Programming insights to Storytelling, it's all here.
I ran into a former colleague recently, from a job I hadn’t thought about in years. Over coffee, we fell into a warm wave of nostalgia. We reminisced about the friends we made, the late-night coding sessions that felt like forging something new, and how that job became a crucial stepping stone for both of our careers. “I loved that place,” I said, genuinely surprised by my own sentiment. “I’m not even sure why I left.”
I was at an event, sitting in a corner waiting for a friend. When he arrived, he sent me a message: "I'm in front of the building, should I go left or right?" A concise question. A binary choice. But I couldn't answer him.
At 6pm, I pack my laptop in my bag and walk in the long, silent, and empty corridors of the office. Since the pandemic started, I’ve been one of the few who often comes to the building. Right when I reach the exit, I realize that I have not turned off the lights. The light switch is inconveniently located in the middle of the office. So I say: “Alexa, turn off the lights.” At the distance, I see the circular blue light pulsating, then the lights go off. I leave for the day.
I once had a job interview for a backend position. Their stack was Node.js, MySQL, nothing exotic. The interviewer asked: "If you have an array containing a million entries, how would you sort the data by name?" My immediate thought was: If you have a JavaScript array with a million entries, you're certainly doing something wrong. The interviewer continued: "There are multiple fields that you should be able to sort by." This felt like a trick question. Surely the right answer was to explain why you shouldn't be sorting millions of records in JavaScript. Pagination, database indexing, server-side filtering. So I said exactly that.
We are obsessed with the future. We pepper experts with questions, desperate for a roadmap to what comes next. Is AI the future? Is RISC the future, is PHP the future... But here's a secret they won't tell you: they're all guessing. Well, almost all of them.
I've rented Apocalypto more times than I care to admit. Every time I placed it in Netflix's red envelope and mailed it back, my father would ask where the DVD was. A couple days later, it would arrive in the mail again, and like clockwork, I'd hear those jungle drums booming from his bedroom. He'd slip away during family movie nights, "just going to the kitchen" or "bathroom, don't pause it. I'll be right back." But we all knew where he was headed. That movie consumed him.
When I write a blog post, I usually look for an image that goes well with the article. My go-to website is Pixabay. It has a large collection of images, and I try to contribute my own whenever I can. What I like about Pixabay is that most, if not all, images are CC-0, meaning I can use them however I see fit. This year, the coworking space where I spend most of my day upgraded their internet service. In the email, they bragged that the new ISP uses state-of-the-art security. Great, but something seemed off to me. With the new ISP, I could no longer access Pixabay. The rest of the internet worked just fine, but not Pixabay. When I tested the website on my phone, it didn't load either. I turned off the wifi on my phone and tried again. Lo and behold! It worked.
Around 2012, I was walking through the Santa Monica promenade with some visiting friends. We did the tourist thing: looked at the performers, walked by the beach, and ate some delicious crepes. When the sun went down, we decided to go to the movie theater. Being well into my twenties, I was shocked when the clerk asked us to show our IDs before we could purchase tickets to what didn't look like a R-rated movie. The movie was Bernie. We presented our IDs by placing them against the thick glass while the clerk read each one with impressive speed and nodded at us.
When I click on a blog post these days, I'm not usually looking for the definitive encyclopedia entry or the slickest marketing brochure. Honestly? I'm hoping for something far simpler, yet increasingly rare. The sound of another human being figuring something out. I value both tutorials and personal experiences, but it seems like the latter is disappearing.
Back in the 90s, I discovered Yahoo. I'm not sure I remember how, but it became my internet homepage. The moment the dial-up internet connected, I would navigate to Yahoo and start my quick journey before someone picked up the phone line. Yahoo made sense to me. I knew how to find what I was looking for, though it required digging through page 2, page 3, or keep going until I found what I was looking for.
