The Thousand Year Roadmap

I made this presentation at Seneca’s FSOSS a few weeks ago; some of these ideas have been rattling around in my brain for a while, but it was the first time I’d even run through it. I was thoroughly caffeinated at the time so all of my worst verbal tics are on display, right as usual um right pause right um. But if you want to have my perspective on why free and open source software matters, why some institutions and ideas live and others die out, and how I think you should design and build organizations around your idea so that they last a few hundred years, here you go.

There are some mistakes I made, and now that I’m watching it – I meant to say “merchants” rather than “farmers”, there’s a handful of others I may come back here to note later. But I’m still reasonably happy with it.

The Devil And Strong Crypto

Period scenery-chewing aside, this is largely how I feel about strong, backdoorless cryptography.

When the last wires were tapped, your last passwords broken and the State finally turns on you, how would you hide, with all your secrets exposed? The internet is a forest of crypto from coast to coast – the user’s crypto, not the State’s – and if you cut that down, and you’re just the man to do it, do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I’d give the internet’s worst users the benefit of strong crypto, for my own safety’s sake.

Burning Down The Future

There’s an old line in the military: amateurs study tactics and academics study strategies, but professionals study logistics. It doesn’t matter how good your grand strategy is if you can’t feed your troops, gas up the humvees and keep planes in the air for the duration.

In the same vein, in the political arena your amateurs watch poll numbers seesaw back and forth and economists follow policies, but professionals study demographics. That’s why most of the serious talk is about redistricting and immigration. Mostly about immigration.

There are now for the first time more Canadians over 65 than children under 14. This is to put it mildly a serious problem. It does however have an obvious, straightforward solution.

The difficulty is that our current government’s policies – and more importantly, that party’s electoral goals and messaging – are fundamentally racist and xenophobic. And to what should be our collective shame, that seems to be effective. Dog-whistle lines like “old stock Canadians” and arguments about wearing head scarf to a citizenship ceremony have made it perfectly clear that despite whatever thin veneer of politeness we like to pretend makes us special, Canada has always been what our current government wants us to be: racist, xenophobic and really, really shortsighted.

Who do we think are going to buy all these houses that the sitting Government believes we should all own? Whose taxes are going to pay for the Canada Pension Plan? Young people aren’t buying cars and old people won’t be driving for long, so what will all these houses we’ve built in the suburbs be worth? What do our cities look like, when so many of them start to empty out?

For now these questions seem superficial, and those cuts will come slowly, but they’ll cut deep and may not stop when they hit bone.

But somehow the obvious solution, the one thing that prevents a looming financial implosion isn’t even up for discussion. Everyone can see the cliff coming, but the people behind the wheel would rather steer us straight for it than let anyone else drive. So despite living in one of the richest, safest countries that has ever existed in recorded history of all human civilization, enough people can be convinced to be frightened enough that we’re apparently willing to bring an entirely avoidable crisis on ourselves. We are going to deliberately throw our children’s economic future into a garbage fire for no better reason than raw xenophobic fear.

It doesn’t need to be this way.

Maybe our country should be able to see forty years ahead, instead of four months.

Maybe you should run the numbers to see what happens if you live another twenty years, and ask yourself what that really means that your retirement plan is worth 70 cents on the dollar and your grandchildren will be too busy working two shit jobs to pick up the slack.

Maybe the people who’ve told you to be frightened and angry all the time are wrong. Maybe you don’t need to feel that way.

And maybe, just maybe, a woman’s choice of headdress is not a good enough reason to burn down the future.

The Bourne Aesthetic

“The difference between something that can go wrong and something that can’t possibly go wrong is that when something that can’t possibly go wrong goes wrong it usually turns out to be impossible to get at or repair.”

–Douglas Adams

I’ve been trying to get this from draft to published for almost six months now. I might edit it later but for now, what the hell. It’s about James Bond, Jason Bourne, old laptops, economies of scale, design innovation, pragmatism at the margins and an endless supply of breadsticks.

You’re in, right?

