＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ [ ME:I "Click" MV ] ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ ME:I Debut Single "MIRAI" ⇱ 2024.04.17 #ME_I_Click# #ME_I_MIRAI# #ME_I# #ミーアイ# #미아이# #ME_I_DEBUT_0417#

I was days away from vacation. My product site looked like it was built five years ago. And I had zero budget to fix it. That's when I decided to try something I'd never done before. In the past, I hired a user interface designer. He built the design system. Then I hired a WordPress developer to make it come to life. This process would take months and tens of thousands of dollars. This time, I didn't have the luxury of going that route. I needed something quick and it needed to look good. Then it clicked. There was a new way to solve this problem. A guest on my AI Explored podcast was raving about the relatively new Claude Design. It's capable of creating slides, wireframes, animations and… landing pages. It was a Saturday and I was just days away from going on vacation. No better time to try something new, right? What I experienced absolutely blew my mind. Here's what I did. I downloaded the product logo and masthead image from my AI Business Society sales page. The main image was an illustration of people in the wilderness pointing to a mountain. And the logo looked like a badge with earth-tone colors. I then went to Claude, clicked on the Design icon, and chose Design System. All I did was upload those two images and the URL of the landing page. Before my eyes, I saw the art elements come alive. Claude Design created motifs and surfaces (paper grain, trail rules, brass hairlines, dark fields), core brand colors (barn red, forest green, brass, sunrise ember…), fonts and spacing, buttons and icons, and a whole lot more. It also was able to clearly identify my style of writing. It keyed in on things like sentence rhythm, social proof use, and even outcomes over features. All of this was simply discerned from what little I gave it. What happened next was the big unlock. There was an option to create a landing page. So I clicked on it. It asked me if I would like to see multiple hero sections to select from. Of course I said yes. Then it started building out the full landing page. It wrote all the copy and it was good. It crafted all the sections. It was amazing. I was flabbergasted. I then downloaded the HTML file and sent it off to two of my staffers and texted them. They loved it. I would go on to art direct Claude Design by simply telling it what to change, just like I was talking to a person. We are now running a split test on the new design and so far it is winning. The initial design took less than an hour. Let me know if you want to see the before and after. Have you tried out Claude Design? I'd love to hear from you. - @Mike_Stelzner

Minor nit (and it could just be me) but in @warpdotdev when I use a keyboard shortcut to move to a tab, I wish I could then just use the up arrow key to bring up the previous command in that tab. Right now, I have to click on the tab to put the cursor in there. If I hit a regular key, I can start typing, but up arrow doesn't work until I click.

If you ever feel like an idiot just remember me: I wanted to see what the "Convert" button did, clicked it and completely nuked my position by converting it into a bunch of random nonsense that will probably never happen I think it's time for a break

i built a dashboard with the Whop CLI that turns live business data into tasks for Hermes... for most tasks i'd say Telegram or the Hermes app is the best way to work with it, but for a few things i prefer to build my own app that triggers Hermes when i click a button mine is a dashboard that pulls every metric from my businesses: - it reads user behavior and suggests customer experience moves to reduce churn (i kept churn below 12% for 6 months thanks to it) - it shows me exactly how people use my software and which parts they just skip, so i can double down on features they actually like - everything lands as graphs and curves, with a recommendations section where i trigger a reco and Hermes builds it so build internal apps for yourself whenever you need to watch things happen in real time, talking to an agent can be a little blind sometimes... seeing the numbers helps a lot

The question Sam Altman has been waiting for: “The thing to me that feels most psychologically inconsistent about myself is that I have for 20 years been using computers the same way. I now have a magic thing called Codex. So do you, so does everybody. That means I should be using my computer in a completely different way. I should not be clicking around pasting from one messaging app to another. I should not be scrolling mindlessly through my emails and trying to figure out which one is least painful for me to open and respond when I don't want to be dealing with it. I should not be keeping a to-do list and doing sort of these rote computer tasks in the same way that I have for so long. And yet there's something in my mind that is encoded that doing this kind of stuff is what it means to work and what it means to be productive. And if you asked me I would never say I like doing it that way. In fact I would say the opposite and I think I would mean it. I have a better way to do it now. I can do it faster. I can be using Codex for more of just my day-to-day to get through this stack of emails, to do this stuff on my to-do list, to deal with all these things. And I still do it that way. And it makes no sense other than I must secretly like it or feel good about it.”

