Doggie Daddy

[Doggie Daddy @PatentJeweler]

@PhilHollowayEsq Had Fauci not funded the gain of function research in Wuhan, the CDC might have been more able to pursue the obvious source of the virus, a lab leak, rather than pushing the wet market jump.
His posturing in the face of (well founded) accusations seems true to form

[BaseballHistoryNut @nut_history]

During a game that Glavine, Jones, McCann and Smoltz were in the booth together, Pete Alonso got smoked in the ribs and Jones said Pete taking it like a man.

Shortly after, that led Chipper showing a throwback clip of Smoltz getting hit by a pitch from Mark Thompson and flopping like a fish

Hilarity ensues.

[Merlow @exeMerlow]

Richard Feynman stood at a Cornell blackboard in 1964 and explained the problem every AI lab is fighting in 2026. The BBC filmed it. Almost nobody watches it.

The lecture is about why nature only answers in mathematics. Every team forcing language models to reason is hitting the wall he mapped 62 years ago.

He was 46. The Nobel Prize came 11 months later. The footage survived on film reels and now sits free on YouTube with fewer views than a keyboard unboxing.

Watch the blackboard section near the middle. He takes 1 of Kepler's laws and rebuilds it from nothing, with notation a 12-year-old can follow.

No slides. No jargon. 1 piece of chalk.

An ML engineer I know paused it 4 times and made his whole team watch it before standup.

You're 62 years late. The lecture is still free.

[asher @asher_cel]

@liferacerza x = 7 boom

[Thomas Heltschl @THeltschl94693]

@liferacerza 7? 5 times (7 minus 3)= 5 times 4 = 20

[Doggie Daddy @PatentJeweler]

@shairnn 18?

[Doggie Daddy @PatentJeweler]

@BrilliantMaps Southwestern Virginia

[Peter Girnus 🦅 @gothburz]

I pour the wine for men who expect to be hanged, and know it, and drink anyway.

This is the part they leave out. In the summer of 1776, in a square brick room on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, forty feet by forty, the ceiling a full twenty feet above their damp wigs, the doors are shut and a man named McNair stands against them. He is the doorkeeper, the human seal on the whole business, and Congress has sworn itself to secrecy because what is argued in here is treason and treason travels on open air. I carry the Madeira in from the tavern and set the glasses on the green baize that covers their little tables, the wool cloth already gone dark under sweating palms, and none of them look at me. I am the arm the wine arrives on. Which means I hear everything.

The room is not the grand hall they will paint. It is a working chamber with plain paneling and two arcs of spindle-backed Windsor chairs facing a raised platform where Hancock presides. There is a silver inkstand on the table, made by a Philadelphia man named Syng a quarter-century back, its pounce pot full of blotting sand, its quills cut from goose. The afternoon light comes hard through the tall south windows and lies across the baize. Outside, on the cobbles, iron-shod hooves and cart wheels of the biggest city in the colonies, and under it always the livery-stable smell, manure and horse, drifting in with the heat. Inside it is tallow and wool and the tin bite of ink. Cheap tallow, note, the smoky rancid-fat kind. Even here, men who will pledge their lives are burning the poor man's candle.

What they will teach you later is that this was a room full of certainty. Great men, marble men, who always knew. I was there. I can tell you it was a room full of fear, and that the fear is the whole story, because what they did they did while afraid.

There is a resolution on the table, put forward by a Virginian named Lee back in June. That these colonies are, and of right ought to be, free. Everyone in the room understands the arithmetic of it. They vote by colony, one vote each, so the small delegations caucus in furious whispers before a single yes is spoken. To vote yes is to sign your own name to a hanging, if the thing goes wrong, and most of them privately believe the thing will go wrong. Britain is the largest empire on earth. They are thirteen quarreling shopkeeper-colonies with no navy and no treasury and an army that is mostly farmers who want to go home for the harvest.

The tall one from Virginia does not speak. He is a head above most of the room, red-haired and freckled and loose in the joints, and days of this and he says almost nothing. He has written the draft they are butchering, and now he sits and folds and unfolds a sheet of paper while other men take knives to his sentences. Eighty-odd changes they make, a full quarter of it cut. He lets them. Adams will complain for the rest of his life that he never heard Jefferson string three sentences together on that floor. The man who wrote the words will not say them out loud. He writes in the morning at a little hinged box he designed himself, no bigger than a book, and in the afternoon those same long hands that saw the wood together and draw a bow across a violin string sit still while the room cuts him, and only the paper folding, unfolding, tells you what it costs.

Adams does the talking. Short and stout and blunt, he does enough talking for the whole Congress and half of Massachusetts. He knows exactly what he is. He will say it plainly of himself, that he is obnoxious, suspected, and unpopular, which is the very reason he pushed the writing onto the quiet Virginian, telling him he could write ten times better anyway. He cannot stop talking, because he believes, correctly, that if he stops the thing dies. He will write home to his wife that the day they should remember is the Second of July, kept forever with pomp and parade, with bonfires and illuminations from one end of the continent to the other. He has the date wrong. It is the Fourth they will keep. The most certain man in the room, wrong about the one prediction he stakes his heart on. I have never carried wine to anything more human.

There is a plainer man near the Connecticut delegation who I like to watch. Sherman. Tall and rugged and broad as a barn door, no wig at all over close-cropped hair, hands still nicked from the shoemaker's awl. He came up mending shoes and taught himself the rest, and when he stands to speak it is in a rustic clip, all elbows and no grace, and yet the room goes quiet for him the way it does not for smoother men. He is one of the few who will end by signing every founding paper there is. Plainness is not smallness. I learned that pouring for Sherman.