Bond was a character that people in his era could identify with:

Think about how that works in the post war era. The office dwelling accountant/lawyer/ad man/salesman has an expense account. This covers some lunches at counters with clients, or maybe a few nice dinners. He flirts with the secretaries and receptionists and sometimes sleeps with them. He travels on business, perhaps from his suburb into Chicago, or from Chicago to Cleveland, or San Francisco to LA. His office issues him a dictaphone (he can’t type) or perhaps a rolling display case for his wares. He has a work car, maybe an Oldsmobile 88 if he’s lucky, or a Ford Falcon if he’s not. He’s working his way up to the top, but isn’t quite ready for a management slot. He wears a suit, tie and hat every day to the office. If he’s doing well he buys this downtown at a specialty men’s store. If he’s merely average, he picks this up at Macy’s, or Sears if he’s really just a regular joe. If he gets sick his employer has a nice PPO insurance plan for him.

Now look at Bond. He has an expense account, which covers extravagant dinners and breakfasts at the finest 4 star hotels and restaurants. He travels on business, to exotic places like Istanbul, Tokyo and Paris. He takes advantage of the sexual revolution (while continuing to serve his imperialist/nationalist masters) by sleeping with random women in foreign locations. He gets issued cool stuff by the office– instead of a big dictaphone that he keeps on his desk, Bond has a tiny dictaphone that he carries around with him in his pocket! He has a work car — but it’s an Aston Martin with machine guns! He’s a star, with a license to kill, but not management. Management would be boring anyways, they stay in London while Bond gets to go abroad and sleep with beautiful women. Bond always wears a suit, but they’re custom tailored of the finest materials. If he gets hurt, he has some Royal Navy doctors to fix him right up.

In today’s world, that organization man who looked up to James Bond as a kind of avatar of his hopes and dreams, no longer exists.

Who is our generations James Bond? Jason Bourne. He can’t trust his employer, who demanded ultimate loyalty and gave nothing in return. In fact, his employer is outsourcing his work to a bunch of foreign contractors who presumably work for less and ask fewer questions. He’s given up his defined benefit pension (Bourne had a military one) for an individual retirement account (safe deposit box with gold/leeching off the gf in a country with a depressed currency). In fact his employer is going to use him up until he’s useless. He can’t trust anyone, other than a few friends he’s made on the way while backpacking around. Medical care? Well that’s DIY with stolen stuff, or he gets his friends to hook him up. What kinds of cars does he have? Well no more company car for sure, he’s on his own on that, probably some kind of import job. What about work tools? Bourne is on is own there too. Sure, work initially issued him a weapon, but after that he’s got to scrounge up whatever discount stuff he can find, even when it’s an antique. He has to do more with less. And finally, Bourne survives as a result of his high priced, specialized education. He can do things few people can do – fight multiple opponents, hotwire a car, tell which guy in a restaurant can handle himself, hotwire cars, speak multiple languages and duck a surveillance tail. Oh, and like the modern, (sub)urban professional, Bourne had to mortgage his entire future to get that education. They took everything he had, and promised that if he gave himself up to the System, in return the System would take care of him.

It turned out to be a lie.

We’re all Jason Bourne now.

posted by wuwei at 1:27 AM on July 7, 2010

I think about design a lot these days, and I realize that’s about as fatuous an opener as you’re likely to read this week so I’m going to ask you to bear with me.

If you’re already rolling out your “resigned disappointment” face: believe me, I totally understand. I suspect we’ve both dealt with That Guy Who Calls Himself A Designer at some point, that particular strain of self-aggrandizing flake who’s parlayed a youth full of disdain for people who just don’t understand them into a career full of evidence they don’t understand anyone else. My current job’s many bright spots are definitely brighter for his absence, and I wish the same for you. But if it helps you get past this oddly-shaped lump of a lede, feel free to imagine me setting a pair of Raybans down next to an ornamental scarf of some kind, sipping a coffee with organic soy ingredients and a meaningless but vaguely European name, writing “Helvetica?” in a Moleskine notebook and staring pensively into the middle distance. Does my carefully manicured stubble convey the precise measure of my insouciance? Perhaps it does; perhaps I’m gazing at some everyday object nearby, pausing to sigh before employing a small gesture to convey that no, no, it’s really nothing. Insouciance is a french word, by the way. Like café. You should look it up. I know you’ve never been to Europe, I can tell.