I am the customer Nintendo went into a federal court and described to a judge as not entitled to a single dollar. I bought the Switch 2 at $499.99, which was the tariff price, and when the company's lawyers told the court the buyers are owed nothing, I am one of the buyers they meant. I want to be the first to say they are right. I got exactly what I bargained and paid for. Those are their words. I have made them mine. People are angry, and I do not think they understand how a purchase works. When the console was announced it was $449.99. Then the tariffs came, and Nintendo said the price had to go to $499.99, and I understood. A tariff is a cost, and costs get passed to me. That is a supply chain doing its job. I stood in a line at 11 p.m. and I paid the extra $50 the way you salute a flag, because that $50 was not going to Nintendo, it was going to the country. I felt like a patriot holding a shopping bag. My brother-in-law waited for a price drop. I told him the price does not drop, the price is the price. He is still waiting. I am playing. Then a court ruled the tariffs were illegal. And the money started coming back. It came back to Nintendo. It came back to Sony and to Microsoft. The number I read was $81 billion in tariffs refunded to companies, and somewhere in that number is my $50, except it is not mine anymore. It went home to Redmond, Washington, and I could not be happier for them. Here is the part the angry people cannot hold in their heads. The tariff I paid was real. The refund Nintendo got was also real. Both are true, and only one of them has my name on it, and it is not the refund. I paid a tax that no longer exists, on a console I already own, and Nintendo collected that same tax back from the government, and the console still works, and I got exactly what I bargained and paid for. Sit with the elegance of it. Nintendo paid the tariff. Nintendo charged me the tariff. The government gave Nintendo the tariff back. That is one tariff doing the work of three, and at no point in that beautiful circle am I owed a cent, because I clicked confirm. A deal is a deal. Mine included a tax that expired and a price that did not. Some man in Washington filed a class action. He wants the $50 back, for all of us. I read the complaint. I found it embarrassing. He keeps saying it is unfair, which is the word you reach for when you did not read the terms. Nintendo's lawyers said I am not entitled to a rebate simply because of intervening legal developments, and I read that sentence three times and agreed with it harder each time. Intervening legal developments. That is not my business. My business was $499.99 and a console, and the console is under my television right now doing everything I was promised. I am whole. I am so whole I could scream. I have started correcting people online. When a guy posts his receipt and asks where his refund is, I tell him the truth: you got the console. Did it arrive? Did it turn on? Then you have no claim. That is what a price is. It is the number you agreed to, forever, no matter what happens to the number afterward. I did not buy a stake in the tariff. I bought a machine. Nintendo bought the tariff, and the tariff appreciated, and that is called investing, and I am not an investor. I am a fan. My wife asked if I felt cheated. I told her I feel loyal. There is a difference, and the difference is worth exactly $50. When you love a company you do not audit it. You do not go through its pockets looking for your own money. You pre-order the next thing. Which I did. There is a new color coming and I have already paid for it, and if a tariff shows up on that one too I will pay it twice, once going out and once coming back, because that is the relationship. I put in. They keep. That is a marriage, and you do not ask a marriage for a refund. And it is not only Nintendo, which is the part that makes me proud to be an American consumer. Sony did it. Microsoft did it. Every company that ever added a line to your receipt for a cost that later vanished kept the vanishing for itself and left you the line. Your car. Your groceries. The fee on the fee on your checking account. You paid the surcharge for a war that ended, and the peace dividend went to the shareholder. You got exactly what you bargained and paid for. I need you to say it with me. It is the only prayer that keeps the console warm. So no, I do not want my $50. I want you to understand that I never had it. It was Nintendo's $50 the whole time, briefly parked in my checking account on its way home. I got exactly what I bargained and paid for. The price just happened to include a part I would never get back, and I would pay it again tomorrow. The new color ships in September. I am first in line. A deal is a deal.

