Werd I/O

Solidarity with the 28 Google workers who were fired for protesting Project Nimbus this week. Anonymous Google and Amazon workers described the project as follows a couple of years ago:

Project Nimbus is a $1.2bn contract to provide cloud services for the Israeli military and government. This technology allows for further surveillance of and unlawful data collection on Palestinians, and facilitates expansion of Israel’s illegal settlements on Palestinian land.

I have never worked for Google or Amazon, but I would like to think that I would have protested too.

There is nothing honorable about supporting your employer as it commits or facilitates human rights violations. Protesting is the ethical thing to do, particularly when you hold deeply-held beliefs like these:

We cannot look the other way, as the products we build are used to deny Palestinians their basic rights, force Palestinians out of their homes and attack Palestinians in the Gaza Strip – actions that have prompted war crime investigations by the international criminal court.

Human rights should always trump business.

Further to that, apparently some of these 28 workers hadn’t even protested — they’d just associated with the people who had:

Yeah, this was retaliation, like completely indiscriminate—people who had just walked by just to say hello and maybe talk to us for a little bit. They were fired. People who aren't affiliated with No Tech For Apartheid at all, who just showed up and were interested in what was going on. And then security asked to see their badge and they were among the 28 fired.

Not a good look, to say the least. The same goes for the scores of tech workers who — on a cursory glance of social media — seem to have been derisive of the protests. Shame on you.

From the OpenJS Foundation:

The recent attempted XZ Utils backdoor (CVE-2024-3094) may not be an isolated incident as evidenced by a similar credible takeover attempt intercepted by the OpenJS Foundation, home to JavaScript projects used by billions of websites worldwide. The Open Source Security (OpenSSF) and OpenJS Foundations are calling all open source maintainers to be alert for social engineering takeover attempts, to recognize the early threat patterns emerging, and to take steps to protect their open source projects.

Vigilance is good, and it’s worth heeding the advice and paying attention to the evidence presented here. The XZ Utils backdoor was a smart attack that very nearly caused havoc.

I think it’s also worth pointing out that we know about the exploit because it was in an open source project. Andres Freund was debugging a server resource issue when he uncovered the issue. Because the project — and its downstream client — were open source, he could investigate and find the intrusion.

It’s not clear how this would have panned out if this had been proprietary software: particularly on a team that was resource strapped or moving at speed. The same social engineering exploits that allowed Jia Tan to become a maintainer of the XZ Utils project would also see someone hired as a contractor by a tech team. If I was a nefarious actor who wanted to place an exploit in an important software library, that’s exactly what I’d do: go send someone to join the team as a contractor. While there are mandatory identity verification procedures for full-time employees (which we can certainly argue the pros and cons of), contractors have no such requirements.

I bring this up because all the advice I’ve seen to date has been directed at open source maintainers. Again, this is smart and good and should absolutely be heeded — but there’s a world of other software out there that is also critical infrastructure and which doesn’t enjoy the sunlight of open source projects. This isn’t an open source software problem; it’s a software problem. Everyone should be vigilant, regardless if there are eyes on their source code or not. And perhaps we should be even warier of projects whose code we can’t audit ourselves.

I hate writing resumés. There’s always been something about the format that never really sat right with me; each entry presents work I’ve done, sometimes representing many multiple years of my life, without explaining the “why” or the through-line of how I got there. It’s always felt to me like they’re missing the fundamentals of the human being behind them — the values and mindsets of the living, breathing person you’d actually be hiring.

On top of that, mine was stuck in a document, when all of my work is on the web.

So I set out to rewrite mine, make it web-first, and turn it into something that I feel like actually represents me and my career. You can check it out here: I gave it its own subdomain at resume.werd.io.

The default version now displays my career in chronological order, each life event building on the next, and includes things that, while not technically being work, informed the work I’ve subsequently done. You’ll find stuff like the electronic hypertext magazine I built as a teenager and the popular meme site I built at university, which wouldn’t normally find their way into a standard resumé, but do help define my expertise and how I approach projects.

From that page, you can flip to a more traditional reverse-chronological resumé that omits the non-employment content and removes unnecessary description. Because it’s an edited-down version of my story, rather than a collection of bullet points, it’s probably better than any resumé I’ve had in the past. It’s web-first but there are a few print-only CSS rules in there to make sure it prints or turns into a PDF really nicely. It’s also nicely responsive, so it displays well on both a laptop / desktop and a phone.

Behind the scenes, here’s how it works:

• Each element of my experience is a standalone HTML snippet file of the form startyear-endyear.html. Some are annotated to be “narrative-only”, which means that they won’t show up in the traditional view. The engine I wrote for this will also omit any entries marked “traditional-only” from the narrative view, but in practice I didn’t use that.
• In narrative view, the engine reads the files in alphabetical order. In traditional view, the engine reads them in reverse-alphabetical order. The effect is to order the entries chronologically or reverse-chronologically as described.
• Educational entries are marked as such. In narrative view they’re placed into the main flow; in traditional view they’re displayed at the end of the document.
• In narrative view, any HTML element with a class traditional is marked as display:none in order to hide it; in traditional view, any HTML element with a class narrative is hidden. This allows me to mix narrative content in with more traditional resumé content and only display them in one view.
• Everything is marked up with the h-resume microformat.