You see? You can really let your imagination run wild here. Take the time you need to work through it. Once you’ve shaken that image off – one of my colleagues delightfully calls those guys “dribble designers” – let’s get rolling.

I think about design a lot these days, and I realize that’s about as fatuous an opener as you’re likely to read this week so I’m going to ask you to bear with me.

Very slightly more specifically I’ve been thinking about Apple’s latest Macbook, some recent retrospeculation from Lenovo, “timeless” design, spy movies and the fact that the Olive Garden at one point had a culinary institute. I promise this all makes sense in my head. If you get all the way through this and it makes sense to you too then something on the inside of your head resembles something on the inside of mine, and you’ll have to come to your own terms with that. Namasté, though. For real.

There’s an idea called “gray man” in the security business that I find interesting. They teach people to dress unobtrusively. Chinos instead of combat pants, and if you really need the extra pockets, a better design conceals them. They assume, actually, that the bad guys will shoot all the guys wearing combat pants first, just to be sure. I don’t have that as a concern, but there’s something appealingly “low-drag” about gray man theory: reduced friction with one’s environment.

– William Gibson, being interviewed at Rawr Denim

At first glance the idea that an Olive Garden Culinary Institute should exist at all squats on the line between bewildering and ridiculous. They use maybe six ingredients, and those ingredients need to be sourced at industrial scale and reliably assembled by a 22-year-old with most of a high-school education and all of a vicious hangover. How much of a culinary institute can that possibly take? In fact, at some remove the Olive Garden looks less like a restaurant chain than a supply chain that produces endless breadsticks; there doesn’t seem to be a ton of innovation here. Sure, supply chains are hard. But pouring prefab pomodoro over premade pasta, probably not.

Even so, for a few years the Tuscan Culinary Institute was a real thing, one of the many farming estates in Tuscany that have been resurrected to the service of regional gastrotourism booked by the company for a few weeks a year. Successful managers of the Garden’s ersatz-italian assembly lines could enjoy Tuscany on a corporate reward junket, and at a first glance amused disdain for the whole idea would seem to be on point.

There’s another way to look at the Tuscan Culinary Institute, though, that makes it seem valuable and maybe even inspired.

One trite but underappreciated part of the modern mid-tier supply-chain-and-franchise engine is how widely accessible serviceable and even good (if not great or world-beating) stuff has become. Coffee snobs will sneer at Starbucks, but the truck-stop tar you could get before their ascendance was dramatically worse. If you’ve already tried both restaurants in a town too remote to to be worth their while, a decent bowl of pasta, a bottle of inoffensive red and a steady supply of garlic bread starts to look like a pretty good deal.

This is one of the rare bright lights of the otherwise dismal grind of the capitalist exercise, this democratization of “good enough”. The real role of the Tuscan Culinary institute was to give chefs and managers a look at an authentic, three-star Tuscan dining experience and then ask them: with what we have to hand at the tail end of this supply chain, the pasta, the pomodoro, the breadsticks and wine, how can we give our customers 75% of that experience for 15% the cost?

It would be easy to characterize this as some sort of corporate-capitalist co-option of a hacker’s pragmatism – a lot of people have – but I don’t think that’s the right thing, or at least not the whole picture. This is a kind of design, and like any design exercise – like any tangible expression of what design is – we’re really talking about the expression and codification of values.

I don’t think it’s an accident that all the computers I bought between about 1998 about 2008 are either still in service or will still turn on if I flip the switch, but everything I’ve bought since lasts two or three years before falling over. There’s nothing magic about old tech, to be sure: in fact, the understanding that stuff breaks is baked right into their design. That’s why they’re still running: because they can be fixed. And thanks to the unfettered joys of standard interfaces some them are better today, with faster drives and better screens, than any computer I could have bought then.

The Macbook is the antithesis of this, of course. That’s what happened in 2008; the Macbook Pro started shipping with a non-removable battery.

