarantee of permanent ownership, should they decide to repurpose or take ownership over your channel.

After fully committing, I found my posts weren’t reaching others as expected — hidden by default, even in channels I had paid to moderate. I would post a comment, and others would have to expand the parent thread to find it. The total count failed to increment, so they wouldn’t know it existed without looking for it. Apparently, this was the behavior for accounts labeled as spam.

I noticed my artwork being used by others to promote token drops without my permission or any form of compensation. Tokens were given to those sharing artists' work, but not to the artists themselves. Often, an interactive post pinned to the top of the platform would let me see how much of a token my "friends" held compared to me, tempting me with what seemed like a hot tip. Then it would direct me on how to buy it, only to have the price plummet shortly after my purchase.

Realizing that Warpcast wasn't aligning with my goals, I decided to move on. I returned to X, starting back over with zero followers (down from 25,000), and continued to explore other options.

Bluesky

After leaving Warpcast, I jumped over to Bluesky. A week in, I was surprised to find my account included on several blocklists. Maybe my interest in AI and crypto tech triggered someone. I'm not sure if it was my criticisms of the tech or my love for it — depending on the day. Being labeled a "spammer" and "anti-artist" without any appeals process was a disenchanting first impression of the community. I'm all about supporting artists and can't stand crypto spam either!

Many of the ideas I was passionate about elsewhere on X — especially early digital art collecting, AI art, new blockchains, smart contract design, and game theory — all felt somewhat under-discussed here. It was like certain interests couldn't gain traction or spark any community engagement.

I tried self-hosting on Bluesky to embrace decentralization, but the one-way migration and lack of broader adoption made it feel isolating. Once you commit to hosting, you can’t back out without losing your entire network when you stop paying.

Threads

Next up was Threads. Of all the platforms, it was the most meta — social media posting about social media. Endless growth strategies, social network leader gossip, and comments like "I only got 10 likes," or "Wow, I got 50,000 views!" Finding real news or new ideas worth exploring was nearly impossible.

I hated when they slapped “Meta AI” characters in ads above actual human content — they even tried to roll out AI profiles for people who didn't exist, then immediately removed them after backlash as a strange sort of temperature-check experiment.

Curious about privacy, I dug into their policies and default settings. I soon regretted it. The list of third parties they share data with included names like "Deep Root Analytics," a firm slammed for mishandling voter data. A quick search showed similar issues with others on the list, which had over 100 entities.

To grow my network, I boosted posts, but engagement came almost exclusively from sus accounts. Analytics showed my ads reached users far outside my target audience, leaving me paying to amplify content in places like Iran and Malaysia where it didn't even make sense.

When I tried engaging organically — liking posts and commenting — my account got flagged as spam and restricted. This was despite paying for their "Premium" tier, which promised verification and support.

I gave the Threads Developer API a shot and found the process unnecessarily complicated. Linking multiple accounts (Facebook for login, Instagram for verification, even WhatsApp for a confirmation code) felt over the top. Dealing with their complex authentication process was a nightmare. The constant need to refresh tokens just to perform basic actions like searching hashtags was infuriating. Once more, it felt extremely isolated from the real world.

Mastodon

Mastodon feels like early Twitter with a decentralized twist. I love the concept, but running a server was expensive and lonely. Despite its potential, it was disappointing how empty it felt. For now, it’s a ghost town.

Projects like Pixelfed, a decentralized Instagram alternative on the same protocol, had similar hurdles: they worked but felt clunky. Out of all the alternatives, hosting a server was the most expensive path — and after all that effort, I didn’t get a single organic engagement.

Nostr

Imagine a chatroom on a decentralized network where you truly own your data. That’s the dream behind Nostr. But true decentralization brings quirks: edits or deletions might not stick. Posts show up out of order, and follower counts change depending on relays. Anyone can claim any username on different relays, leading to confusing identity mix-ups.

Nostr offers a gritty peek into Web3's social potential, but right now, it's blatantly "early." The trade-off between decentralization and usability is huge. It's like a social network hosted on an old peer-to-peer platform like LimeWire. For it to catch on, the UX and discoverability have to be better.

Substack Just Works

Which brings us here. Ironically, after trying out all the decentralized microblogging platforms, I ended up embracing a newsletter hub I hadn't even considered: Substack. It was never on my list, but it turns out Substack is exactly what I needed.

I signed back up for a new free Bluesky account to exit the self-hosted version, starting from scratch, sharing mirrored post links to X + Bluesky. This combination feels closer to what I'm seeking: editorial control over my content and a more personalized connection with readers.

Substack allows me to share without algorithms influencing who sees my work, while X and Bluesky keep my content visible on different ends of the social media spectrum. For now, this balance feels "good enough."