The most important thing for me was being able to write my story as a story, and then edit down accordingly. I’m pretty happy with it! Let me know what you think.

Syndicated to IndieNews

So, let’s get this out of the way first: I drive a Tesla Model 3. Yes, I know. And yes, even though I bought it a few years ago, there was plenty of evidence of the CEO’s bad behavior and of poor conditions in the factories. And I let my desire to drive an electric car override all that, and it was a poor decision, and now I’m stuck with it because it was also a very bad financial decision and it’s depreciated at such a rate that the diff of the value of the car and the remaining value of my car loan are not in a good place. It was silly. Can we just accept that? Okay, thank you. Moving on.

This month Tesla switched Full Self Driving (FSD) on .. as far as I can tell, every single car. It’s normally a five figure software-only upgrade, which you can pay for up-front or at the ongoing subscription price of $199 a month. But usage of the feature has been low, perhaps in part because if you’ve spent $40-90,000 on a car, spending another five figure sum is annoying, and perhaps in part because people generally value their own lives and the lives of the people they love. So now, for this month only, it’s free, and Tesla can juice their numbers.

And, yes, I tried it.

And let me be clear: nope. Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope.

I’ve rarely been so frightened behind the wheel of my own car. As an experience it ranks right up there with driving that one stretch of the 880 where you’re supposed to go at 45mph and everybody drives twice that, the time I was riding in a Lyft and was jackknifed by a tow truck, or that one time I was driving on the 101 North and a tech bro Lamborghini shot out of the Highway 12 offramp and came within two inches of hitting me, spun around in the road, and careened off into the distance.

To be added to those heart-stopping experiences soon, I have to surmise, is being hit by a Tesla in Full Self Driving Mode.

Unlike my Lambo encounter, I was driving at 25mph down my local road to the store. On this 10 minute drive (5 minutes there and back), my car clung surprisingly close to cars parked on the side of the road — but more importantly, I had to intervene once because, on a stretch of road that had been coned off and narrowed into one lane for both directions, it felt like the car was driving directly into an oncoming vehicle. It’s possible (and, in fact, quite likely) that the car wouldn’t have smashed into the oncoming Subaru. But it felt like it was about to, and I had no desire to make it a scientific test. FSD requires you to keep your hands on the wheel — a lean-back experience this is not — so safely intervening was very natural. The car then asks you to leave a recorded message explaining why you intervened, and the struggle is to use words instead of screaming over and over.

What’s particularly surprising to me is that FSD wasn’t just downloaded to my vehicle — it was switched on by default. At no point did I need to agree to the terms and conditions. All I needed to do was enter a destination into the navigation and pull the gear stalk down once (as if I was simply changing into another gear), and off it went. Autopilot, which is what Tesla calls its cruise control feature, is engaged in a very similar way, so I can see a world where a driver might even switch it on unintentionally.

So would I pay the money for it? Fear on this level seems like a pretty poor use of $12,000 or $199 a month. You can rent a horror movie for $2.99, and paying attention to America is free. But clearly I was curious. Genuinely, if the technology improved to the point where I didn’t feel like I was probably going to die, I would happily sit inside a self-driving vehicle. Less so, perhaps, for going to the store, but definitely for road trips. (Can you imagine an autonomous RV? It would cost an arm and a leg, but if I had the money, I would 100% use one to get across country.) Right now, though, I would rather pour vinegar onto my eyeballs. For those readers who don’t need to think hard about dropping $12,000 — I am not one of them — I would encourage you to spend the money on more caviar or whatever. This ain’t it.

I made some updates to ShareOpenly this weekend:

• The design now puts the shortlist of social networks you’re most likely to share to at the top.
• Firefish and Misskey are now supported.
• There are now instructions for adding “share to” ShareOpenly links to your site.

I also added “share this post” links to the byline of every post on my site, including on the homepage and from indices.

Support for more social networks, as well as a universal share icon, are in the works.

A friend asked me to recommend some places to visit in Edinburgh — not the big stuff (Arthur’s Seat, for example), but the small haunts and little delights that I used to love. I lived there for a long time, and think back on the city with a lot of fondness. But I’ve been in the US for 13 years now, and a lot will have diverged from the version of the city I have in my head.

I thought I’d publish my list here. I’ve done my best to research whether these places still exist, but I make no guarantees. And, of course, there are new places that are probably even better than the ones I’ve listed here but aren’t even on my radar.

Pubs

You’ve got to start with pubs. They’re not so much bars as community spaces: open living rooms that serve as gathering points. Although, of course, Edinburgh has a drinking culture, and I would never recommend a place that didn’t have a real ale or two.

The Regent was always my favorite pub in Edinburgh: cozy, welcoming, lively. The walk there, either from the Bridges or the Parliament, is atmospheric in its own right, although I always found myself getting a bus or a taxi home at the end of the night.