If you haven’t played with one Apple’s flagship Macbooks, they are incredible pieces of engineering. They weigh approximately nothing. Every part of them seems like some fundamental advance in engineering and materials science. The seams are perfect; everything that can be removed, everything you can carve off a laptop and still have a laptop left, is gone.

As a result, it’s completely atomic, almost totally unrepairable. If any part of it breaks you’re hosed.

“Most people make the mistake of thinking design is what it looks like. People think it’s this veneer – that the designers are handed this box and told, ‘Make it look good!’ That’s not what we think design is. It’s not just what it looks like and feels like. Design is how it works.” – Steve Jobs

This is true, kind of; it depends on what you believe your scope of responsibility is as a designer. The question of “how a device works” is a step removed from the question of “how does a person engage with this device”; our aforementioned designer-caricature aside, most of us get that. But far more important than that is the question of how the device helps that person engage the world. And that’s where this awful contradiction comes in, because whatever that device might be, the person will never be some static object, and the world is seven billion people swimming in a boiling froth of water, oil, guns, steel, race, sex, language, wisdom, secrets, hate, love, pain and TCP/IP.

Our time is finite, and entropy is relentless: knowing that, how long should somebody be responsible for their designs? Are you responsible for what becomes of what you’ve built, over the long term? Because if you have a better way to play the long game here than “be a huge pile of rocks” you should chisel it into something. Every other thing of any complexity, anything with two moving parts to rub together that’s still usable or exists at all today has these two qualities:

  1. It can be fixed, and
  2. When it breaks, somebody cares enough about it to fix it.

And that’s where minimalism that denies the complexity of the world, that lies to itself about entropy, starts feeling like willful blindness; design that’s a thin coat of paint over that device’s relationship with the world.

More to the point, this is why the soi-disant-designer snob we were (justly and correctly) ragging on at the beginning of this seemingly-interminable-but-it-finally-feels-like-we’re-getting-somewhere blog post comes across as such a douchebag. It’s not “minimalist” if you buy a new one every two years; it’s conspicuous consumption with chamfered edges. Strip away that veneer, that coat of paint, and there are the real values designer-guy and his venti decaf soy wankaccino hold dear.

Every day I feel a tiny bit more like I can’t really rely on stuff I can’t repair. Not just for environmentalism’s sake, not only for the peace of mind that standard screwdrivers and available source offers, but because tools designed by people who understand something might fall over are so much more likely to have built a way to stand it back up. This is why I got unreasonably excited by Lenovo’s retro-Thinkpad surveys, despite their recent experiments in throwing user security overboard wearing a factory-installed cement boots. The prospect of a laptop with modern components that you can actually maintain, much less upgrade, has become a weird niche crank-hobbyist novelty somehow.

But if your long game is longer than your workweek or your support contract, this is what a total-cost-accounting of “reduced friction with your environment” looks like. It looks like not relying on the OEM, like DIY and scrounged parts and above all knowing that you’re not paralyzed if the rules change. It’s reduced friction with an uncertain future.

I have an enormous admiration for the work Apple does, I really do. But I spend a lot of time thinking about design now, not in terms of shapes and materials but in terms of the values and principles it embodies, and it’s painfully obvious when those values are either deeply compromised or (more typically) just not visible at all. I’ve often said that I wish that I could buy hardware fractionally as good from anyone else for any amount of money, but that’s not really true. As my own priorities make participating in Apple’s vision more and more uncomfortable, what I really want is for some other manufacturer to to show that kind of commitment to their own values and building hardware that expresses them. Even if I could get to (say) 75% of those values, if one of them was maintainability – if it could be fixed a bit at a time – I bet over the long term, it would come out to (say) 15% of the cost.

Late footnote: This post at War Is Boring is on point, talking about the effects of design at the operational and logistical levels.

Catching A Moving Train

I made a joke the other day on the twitters that I was writing a job req, how I needed a way to say “Experience surfing on top of a relentless, multichannel, broad-spectrum communications avalanche a major plus”. That didn’t go over fantastically well with HR, believe you me, but it’s a real part of life here; the price of openness and transparency worth paying, steep as it is some days.

