I’ve been thinking a lot lately about truth. Not in some philosophical, navel-gazing way, but in a very practical sense: how do we know what’s real anymore?

There’s been quite a bit of discussion online about an AI safety researcher resigning from Anthropic, warning that the world is “in peril.” And while my first instinct was to roll my eyes at yet another doom-and-gloom headline, the more I read about it, the more the knot in my stomach tightened.

I’ve been watching the AI consciousness debate unfold online, and honestly, it’s starting to feel like watching people argue about whether a really good flight simulator is actually flying. There’s this fascinating article making the rounds—behind a paywall, naturally—claiming that AI consciousness is just clever marketing. The kicker? Someone in the comments pointed out the marketing isn’t even that clever. Fair point.

But here’s the thing that’s been rattling around in my head: we’re having the wrong conversation entirely.

There’s a satirical headline doing the rounds that pretty much sums up the absurdity of our current political landscape: Sussan Ley apparently can’t believe she’s less popular than a bloke who managed to combine an almost impressive litany of failures, scandals, and questionable decisions during his time as Prime Minister. The headline lists just a few of Scott Morrison’s greatest hits, and honestly, it barely scratches the surface.

The thing that struck me while reading through the discussion around this piece wasn’t the list itself – we’ve all seen variations of it before. What caught my attention was how many people admitted they’d forgotten just how terrible Morrison was as PM. One person put it perfectly: we have a collective goldfish memory when it comes to politics.

I stumbled across an online discussion the other day about finding the perfect small drink bottle for smoothies, and it sent me down a bit of a rabbit hole. What started as a simple question – “where can I find a decent bottle for my morning smoothie?” – turned into a fascinating glimpse into our relationship with stuff, sustainability, and the endless cycle of consumer trends.

The original poster had reasonable needs: something small enough for a 20-minute commute, capable of holding a smoothie overnight in the fridge, and ideally not requiring a second mortgage to purchase. Simple enough, right? But the responses revealed something interesting about where we are as a society.

Look, I’ll be honest – I spend a lot of time being cynical about the internet these days. Between the rage-bait, the misinformation, and the general sense that we’re all just shouting into the void while algorithms monetize our anger, it’s easy to forget that sometimes, just sometimes, the internet can be genuinely lovely.

Which brings me to the cream-colored couch and the tikka masala disaster that had me (and apparently thousands of others) completely invested over the past couple of days.

There’s something beautifully unpretentious about a proper deli sandwich. Not some overpriced, Instagram-worthy creation with seventeen ingredients you can’t pronounce, but a straightforward, generous sandwich made by people who actually know what they’re doing.

I came across a thread recently about a spot in Dandenong Market doing Italian-style sandwiches, and it got me thinking about these little pockets of authenticity that still exist around Melbourne. Someone posted a photo of what they’re calling a “Peppa Roll” – presumably loaded with Italian cold cuts – and the immediate response was exactly what you’d hope for: genuine appreciation, people sharing their experiences, and that satisfying sense of community that forms around good, honest food.

I’ve been following an interesting thread on privacy forums lately about Face ID and biometric authentication. The consensus from the privacy-conscious crowd seems to be: ditch Face ID immediately, it’s a security nightmare. But here’s the thing – after reading through dozens of comments and thinking about my own usage patterns, I reckon most of this advice is actually making people less secure, not more.

The argument goes like this: law enforcement can compel you to unlock your phone with your face, but they can’t force you to reveal your password. Technically true, particularly in the US with their Fifth Amendment protections. But this laser focus on one specific threat scenario completely ignores the far more common risks most of us face every single day.

Right, so there I was this week, watching over a trillion dollars evaporate from Big Tech stocks like water down a drain, and I had one of those moments where you’re simultaneously vindicated and absolutely terrified. You know the feeling? When you’ve been quietly skeptical about something everyone else was losing their minds over, and then reality catches up?

The AI bubble is showing some serious cracks. Not popping yet—let’s be clear about that—but definitely making some ominous creaking sounds. A trillion dollars wiped off Big Tech valuations is apparently just “a bit of volatility” these days. Which tells you everything you need to know about how detached from reality this whole situation has become.

There’s something deeply unsettling about reading someone’s story about building digital recovery systems after multiple concussions. I came across this fascinating discussion recently where a developer shared their solution to a problem most of us probably haven’t thought about enough: what happens to our digital lives when we’re suddenly unable to access them?

The premise is simple but sobering. After several bike accidents resulting in concussions, this person started wondering: what if next time, I can’t remember how to log into my own systems? It’s the kind of thought that hits different when you’re sitting there with your coffee, scrolling through your perfectly organised 1Password vault with hundreds of credentials.

I’ve been fascinated by a project that’s been making the rounds lately: BalatroBench, which essentially lets large language models play Balatro, that brilliant poker-inspired roguelike that took the gaming world by storm last year. The concept is simple but elegant — feed the LLM the game state as text, let it decide what to do, and watch it either triumph or faceplant spectacularly.

For those unfamiliar, Balatro is a poker-based roguelike where you build synergies between cards, jokers, and special effects to reach increasingly absurd score targets. It’s the kind of game that requires both strategic planning and tactical decision-making, which makes it a genuinely interesting test for AI reasoning capabilities.