The Bow Bar takes you down Victoria Street, which is a nice walk in its own right. It’s got a great whisky list, and the whole place feels like a Real Pub, albeit a bit on the fussy side.

The Sheep Heid Inn is a 14th century pub in Duddingston Village. Definitely worth discovering, particularly if you’re wandering around Arthur’s Seat anyway.

I’ll include Doctors not because I particularly like it, but because it’s so convenient that I always bloody ended up there. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. And it’s right by the Meadows and the Museum of Scotland, which are both places you need to obviously visit if you’re in town. So it’s convenient. But I’ve never been excited. And I don’t have a good reason to explain why not.

RIP The Auld Hoose, which was as close to a local as I had. (Update: it’s all a lie! It still exists! Fake news! Weird!)

And an anti-recommendation: pubs on the Royal Mile and Rose St are often recommended but are not my favorite.

Food

A lot of the places I used to go to are gone. I’ve omitted some frequent haunts — there are chippies I love that are objectively terrible, for example. But also, I didn’t eat out all that much when I lived in Edinburgh. The best general advice I can give you is to try haggis if you haven’t, and avoid what the city calls Mexican food if you’ve ever had the actual cuisine.

There was a point where all the staff knew me at Loudons (which now seems to have two locations; mine was in Fountainbridge). It’s a good breakfast spot that, when it opened, was set up for laptop workers, including printing facilities and so on. That initial intention is long gone, but it’s still a lovely place to meet. Or it was, the last time I was there.

David Bann is an upscale vegetarian restaurant that still seems to be going strong. It was the kind of place I’d go to for special occasions.

The Mosque Kitchen is tasty and affordable; a good place to grab a quick lunch. There seem to be two now — one by the mosque and one on Nicholson St — but the former (the one in the mosque) is the original and the one to try.

Khushi’s was the first restaurant I visited in Edinburgh — and, as it turns out, the first Indian restaurant in the city. It’s relaxed and delicious.

I’m convinced that Cappadocia is the best kebab shop in Edinburgh. Still best enjoyed late at night, after you’ve left the pub.

RIP Forest Café, which was the kind of independent arts space you hope exists in every city. Anarchic, inclusive, and beautiful. It, more than anywhere else, represented exactly what I loved about Edinburgh when I loved it, and I’m really sad it’s gone.

RIP also to that one café by the Meadows with the terrible nachos, which was really important to me, and goddamnit, why can’t I remember its name? (Update: it was Favorit. Don’t believe the people talking about the nachos in the linked thread, though.)

Attractions / Etc

This is a grab bag. I used to walk around the city a lot, and I think these choices reflect that.

The National Museum of Scotland — the Museum of Scotland and the Royal Museum, now combined into one mega-museum — is a big thing, so it’s probably on your list already, but it’s free, as all museums everywhere should be, and it has an epic roof terrace view that you should probably check out.

The Scottish Storytelling Centre is one of those places I’m glad exists in the world. The events are worth catching, and the whole place has been put together with real thoughtfulness. But don’t sleep on the café: one of my favorite things to do was grab a cup of tea and a slice of cake here.

Cramond Island (listed at the link as “Cramond Ghost Island” — really?) has great views across the Forth of Firth and is a fun adventure if it’s not freezing cold. There’s a fairly convenient bus.

Dean Village is completely lovely to walk through. I guess the Dean Gallery has been renamed Modern Two, but it was always worth checking out.

The Water of Leith Walkway takes in Dean Village and various works of art, including Anthony Gormley’s series of statues.

The Cameo Cinema is a century old and going strong. I used to buy film festival tickets by the foot here. Even if you don’t want to take in a movie (and if you want to see a movie, it’s the place to do it), it’s got a nice bar. It shows up in The Illusionist, Sylvain Chomet’s homage to both Edinburgh and Jacques Tati, which is in itself worth checking out before you visit.

Edinburgh Inspace is a creative digital hub that showcases events and exhibitions. The space itself is experimental and is wired up for different kinds of multimedia interactivity. It’s worth checking for upcoming exhibitions.

Not mentioned: anything to do with Harry Potter, even that one pachyderm-themed touristy café that’s still pretty lovely (update: no, never mind, it burned down), because, sincerely, fuck JK Rowling.

I’d love to read about the early days of the Star Trek replicator. It’s a sometimes-useful macguffin in the context of Star Trek: The Next Generation and later shows: a device that can recreate virtually any object on command, from food to electronics.

By the time ST:TNG was set, it had become a major engine that transformed Star Trek into a post-scarcity, post-money society. But there had to have been an earlier, more transitional state, which is more interesting to me: a time when replicators could recreate virtually anything but society hadn’t quite transitioned to post-money rules.

An artist, musician, or artisan during those times might have found that their work could suddenly be replicated infinitely, but they still needed money to survive. How did Federation culture adapt? Were these people taken care of? Or were they seen as necessary collateral? Did they themselves support the idea of a post-scarcity, post-money society (which I agree would be a good thing!) or did they protest?

And if they did protest, how would we feel about that, knowing their immediate context and where the technology led to?

Were there riots? Should there have been?