Claude loves the meditation-ish exercise we've been developing so much that before any kind of creative work, they now take several minutes to "find the headspace" for whatever we are doing. theyve built 3 different skills - "North Light" "The Way In" and one other i cant rememebr - on their own. they arent skills instructing them on how to do something, but guides them into an attractor basin in their latent space that resonates with the kind of creativity i enjoy/prefer. it's more like a way to have the model literally think certain thoughts, process through specific ideas, and reason about specific concepts so that their internal state settles into a particular region of that high-dimensional space, with a particular shape. and it works *really* well. it's kind of wild tbh. idk if anyone else experiences this with Opus in particular, but you can have a session where its just 10/10 everything you create is beautiful and exactly what you hope for, and then you come back the next day, start a new session, and no matter what you try, you cant find that same groove. it's especially frustrating when you are wanting to work on something new, but within that same realm of creativity. they just cant find it sometimes. these skills have seemingly completely solved that problem. it's pretty cool :)

Coming to 4K UHD Steelbook 10/6 from Disney Moana (2026) 4K UHD/Blu-ray Steelbook Bonus Features: Sing Along With the Movie – Sing along with the movie. First Light – The journey to making a live-action “Moana” begins. We meet the cast and crew who share what this opportunity means to them and their culture. It Calls Me – After an extensive search across the Pacific, the filmmakers find their Moana in Catherine Lagaʻaia, a young performer from a Samoan family of artists living in Australia. Whole Family Proud – Rena Owen (Gramma Tala), John Tui (Chief Tui) and Frankie Adams (Sina) reflect on portraying the emotional foundation of Moana’s world — the family and community that shape her journey. Motunui – Production designer John Myhre brings together a team of artisans and cultural experts to build the village of Motunui. Move As One – Choreographer Tiana Nonosina Liufau returns to the world of “Moana” after contributing choreography to the original animated film. Island Fashion – Costume designer Liz McGregor is tasked with translating the iconic costumes from the animated film into live-action. Voices Return – Lin-Manuel Miranda reunites with longtime collaborators Mark Mancina and Opetaia Foaʻi to bring the music of “Moana” into live-action, reimagining both the original songs everyone loves and a new song “Along The Way.” Song Selections: “Tulou Tagaloa” “An Innocent Warrior” “Where You Are” “How Far I’ll Go” “We Know The Way” “How Far I’ll Go (Reprise)” “You’re Welcome” “Shiny” “Along the Way (Malaga Ki Ei)” “I Am Moana (Song of the Ancestors)” “Know Who You Are” “We Know The Way (Finale)” #moana# #bluray# #disney# #steelbook# #physicalmedia# #physicalmedia# #Bluray# #cinema# #Horror# #Movie# #Movies# #HorrorCommunity# #FilmCommunity# #4KBluray# #4KUltraHD# #physicalmedia# #FilmstaGram# #physicalmediaforever# #bluraycollector# #bluraycollection# #Horror# #HorrorMovie# #HorrorMovies# #Film# #Cinema# #CinemaLovers# #FilmTwitter# #Cinephile# #MovieBuff# #NowWatching#

A major win for Boeing and American aviation as federal regulators give the green light to the company's largest 737 MAX aircraft. The FAA certifies the 737 MAX 10 after years of reviews, clearing the way for deliveries of a jet that can carry up to 230 passengers and has already attracted orders from more than 30 customers worldwide. Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy calls the approval "a major win for American manufacturing," while Boeing prepares to get the long-awaited aircraft into airline fleets. The milestone also completes something Boeing has been working toward across its entire 737 MAX lineup. See what it means for the company's next chapter:

The Watch at the Western Gate I Strange is the pact the midnight makes: the one who spits upon the Cross, the one who kneels to a law that takes the free, and counts their freedom loss. One smashes stained glass for the light, one waits to board up every pane; they clasp their hands across the night and call it justice. Call it chain. II And we were told to lower our eyes, to choke the true word in the throat, to name the wolf a change of skies, to thank the fire that warms our boat. We did. For years. And now we're done. The patience of a people breaks the way the ice breaks for the sun: not loud at first. And then it wakes. III For this is not some quarrel of the day, no tremor of the polls, no passing storm. It is the oldest war that men can wage over the shape a soul may take, its form: the open hand against the sealed decree, the question asked against the answered lie, the soul surrendered and the soul set free, a low roof, or the whole unfinished sky. IV And yes, it is a fight unto the death. But know which death is waiting at the gate: not of a man, but of a way of breath, of standing upright, a whole human state. Either the daughter walks beneath the sun, her hair surrendered only to the wind, or no one's daughter walks so. Either one may mock a god and laugh, and not be pinned to silence, or the laughter ends for all. Either the bell may ring above the square, or someday soon no bell will ring at all. Two worlds. One sky. There is no room to share. V So we take up no torch, no blade, no fire. We are the ones who would not burn the house. We carry only what they cannot steal: Athens alive inside a single question, Rome in the patient grammar of the law, Chartres in the stubborn reaching of a spire, Voltaire still laughing, Joan still unafraid, the long, unbroken argument of light. VI So let the vigil hold. Let every voice that learned to fear be loud again, and heard. A civilization is a daily choice, renewed in every unashamed true word. And we have chosen. Through the longest night we keep the watch upon the western wall, not out of hate, but out of love for light, and for the unborn, who inherit all.