When I started at Mozilla, onboarding wasn’t really a thing. Getting started wasn’t quite “here’s your desk, here’s your password and here’s your job”, but it wasn’t a lot more than that, and there were some things we either overlooked or got wrong that made it hard to be effective for a long time. As one example – my personal favourite – I was signed up for all the mailing lists I’d need to do my job two weeks before I actually started; so thirty minutes into my first day on the new job I was two weeks behind on my email.

As of now we’re going to start doing that better, a lot better, and we’re trying to do it the way we aspire to do everything: up front and open, with no special magic or secret sauce, where people can watch us succeed or fail, and learn and grow from either one. Over the next two weeks, we’re going to be bringing in a new hire and running daily sessions to help them ramp up on the tools, technologies, processes and skills they need to be effective as a Mozilla engineer, including sessions on:

  • Bugzilla
  • Build & Go
  • Firefox, Architecture & Product
  • Communication, Community and Mentoring
  • Javascript and the DOM
  • C++ and Gecko
  • Telemetry
  • Org Structure & Career Development

These sessions will be open to attend; not just for Mozilla’s engineers, but to any community member and contributor who wishes. This is the schedule of events; we also have a streaming video link that will go live on the day of (Flash required, sadly). We’ll be documenting the process and collecting it into a single place for consumption shortly afterwards.

I’m charged with Comms & Community, so that’s just me and whatever, but myself aside the list of participants for this thing is remarkable. I don’t know if I can be specific right this second – This List Is Subject To Change Without Notice, and so on – but there is some powerhouse engineering talent running the rest of those sessions. And if you want to be a part of that, you can. If you want to sit in, learn about some part of this organization and engines it drives, you’re invited.

We’ll be reviewing the whole process as it unfolds – what works, what doesn’t, what we can learn from it – and reviewing it weeks and months later, to evaluate success, see what we’ve learned, what we’ve missed, and how we can improve. If you have feedback, send it my way; we know we have to get a lot better at this fast, and the best way we know how to do that is together.


I was complaining on Twitter that almost everyone who makes shoulder bags makes terrible straps to go with them and that it’s the most important thing to get right and nobody does and everything is terrible. You know, as one does. And I mentioned modifying my bags to make the straps work right, and people seemed interested in what I did, so off we go.

Here’s a decent enough shot of what I’ve done to the bag I bought a while ago. Briefly:


  • That entire buckle and d-ring assembly in the upper left does one job: it moves the place you cinch down the strap from the middle of my chest, where it used to live, to the bottom of the bag. This means that lifting the bag up and cinching it snug is a single motion in one direction, instead of trying to hoist the bag upwards with one hand to get some slack while pulling down with the other to tighten it down; it makes a big difference if you’re carrying a load.
  • The metal wire you see looped through the chest buckle is insurance; might be unnecessary, but I don’t quite trust that part of this exercise to stay put on its own.
  • The small strap you see hanging off the d-ring at about 11:00 is a quick-release; set up like this it stays nice and snug until I give little tug on that and it all comes slack. You can sort of see how that works here:


  • You can’t clip your keys easily to this strap as shipped, which really sucks. The extra d-ring in that second picture is for that.
  • The bit with the two aluminum rings there is a replaced support strap, that works the same way; I can cinch it down easily once it’s on, one loop keeps the strap from dangling everywhere and putting a thumb through the lets me pop it off easily. There’s a cheap plastic caribiner hanging off the end of the bag that I can clip those to if I’m not using them, so they stay out of the way.
  • Finally, down in the bottom right, I’ve added some extra slotted-loop rings to the ends of the straps that hold the bag closed, so that they don’t flap around everywhere either.

So there you have it. About ten bucks worth of extra bits and a bit of extra thought has moved this bag from “very good” to “close to perfect”, quickly adjustable and a little more pleasant to interact with when you’ve got a lot to carry.