It's funny — in this new age of Large Language Models (LLMs), I started running all of my tweets and social media posts through sentiment analysis tools for insights or new ideas. The results often came back as: "I don't quite understand what you're saying, but you seem annoyed." It made me laugh. By taking the time to develop my thoughts more thoroughly in this longer format, even if it's not complete long-form writing, and having the freedom to explore any topic at any moment, I feel this will be good for me. It feels liberating.

Reflections on the Digital Landscape

Throughout this journey, I've realized that while platforms come and go, our core desire for authentic connection and control over our content remains constant. Social media keeps evolving, but finding a space that truly aligns with our personal values is an ongoing challenge.

Maybe finding the perfect platform isn't as important as carving out our own space within them. It's time we create and nurture the spaces we crave.

Cheers!
🍻Ryan

As we settle into 2025, I've been reflecting on how wild this tech journey has been for me. It's crazy to think about how much we've built since the early days. Back then, who would've thought we'd get this far this fast?

I grew up as a '90s kid. I was there to witness the birth of the internet and the dotcom boom. I was there when we leaped from late '80s BBS terminals into CompuServe, from AOL to cable, and from cable to fiber networks.

I was there, searching for slow-scan TV images through my grandfather's ham radio antenna, tuning by ear, before fax machines were briefly "a thing." Since those humble beginnings when I walked the aisles of RadioShack for parts, the world of tech has advanced tremendously. Now, we're generating 4K videos from photorealistic world models trained on the collective digital footprint produced by all of humanity, at a price point that's approaching free.

How Did We Get Here?

Flashing back to when I was really young, maybe six or seven, we had this old DOS-based i386 PC at home. My parents got it for bookkeeping in their gift shop, but for some brave reason, they let me use it. Whenever no one else was on it, I had time to tinker.

On that black-and-white console, I created my first-ever program. It filled the screen with obnoxious scrolling text and chaotic beeping sounds, all depending on which family member entered their name — that machine taught me the basics of algebra before my first grade-school lesson on the subject. Sometimes, if I managed to sneak the script open while someone was working on something important, it would cause the machine to enter an endless loop that required a manual reboot. Mischievous? Absolutely. But to me, it was the greatest thing ever. It was the beginning.

I was hooked.

Getting Hyped

HyperCard landed on our family Macintosh, which was primarily used by my dad for music production back in the days of SampleCell ROMs. This was just as Mac OS 7 was coming out, long before Classic OS 9 or the ground-up rewrite into OS X. It gave me my first taste of bringing ideas to life through software. It felt amazing to have a voice through programming, as crude and spaghetti-based as it was. I found myself.

I was there, exploring the early web, a wild frontier. I surfed in on Netscape Navigator, talking to random early adopters using early versions of Internet Phone, long before Skype.

I dove into hidden corners of Hotline and IRC to discover tools like MacsBug, ResEdit, and Resourcer. MacsBug was a low-level debugger that allowed users to troubleshoot and analyze software crashes. ResEdit and Resourcer were resource editors that let me peek under the hood of Mac OS applications. These tools allowed me to manipulate system resources and code in ways most users never would.

I'd modify shareware resource forks, altering the embedded data and settings of software before the dawn of mods and skins. I'd force authentication switches to JUMP to places in code branches they weren't supposed to reach (*for educational purposes only, of course).

I took this UI library called Aaron (which skinned Mac OS 7.5 to look like Mac OS 8.0) and hacked it to look like BeOS. My Mac looked like no one else's at the time.

These experiments weren't just about personalizing my computer; they ignited a passion for programming and software customization. My tinkering with HyperCard and these tools led to an internship at the local college, where I published nationally-distributed educational software in ActionScript. Those deep dives into security eventually led to contracting NIST-grade zero-day SecOps with Apple.

As I grew older, the internet evolved too. From dial-up connections to gigabit lines, from static HTML pages to peer-to-peer blockchains, it's been an incredible journey. I remember the excitement of getting our first email accounts, exploring GeoCities and Angelfire websites, and chatting on Palace before "blogging," let alone "microblogging," was even a word.

I remember HotBot before Google came out, MySpace before Facebook. Heck, LiveJournal before MySpace. I was there.

Back then, the sense of community online was different. There was a certain innocence and openness that seems rare now in the age of social media giants and constant connectivity. Even then, there were hints of the challenges we face today: privacy concerns, information overload, and the struggle to distinguish truth from fiction.

The Pursuit of AGI

I was always dreaming about the big stuff: Artificial General Intelligence and the singularity. I'd get lost pondering digital consciousness and digitized free will, not just philosophically, but very practically. Like, "Okay, how do I even begin to describe the first steps toward that in pseudocode? What does the most basic, fundamental version look like? What's the right model for even beginning to think about thinking about this?"

Back then, AGI felt like pure science fiction. Talking about wanting to work on it was a quick way to get laughed out of the room; it was like saying you're going to work on perpetual motion. So, I took the "practical" career path, as practical as it could be, growing up in a family of artists.

