The recent exodus of TikTok users to RedNote has left me both fascinated and deeply troubled. While sitting in my home office, watching this digital migration unfold, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re witnessing something more significant than just another app-switching trend.

The supposed logic behind this move is striking - users are protesting TikTok’s potential ban by jumping to an app with even stronger ties to the very concerns that sparked the ban discussion in the first place. It’s like watching someone protest food safety regulations by deliberately eating at an establishment with worse health violations.

Reading about someone’s 14x RTX 3090 home server setup this morning made my modest 32GB VRAM setup feel like I brought a butter knife to a nuclear war. This absolute unit of a machine, sporting 336GB of total VRAM, represents perhaps the most extreme example of the local AI computing arms race I’ve seen yet.

The sheer audacity of the build is both impressive and slightly concerning. We’re talking about a setup that required dedicated 30-amp 240-volt circuits installed in their house - the kind of power infrastructure you’d typically associate with industrial equipment, not a home computer. The cooling requirements alone must be enough to heat a small neighbourhood.

There’s something fascinating about watching people who consistently get things wrong. Not just occasionally wrong, but reliably, predictably wrong. Wrong enough that their predictions become a kind of reverse oracle, guiding people toward truth by pointing firmly in the opposite direction.

The tech and finance worlds have been buzzing lately about this phenomenon, particularly regarding a certain TV personality whose market predictions have become legendary - for all the wrong reasons. The situation has become so notable that someone actually created an ETF designed to do the exact opposite of his recommendations. While the fund itself didn’t end up performing as well as the urban legend suggests, the very fact that it existed speaks volumes about the peculiar nature of consistently incorrect predictions.

The recent departure of Stephen King from X (formerly Twitter) feels like watching the final scenes of a horror movie we all knew was coming. The master of horror himself has deemed the platform too toxic to remain, and honestly, who can blame him?

From my quiet corner of Carlton, where I often enjoy a peaceful coffee while scrolling through my various feeds, I’ve watched the platform’s steady descent into chaos since Elon Musk’s takeover. The transformation has been fascinating and disturbing in equal measure, like watching a slow-motion train wreck through the lens of a particularly dark Black Mirror episode.

Looking at the recent surge of users flocking to Bluesky - 700,000 new signups in just a week - brings back memories of the early Twitter days, when social media still felt genuinely social. Remember those times? When you could actually have meaningful conversations without drowning in a sea of sponsored content and bot armies?

The migration to Bluesky isn’t just another platform shuffle. It represents something deeper: our collective exhaustion with algorithmic manipulation and corporate surveillance. While brewing my morning coffee and scrolling through discussions about this exodus, what struck me most wasn’t the numbers, but the sentiment behind them.