I have spent $1,970 on a team this year. The survey calls that average. I am not average. I spent $2,627, because I am 31, and a company that studies this found that men my age go the deepest and borrow the most to do it, and when I read that number I did not feel warned. I felt seen. Then I felt behind. I did not have the $2,627. I want to be clear about that, because it is the part I am proud of. A company called National Debt Relief ran the survey. A company whose whole business is getting people out of debt called to ask how deep I had climbed into it for a team, and I treated it like a scouting combine. 47% of fans who spend went into debt to do it. I heard 47 out of 100 and thought: amateurs. I gave them a number with a comma in it. I may have rounded up. I wanted to place well. Let me read you the roster. I have four streaming services. The fourth one carries only the pregame, the postgame, and a camera pointed at the players' parking lot. I watch the parking lot. My guys park there. You never know. I have a seat that costs more than a mortgage payment, in a section a bank bought the name of, so I sit in a Terrace named after a bank I have never used and never will, out of loyalty. To the section. Which is named after the bank. I renewed early. I renew like a hostage passing a note that says I'm fine. I have a jersey. $340. The name on the back plays for the team we hate now. He was traded in March. I still wear it, because loyalty is to the front of the jersey and the back is just weather. I also have his rookie jersey, his alternate, and the one from the season we do not discuss. Four jerseys. For one man who left. I own more of him than his own mother does. I have socks I have not washed since a win in 2019. My wife has tried to wash the socks. We had a conversation about the socks that a counselor later called "not really about the socks." It was about the socks. I have a recliner no one may sit in. Not the kids. Not company. The recliner is 1 for 1 in playoff appearances, and I am not going to be the reason it regresses to the mean. I have a parlay. Five legs. I have only ever needed the last one. The last one is a part-time job I was never hired for and show up to every Sunday, unpaid, on time, in the jersey. I once tried to bet against my own team, as a hedge, the way a grown man protects his family. I could not click the button. My thumb knew something my portfolio did not. I lost the game and the money, and I have never felt more faithful in my life. My fantasy team is a second unpaid job. My commissioner is a 24-year-old named Kolby. I answer to Kolby. Kolby has never met my children. Kolby set the waiver deadline at 3 a.m., and I honored it, because I am a professional. I argued with a 19-year-old at 2 a.m. about a coaching decision from before the kid was born. I was defending the shield. No one asked me to defend the shield. The shield does not know I exist. I defended it for 90 minutes, I won, nothing happened, and I went to bed a soldier. My wife asked me for the number. The real one. Everything. The streaming, the seat, the four jerseys, the socks I cannot count because I cannot find them, the parlays, the flights to a city I only visit when my guys are in it, and the thing I keep on the second card so it does not have to be true on the same day as the groceries. I told her it was an investment. She asked for the return. I said joy. I showed her a Sunday. She was there for the Sunday. We lost the Sunday 34 to 10, and I stood at the end and clapped, because they gave great effort, and effort is the true score, and also the real score was 34 to 10. This one's the year, though. Here is the part I understand better than they think I do. They do not want my name. My name is not in their system. My card is. When my card is about to expire, they email me before my own bank does. They are more afraid of losing me than I have ever been of losing them, and they took that fear and made it a subscription, and I took it and made it a personality, a wardrobe, and a chair. They lost the game that mattered again, the way they always lose it, which is close. Close enough to keep me. Not close enough to pay me back. I have been buying that exact gap since I was 6 years old, I have gotten very good at it, and I would like it on my headstone. I renewed before the confetti hit the grass. I put it on the card that builds credit, which is the same card, which is how I know I am building something. I refinanced the house one summer, and I will not tell you against what. My son is 6. I bought him the jersey too, the small one, $60. He does not know the player was traded. He does not know anything is weather yet. I am teaching him the word we. We are down. We need this. We have a chance. He is going to say it back for the rest of his life, on a card that has not been invented yet. I wanted to name him after the quarterback. My wife said no. We compromised. His middle name is a city. He is going to place well. They raised the price again last week. I said thank you. Not out loud. In the only language they have ever read from me, which is the payment clearing on the first of the month, forever, from a man whose name they will never learn, for a team that will never once know it was loved this much by the guy it charged the most. I am not in debt. I am a hostage who says thank you. This one's the year, though. I keep every receipt. Not for the taxes. For the day they win, so I can walk in and hold them up and show them I was here the whole time. They will not ask. I have already renewed.