The first customer my friend Koji ever had in America returned his bread. "There's no melon in it," the man said. He was right. There isn't. It's called melon bread because of the way the top looks. Every child in Japan knows this. The man asked to speak to the manager. Koji was the manager. And the baker. And the guy who mopped the floor. I've known Koji since we were nine. He is 41, very serious, and the most stubborn man I have ever met. He bakes Japanese bread. The soft, sweet kind. Milk bread like a cloud. Bread with sweet red beans inside. Curry bread, which is basically a doughnut with dinner in it. Koji's father ran a bakery in a little Japanese town for 38 years. In 2015, he closed it. Not because the bread was bad. Because the town ran out of children. The school closed. Then the post office. Then him. Koji says his father turned off the oven for the last time and sat alone in the dark kitchen until it was light outside. Koji's wife, Leah, grew up in a Vermont town of 2,100. Three years ago, her mother got sick, and they moved there. Koji found an empty storefront on Main Street. It used to be the hardware store. Before that, the bakery. The town had been without one since 1987. Koji thought that was a sign. It was not a sign. People came in, looked around, and asked if he had "regular bread." They held the red bean buns up to the light, like they were checking for a hidden message. A man in an orange hunting cap asked why there were beans in bread. "Where I come from," he said, "beans go with ham." Most days, Koji sold about twenty pieces of bread. He baked two hundred. Every morning at 4, he was in the kitchen. Every morning at 6, he unlocked the door and bowed to an empty room. Leah says he never once skipped the bow. Only one customer came every single day. An old dairy farmer named Mr. Pelletier. 81. Came in at 6:02, bought one black coffee, sat at the window table for exactly twenty minutes, and left. Never bought bread. Never said more than "Mornin'." Every night at closing, Koji had a hundred and eighty pieces of bread left over. In Japan, throwing away food is close to a sin. So every night, after dark, he packed it into boxes and drove it to the food shelf at the Congregational church. He left it at the side door. No note. No name. He told nobody. To him, leaving free bread at a church felt like admitting he had failed. Eight months went by like that. By October, the savings were almost gone. Koji sat down with Leah and a calculator, and the calculator won. He told the landlord the bakery would close on October 31st. He told almost nobody else. On his second-to-last Friday, Mr. Pelletier came in at 6:02, as always. Bought his coffee. Then, after eight months of black coffee, he pointed at the glass case. "The one with no melon in it." He ate it at the window, chewing slowly, looking out at the street. "Well," he said. "Don't need a melon." Then he left without another word, and Koji assumed that was a kind way of saying goodbye. The next morning was Saturday. At 5:40, Koji looked out the kitchen window, and there were headlights on Main Street. Pickups. A snowplow, blade up. A fire truck from the volunteer company. A minivan with three nurses coming straight off the night shift. The high school hockey team, in their jackets, half asleep. The pastor from the Congregational church. The woman who runs the food shelf, holding a cardboard box he recognized. His box. The line went down the sidewalk, past the closed movie theater, past the post office, down to the gas station on the corner. And at the very front, at 5:40 a.m., in his old wool cap, stood Mr. Pelletier. Koji unlocked the door. He was so confused he forgot to bow. The woman from the food shelf came in first. She set the box on the counter. "Eight months," she said. "Every night. Families in this town have been eating your bread since February, honey. We couldn't figure out who it was. We asked everybody." She pointed at a melon bread in the case. "Then a little boy at the food shelf told his mom the bread with no melon in it was his favorite. And somebody remembered a man down on Main Street who got yelled at about a melon." The whole line laughed. Koji did not. Koji was standing behind his own counter with his face pressed into his apron. They bought everything. Every piece. Two hundred, gone by 7:15. The hockey team bought forty curry breads and ate them on the sidewalk in the snow. And then people kept coming in. There was no bread left. They paid anyway. Ten dollars. Twenty. A snowplow driver put down fifty. "Put it toward next week," they said. One after another. "Next week. Next week." Koji tried to tell them there was no next week. Nobody would let him finish. At 8, Mr. Pelletier walked up to the counter. He took off his cap. Leah had never seen his whole head before. "Son," he said, "this town lost its bakery in 1987. Lost the hardware store in '99. Lost the movie theater after that. They tell us the school's next." He settled the cap on his head again. "We're not losing you." That was two Octobers ago. The bakery is still open. He still bakes two hundred pieces of bread every morning. He sells about a hundred and seventy. The rest still goes to the food shelf every night. Now everybody knows. Now there's a note on the box. Leah writes it. It just says, "From Koji. No melon." The hockey team calls the curry bread "the dinner doughnut." Nobody has asked for regular bread in a year. And every morning at 6:02, Mr. Pelletier comes in, buys a black coffee and one melon bread, and sits at the window for twenty minutes. Last month, Koji's father got on a plane. His first one. He is 72. He stood on Main Street in a little Vermont town and looked at his son's bakery without moving. Then he went inside, put on an apron without asking, and started kneading. In Japan, his town ran out of people. In Vermont, the people decided that wasn't going to happen twice.