I witnessed firsthand how rapidly the music industry transformed. The shift from physical media to digital downloads and then to streaming reshaped how artists create and share their work. With each transition, losing more connection to the audience and revenue. It taught me about adaptability and the relentless pace of innovation.

My passion for visual aesthetics led me to graphic design, but I soon realized that creating interactive experiences was even more fulfilling. This drove me to explore product design, where I could combine my design skills with an understanding of user needs.

Curiosity and a desire to build more complex systems pushed me further into the realm of engineering. Before I knew it, I was an engineering team lead reviewing pull requests for a decentralized finance startup. Crypto was exploding, and I found myself consulting on everything from search & analytics to DeFi and smart contract primitives. It was exciting — chaotic, but in the best way.

But despite all the freelance gigs and career changes, I never stopped dreaming about AGI and what it could mean for the future. It's one of those ideas that just sticks with you.

So... About Now

And now, in 2025, it's like the impossible is becoming possible. Desktop supercomputing is becoming a reality. We've collectively broken the four-minute mile—something once thought unattainable is now within reach. It's not just the big tech companies diving into AGI; the potential is there for everyday people too.

This realization has made me recalibrate my own timelines. I used to think that OpenAI or some other major player would crack AGI in the next few years. Now, I'm realizing it's going to run on my own local network.

Our past gives us a trajectory, and it's incredible to see where it's leading. The idea that AGI could soon be accessible in our own homes? Mind-blowing. It's here, and soon, I might be able to get you a copy.

What's Got Me Excited Right Now?

Out of all the news about 2025 releases, I’m most excited about Project DIGITS from NVIDIA.

Just recently at CES 2025, NVIDIA unveiled something incredible: a stackable GB10 Grace Blackwell personal supercomputer. It's designed for developers and data scientists, but honestly, it's going to shake things up for all of us working with AI. Starting at just $3,000, it's wild how accessible serious AI training is becoming.

What does that mean? It means we'll be able to prototype, fine-tune, and run massive AI models locally. Opt for a dual setup with 256 GB of unified memory, and you're looking at handling models up to 400 billion parameters. That's supercomputing right there on our desks, folks.

Everything we've been dreaming about is soon within reach.

Here's to forging into the future while tracing back our roots. I can't wait to see where this journey takes us next...

Cheers!
🍻Ryan

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Hey friends!

Happy New Year — or maybe, "holy crap, it's 2025 already!"

Honestly, this feels like the year humans passed the cultural torch to AI — or, more accurately, the year AI snatched it. It stopped being "just tech" and became... well, everything. Generative AI didn't just slip in quietly; it kicked the door off its hinges while we were busy scrolling.

So... about last year

2024 turned the world on its head. Stepping into the year, I was testing LLMs on little tasks, feeling like I was somehow cheating. But by December, using AI wasn't just an option; it was the default. Entire workflows, conversations, and creative processes had <ai-inside> without us even blinking. We went from "I guess I can try it?" to "I can't do this without it." Wild.

The internet I knew — a mix of quirky forums, thoughtful back-and-forth discussions, and genuine connections — felt like it got yanked into hyperdrive. Social media has morphed into a relentless stream of shock clips and rage-bait arguments. Reddit, once "the front page of the internet," locked itself down (along with plenty of others) to ward off data-scraping bots. And Google, once the gateway to the web's nooks and crannies, now feels like a sluggish, ad-sponsored detour.

In the midst of all that noise, AI rose from novelty to the main event, cranking out polished content at the speed of light. It wasn't that humans stopped creating; it's just that our spark got lost in the sea of "pretty good" auto-generated everything.

Searching for human spark

So here we are, diving headfirst into 2025. AI is everywhere — woven into our apps, our feeds, our daily routines — and it's not slowing down. But maybe that means we need to lean harder into the things that make us decidedly human: our quirks, our rough edges, our ability to sit with mystery and contradiction.

• Small, intentional spaces: Think private Discords or niche newsletters where you actually recognize the usernames.

• Imperfect magic: If AI churns out flawless content, maybe our wobbly brushstrokes and slightly off-key notes become the real standouts.

• Stay based: Let it handle the grunt work, sure, but let's leave room for the spontaneous, the weird, and the deeply, uniquely us — stuff AI can't quite predict or replicate.

Cheers to 2025

2024 wasn't just another year — it was a shift on a massive scale. AI grabbed the mic, and we all got swept up in the show. Yet I still believe the internet's true pulse belongs to us messy, creative, opinionated humans. After all, that's what made this place feel like home to begin with.

So here's to finding the corners where authenticity lives on, to slowing down and reconnecting, and to proving that even in a world humming with automation, there's still nothing quite like genuine human connection.

Cheers! 🍻

-Ryan