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#

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

Elon Musk built a second internet above the first one. Nobody asked him to. Thousands of satellites orbit at 550 kilometers. Moving at 25 times the speed of sound. Talking to each other through lasers in the vacuum of space. Musk: “Thousands of satellites providing low latency, high-speed internet throughout the world.” Before Starlink, satellite internet lived at 36,000 kilometers. Geostationary orbit. Signals traveling a tenth of the way to the moon before bouncing back. The lag made it barely functional. Musk dropped the altitude by 98%. One decision rewrote the physics of an entire industry. But the altitude wasn’t the real play. Musk: “There are laser links between the satellites. It forms a laser mesh. The satellites can communicate between each other and provide connectivity even if the cables are cut.” Every internet connection you’ve ever used runs through cables. Fiber optic lines buried in soil. Dragged across ocean floors. Threaded through chokepoints that every military maps before anything else. A single anchor drop can black out a country. An earthquake can sever a continent. The entire digital world hangs from threads in the mud. Musk built a network that doesn’t touch the ground. No cables. No trenches. No ocean floor. No single point of failure. A constellation of machines whispering to each other through light at the edge of the atmosphere. The men who tried before him weren’t fools. Gates backed Teledesic at the height of Microsoft’s power. Motorola built Iridium with the best engineers alive. Both paid someone else to reach orbit. Both went to zero. Musk owned the rocket. SpaceX made launch reusable. Built the satellites in-house. Flew them on its own rockets. Owned every inch of the chain from factory floor to orbit. That isn’t a cost advantage. It’s a moat no one can cross without first building a rocket company from scratch. Starlink passed 10 million subscribers as a side project. Every telecom executive on Earth watched it happen. Not one of them can explain the architecture underneath. They think he built a better satellite company. He built the only network that survives when the ground gives out. And the ground always gives out.

I drove forty miles across Texas and counted flags. Sixty-one. I counted again on the way back and got sixty-three, because two had gone up while I was gone. A car dealership had one the size of a house. A plumber's truck had one on each door. A porch. A bikini, at the lake. A mailbox. A coffin, being carried into a church, and then, at the gas station across the street, a hat. In my country the flag belongs to the state. It flies on government buildings on holidays and is put away by a man with a key. Here I could not find the man with the key. The salesman at the dealership said the flag was theirs. The plumber said his was his. A woman on her porch said, "Honey, it's mine," in a tone that closed the subject. Nobody had been issued one. Everybody had bought their own. I bought one. A neighbor showed me the rules, which nobody had ever written down for him either. Up at dawn. Down at dusk, or lit. Never the ground. Folded thirteen times into a triangle. He did the folds with me four times until my hands knew them. He said, "There you go," and did not say why he knew. I have folded it four hundred times since. There is a light I could buy. I have not bought the light. In my country the flag belongs to the state. In Texas it belongs to a plumber named Ray, and to the dealership, and to the woman on the porch, and to a bikini at the lake, and on holidays the state has to ask to borrow it. They lend it gladly. They have sixty-three.

I'm a cardiologist. I've had my hand on the human heart for more than twenty years. I've felt it race with fear and go still with grief. And somewhere along the way I stopped believing the thing they taught me in medical school — that the heart is only a pump. The heart is a witness. It keeps a record of everything we were too afraid to feel. Let me tell you about a patient. I've changed her details, but the truth of her is exact. She came into the ER gripping her chest, certain she was dying. Her EKG was alarming. Her cardiac enzymes were up. We rushed her to the cath lab expecting a blocked artery. We found nothing. Her coronaries were pristine. Beautiful, even. What she had was Takotsubo cardiomyopathy. We call it broken heart syndrome. Under a surge of overwhelming stress, the heart muscle balloons and fails — mimicking a heart attack down to the last detail, with no blockage at all. The artery is innocent. The grief is not. When she was stable, I pulled a chair to her bed and asked her a quiet question. Not about cholesterol. About her life. And it came pouring out of her. She was the one everyone leaned on. The daughter who never said no to her aging parents. The mother who never said no to her grown children. The wife who never said no, period. She had spent fifty years being everyone's reliable vessel — and had not, in her own words, "taken a full breath in decades." Her arteries were flawless. Her heart had simply had enough of holding what she would not put down. I have thought about her for years. Because she is not the exception. She is most of us. And here is the part I need you to understand — because it is not poetry, it is physiology. Swallow yourself for forty years and your body keeps the score. Your sympathetic nervous system stays quietly switched on. Cortisol runs high. Blood pressure climbs. Inflammation smolders in the vessel walls. Heart rate variability — one of the truest signatures of a resilient heart — narrows and stiffens. Her ballooned heart was not a metaphor. It was her body doing the math on a lifetime of unspoken no. We think we are burying our feelings. We are not. We are storing them — in our arteries, in our sleep, in the tension we carry so long we forget it isn't part of us. Two hundred years ago the Kotzker Rebbe said a thing I can now confirm on an echocardiogram: there is nothing so whole as a broken heart. He didn't mean it as consolation. He meant the heart that has been broken open is the only one large enough to hold the truth. Rumi, from the other side of the world, said the same thing: the wound is the place where the light enters you. Your broken heart is not your malfunction. It is your assignment. The break is where the light gets in — and where your light finally gets out. So here is the one question I now ask before I write a prescription. It is so simple it embarrasses me that I did not learn it in medical school: Where in your life are you not saying no? Almost everyone knows the answer before I finish the sentence. There is a no you are swallowing right now — to keep the peace, to please someone, to stay the strong one, the reliable one, the one who never needs anything. And every swallowed no is a small dose of stress hormone. A quiet tax on the heart. Paid daily. For years. Until the bill comes due in a cath lab, or a sleepless 3 a.m., or a body that suddenly won't cooperate and no one can tell you why. If that question just landed somewhere in your chest — don't rush past it. That feeling is not nothing. That is your own heart, finally getting a word in. My patient went home. She started saying no. Small ones first. Then real ones. She let people carry themselves for a change. The last time I saw her, her blood pressure was down. Her sleep was back. And she laughed — a real, unguarded, surprised-by-itself laugh — right there in my exam room. Her arteries were still perfect. But now, so was her breathing. You do not have to wait for a broken heart to learn what it came to teach you. Call the friend you've been meaning to call for a year — call, don't text. Say the no you've been swallowing. Feel the thing you've been outrunning. And let yourself be happy anyway, even with the world on fire, because your joy was never a betrayal of anyone's pain. The wound is where the light enters. Your heart already knows the way home. It's just waiting for you to stop holding your breath. I wrote and essay — the five regrets of the dying, why nobody was ever born a coward, and how the heart keeps its record — on my Substack:

EA for me is a cluster of individually useful ideas that has never filled my life with deep meaning or structured my emotional response to the world. For a lot of people it does that, but I personally think it's best as a mental toolkit. I think the criticisms I take most seriously revolve around how easy it is for it to become The Way The Truth and The Light, and the criticisms I dislike the most are asking why EA doesn't provide this deep meaning more than it does. I don't think it should!

Everything I read out of CIOE this week was a seller talking. $LITE on laser power tiers, $COHR on ultra-high-power ramps, $POET on 6.4T, Sivers on price rises. So I went looking for a buyer, and found one who had already answered the central question in public, in May, and answered it the other way. The sellers' position, from Lumentum management at a broker conference on 9 September: "There's a great concern what happens to the laser when it's so close to the heat source … there's a strong desire to move the laser outside." Two reasons for keeping the light source external. Reliability, and heat. Chen Qin, optical network architect at Alibaba Cloud, speaking at an xPO forum in Shanghai on 28 May, in remarks the CIOE organisers published themselves: deployment of 400G and 800G optical modules, now in the tens of millions, has thoroughly validated laser reliability. The spread of liquid cooling has effectively resolved the thermal bottleneck. NPO and CPO, in his words, now fully possess the objective conditions for putting the laser inside. He then called on the industry to push laser integration forward together. Translation mine. Both of the seller's reasons, marked settled by the customer, fifteen weeks earlier. That is the part worth sitting with, because the external light source story is load-bearing right now. It is the reason indium phosphide capacity is being prepaid years out, the reason a 70 mW part and a 400 mW part are suddenly different businesses, the reason anyone is modelling ELS modules as a separate line at all. His architecture choice is more specific than the headline. Scale-out keeps pluggables, with OSFP iterating. Scale-up moves to near-package or co-packaged, and at 224G per lane and below he says NPO has ample headroom and can fully reuse the existing supply chain. CPO he calls the long-term direction, with its current obstacles named as immaturity and single-vendor lock-in. That last phrase explains something I wrote about earlier this week. If the buyer's stated problem with co-packaged optics is being locked to one vendor, then a group of suppliers writing a common pluggable socket for optical engines is not a standards exercise. It is the answer to a customer objection. And the dates do not line up the way the market has them. Alibaba Cloud lit the first 3.2T NPO system to the OIF standard at the end of 2025, plans small-volume deployment at the end of this year and volume deployment next year. Its 6.4T UPO work expects system bring-up in the second half of this year and beta by year end. Against that, CPO was dated this month by three separate parties to the end of 2027 at the earliest. Near-package is roughly a year ahead, on the customer's own calendar. What I would not do is over-read one buyer. This is a single hyperscaler, in China, with its own silicon and its own supply constraints, and the US hyperscalers sit inside a different vendor ecosystem. It was also May, and plans stated in May are not deliveries. But nobody has publicly walked it back, and the supplier arguments this week were made as though the objection had never been raised. What would change my read: a Western hyperscaler putting a comparable schedule on record, either way. Also worth watching whether VCSEL-based designs gain ground, since he specifically noted they support an internal laser and need no polarisation-maintaining fibre, which removes two of the cost lines the external route carries. Friday's close: $LITE 931.68, $COHR 305.21, $POET 8.01, $AAOI 105.89, $AXTI 66.06.