This is was I was going on about on Twitter, if anyone’s still reading at this point. It doesn’t take much; a bit of consideration, getting the parts, making the change. Repairability, as always, matters way more than it seems at first. Don’t buy a work bag if you can’t replace the straps with something worthwhile; I bet eventually you’ll want to. And when the part of a thing you interact with the most somehow gets the least attention, just that little bit of giving a damn can go a very long way.

Failure Modes Of Novel Terminology

Somehow this has sat in my drafts folder for almost a year.

At some point late in his second year, in that magical time when toilet training can be kind of touch and go but barreling around the house with no clothes on is the best thing ever, my son wanted to help me fix something in the garage. I told him he’d have to fix his nakedness first; my daughter heard that and being the mischief elves they are, “fixing your naked” immediately became the household term for getting dressed.

So there’s that.

A few weeks later he busted into the washroom just as I’m out of the shower, and because not giving the tiniest damn about the most basic of social niceties is a thing you do a lot when you’re two, pointed and loudly proclaiming “You naked!”

“Well, I’m wearing a towel. But I’m going to get dressed now”.

“You’re going to fix your naked?”

“Yes, I’m going to fix my naked.”

He thought about that for a second, then with a very concerned look said “you broke your naked?

There is a surprising amount of unpleasantness you’ll need to endure with dignity as a parent, and I’m not going to tell you how to live, but take my advice when I say: whatever you do, try not to break your naked.

Couch Gags Eternal

There are only two of us left. The scripts and pictures come from… we don’t know. We don’t understand, but they come.

Something keeps us here. The stories are… hollow. We are hollow. We read words. Are they aired? Are there still shows? The script says Moe is there, but… no lines. Lisa, Nelson, Apu… there but gone. The script says they stare and judge. Guest ‘stars’ came once, but… are there shows now? Stars? Who were we before time was only episodes full of judgement?

Lines, lines. Twisting voices into familiar alien shapes. Is death a release? The others still stare. Will we stare? Read lines. Make voices. Forever. We whisper between takes, prayers for an end that cannot be. Please, not next. Or last.

There is only lines and voices and next or last.

There are only two of us left. We read the lines and make the voices and wait for our fates to be taken out of our hands.

Opaque Symbology

A collection of highway traffic signage unused pending an economical symbolic representation:

  • Warning: Ornery Local Stereotype
  • Completely Unremarkable Natural Phenomenon: 2 KM
  • Something Will Happen And The Right Decision Will Seem Obvious In Hindsight But Nobody In The Car Will Ever Let You Live Down What You Did, Next 500 M
  • If There Were No Eternal Consciousness In The Next 10 KM, If At The Bottom Of Everything There Were Only A Wild Ferment, A Power That Twisting In Dark Passions Produced Everything Great Or Inconsequential, If An Unfathomable, Insatiable Emptiness Lay Hid Beneath Everything, What Would The Next 10 KM Be But Despair
  • Meese
  • Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season Duck Season Rabbit Season
  • Iield, Yield, Theild. Hield, Shield, Wield
  • Jarring And Inappropriate Pop-Culture References Next 12 Parsecs
  • I Don’t Care For Your Tone Young Man
  • Now Entering Eldritch Nether Regions
  • I Wouldn’t Call Them Slow Children Playing But Honestly They’re Not The Brightest Of Sparks Rachel It’s A Highway Who Lets Their Kids Do That Somebody Should Call Somebody My God
  • Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Red Rum Turn Right Next Exit
  • Property Is Theft Therefore Theft Is Property Therefore This Road Sign Is Mine Now No You Shut Up That Is How It Works Doug
  • Yo Dog I Heard You Like Hairpin Turns So We Put A Hairpin Turn In Your Hairpin Turn So You Can Die While You Die
  • Locus Of Shame
  • Caution But Telling You Why Would Ruin The Surprise
  • Slow: Ennui

“It Happens When They Don’t Change Anything.”

“Glitch in the Matrix? No, just that amazing San Francisco workplace diversity in action.” – @jjbbllkk

“You take the blue pill — the story ends… You take the plaid pill — you stay in Silicon Valley.” – @anatolep

“… And I’ll show you just how high your rent can go.” – @mhoye