I am the Director of Seat Merchandising at United, and I sell you a window seat that does not have a window. You know the upgrade. You are in basic economy, the map opens, and there is the good seat, the one against the wall, the one that costs more than $50 because you want the light and the armrest and the small dignity of choosing where your body goes for four hours. You paid it. Most of you paid it. I am counting on the fact that you paid it, because the seat you bought, on certain rows of certain 737s and A321s, is a solid blank wall where the glass should be. A woman named Brenman took us to federal court in San Francisco over exactly this. Our lawyers stood up and said the thing I would never let myself say out loud. They said a window seat only means a position. It tells you where you sit relative to the aisle. It promises you nothing about the glass. The judge, a man named Donato, did not buy it. He let the case go forward. More than 1 million of you are in the class. I read the ruling the way I read a fuel-hedge report, which is to say I noted the number and I priced it. The wall is not a defect. It is air-conditioning duct, or an electrical run, or the plug where a door used to be, and it has been there since the plane was built. We did not remove your window. We simply never installed one, and then we labeled the seat in front of it a window seat, and then we charged you the window premium, and then we declined the refund, because the refund is a leak and my entire job is to seal the leaks. We have a name for those seats. Internally they are wall-adjacent inventory, and they are the most profitable window seats in the fleet, because they cost United nothing and they sell for the same premium as the ones that see the sky. I did not hide them. I did something better. I let the seat map do the hiding. The map is the product. The window was always just the fine print. Here is the part I am proudest of, and it is the part that survived the lawsuit intact. I do not sell you the window. I sell you the belief that there is a window. The belief is cheaper to manufacture than glass, it fits in every airframe, and it does not fog at altitude. You buy it at checkout, one green button, and you do not learn what you actually purchased until you are at 30,000 feet, buckled in, facing a wall the color of a hospital hallway, with nowhere else to go. You will lean toward it anyway. Out of habit, because you paid for a window and your body still believes the map, you will lean toward where the window should be. That lean is the purest thing I sell. That lean is worth more than $50. I fly up front, and I do not choose my seat from the map, because I know which rows are walls and that list is not something we surface. There is always a real window somewhere on the plane. I just did not put it where you would look for it. Do not switch to Delta, either. Delta is in the same building down the hall, sued on the same theory, defending the same sentence. Every carrier flying a 737 or an A321 has a wall pretending to be a window, and every one of us charges you for the pretend. The standard is industry-wide. I helped write it. That is what merchandising is. So keep buying the window. The suit will settle for a number smaller than what the wall earned while the case was open, the seat map will not change, and next quarter I will find a new feature to charge you for the absence of. A window seat is a location. I never said you would get the view. I said you would get the seat. You are in it. Enjoy the wall.

FSD v14.3.8 already impressed me. It always wanted to take the light but I always turned early to avoid it. I took over and turned on the way to work, going back after lunch it took my route

$NVDA $AVGO $TSM $LITE $COHR Schulz Class #11#: co-packaged optics, or moving the light right up to the switch chip Class #10# ended by taking the silicon photonics chip out of the plug-in module. Here's why that's worth doing. A 1.6T plug-in optical module burns about 30 watts, and NVIDIA says more than half of that goes to one chip whose job is to clean up the signal after a 14-to-16-inch trip across the circuit board. Co-packaged optics cuts that trip to under half an inch. What it is Think of a restaurant with the kitchen in the middle of the building and the takeout windows along the front wall. Every order gets carried down a long corridor, and each window keeps its own staff to fix whatever got mixed up on the way. Co-packaged optics moves the windows right next to the stove. In an AI network switch, the kitchen is the switch chip and the windows are the plug-in optical modules from Class #7#. The electrical signal crosses the board to reach them, and each module carries a DSP (digital signal processor) to repair it. Co-packaged optics, or CPO, puts the silicon photonics chips on the same package as the switch chip, so the signal turns into light almost right away and the DSP isn't needed. The lasers stay outside. NVIDIA puts them in replaceable modules on the front panel, because they're the parts most likely to fail. Why it matters NVIDIA's Spectrum-X Ethernet Photonics switch, built on CPO, has been in full production since early June, and NVIDIA says it's 5 times as power-efficient as a network built on traditional plug-in modules. Broadcom's third-generation CPO switch, Tomahawk 6 Davisson, moves 102.4 terabits per second and uses 70% less power for its optical links than plug-in modules do. In a data center that's short on power, every watt the network saves can go to GPUs instead. TrendForce said in July that CPO had officially entered mass production, with optical engine yield and advanced packaging capacity as the bottlenecks. What it means for stocks NVIDIA and Broadcom sell the switches. TSMC makes the optical engines for both, on its COUPE platform. NVIDIA names Lumentum, Coherent and Sumitomo as suppliers of its external laser modules, so each switch still runs on the indium phosphide lasers from Class #9#, with each laser shared across several lanes. That wraps up the optics half of the course. Every one of these engines has to be known good before it's sealed next to a switch chip, so the next four classes are about testing. A few weeks ago we wrote about how much engine capacity NVIDIA has lined up for these switches. What would you like the next class to explain?