And here is the one they cut from the painting entirely. Dickinson. Pennsylvania. He stands up and says no. Not out of cowardice, this is the thing. The movies will make him a pale sweating naysayer and that is a lie; he is a serious, well-regarded man who has thought harder about this than most of them. He says it is too soon, that they have no allies, no fleet, no money, that to declare now is to shove off into a hurricane in a boat made of paper. He believes every word. He loses. And when he has lost, when the vote goes against everything he argued, he does not sulk home to England. When the tally goes against him he gathers his papers slowly, squares them on the green cloth, and walks out into the heat rather than put his hand to a thing he cannot bless. Then he shoulders a musket for the very cause he told them not to declare. I have wondered since whether the bravest man in that room was the one who was sure it would fail and took up arms for it anyway.

Old Franklin is not even here for most of it. Seventy years old, the oldest man they have, and the gout has laid him up so bad this June that he edits the Virginian's draft from a sickbed across town, his leg when he does come out straight before him like a fallen pillar. He squints through plain spectacles, no clever split lenses yet, those are years off and I will not let the storytellers hand them to him early. They will say afterward that he told the room they must all hang together or they will surely hang separately. A good line. I never heard him say it, and neither did anyone who wrote it down at the time. What I heard from Franklin was quieter and worse. Once, between sessions, he sat with the empty glass turning slowly in those swollen fingers and looked at nothing for a long moment, the wit gone out of his face like a lamp turned down, and I understood that he did not know. This wisest man in America, who had charmed kings, could not tell you it would work.

Then the names go on the parchment, though not this day, whatever the paintings show. That comes weeks later, in August, one hand at a time. Hancock signs first and enormous, the wealthiest man present in his velvet and lace, a signature you could read across a street. They will say he meant it big enough for the King to read without his spectacles. I do not know if he said that. It sounds like a thing a man says when he is terrified and performing courage for the others. And one by one they come up and put down the name, and every name is a rope measured to a neck. They are joking and they are terrified and both are true in the same breath.

Then the strangeness takes me, the way it does, and I am pouring in the same city eleven years later.

Different summer, and now the windows truly are kept shut against the street, sworn to secrecy again, the heat pooling on the baize. There is a General at the front of the room, the one who spent that whole first war up near New York with the army while these men argued in here, never once in this chamber in 1776. He says almost nothing either, and the whole room arranges itself around his quiet. His chair is mahogany, and carved into its crest is a half-sun on a horizon. Franklin is here still, eighty-one and too frail to stand, carried in each day in a covered sedan chair, borne on poles, having another man read his words aloud for him. Near the very end he looks up at that carving and has it said for him that painters have never learned to tell a rising sun from a setting one, that all these weeks he has looked at the sun behind the President and not known which it was, and that only now does he have the happiness to know it is rising and not going down. He believes it. I carry his glass and I do not know if I believe it. The sun is only carved there. It does not know either.

One more pull and it is winter, another town, Annapolis, a cold high chamber with the members in their coats and their breath showing, and the General is standing before the Congress handing back his commission. He does not have to. Every king alive would call him a fool for it. The men of Congress stay seated and keep their hats on while he stands and bows to them, the soldier bowing to the civilians and the civilians answering only with a touch to the brim. He draws the parchment from his coat and hands it across, and says he takes his leave of all the employments of public life. His hand shakes on the page, that famously steady hand, and when he comes to the part about his officers he has to hold the single sheet with both hands to keep it still. Every man watching weeps. Across the ocean a king will hear that the General simply went home, and will say that if he really did it he is the greatest man in the world. He does it. That is the whole revolution, in the end. Not the shot. The letting go.

They are gone now, all of them. The vain one and the silent one and the plain one and the funny frightened old one and the one who voted no and fought anyway. They wrote a promise larger than themselves and they knew it was larger than themselves and they signed it with their hands shaking, not at all certain the paper boat would float, and they shoved off into the storm.

I set the last glass down. The ink is still wet, and it goes on the parchment pale before it darkens. Out past the shut windows the whole dark country is asleep, and does not yet know what has been promised on its behalf.

[Edward Dowd @DowdEdward]

A man in Barnstable MA speaking on illegal immigration:

Brings to mind the Quote from Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn:

“The most terrifying force of death comes from the hands of men who wanted to be left alone. They try, so very hard, to mind their own business and provide for themselves and those they love. They do not ask for much. Just to be left alone. But when they are pushed too far, when their families, their homes, their livelihoods, or their way of life is threatened… they become the most dangerous force on earth.”

[Jack Posobiec @JackPosobiec]

BREAKING: Joshua Lisec announces next book will be a full investigation of the 'Haitians of Springfield' after spending 10 weeks in the town

https://t.co/chHieGD9Hy

[AI Panda @AIPandaX]

A guy was ready to drop $1,500 on a new OLED TV because his 3-year-old Smart TV was freezing up and took 5 seconds just to respond to the remote.

He unplugged it. Deleted old apps. Cleared the cache. The lag kept coming back.

He went to Best Buy to get a replacement.

The home theater installer in the blue shirt stopped him: "Before you spend a grand, let me show you something."

He grabbed a remote and shook his head.

"There are 8 hidden tracking settings throttling your TV's processor right now. Manufacturers turn them all on by default. Nobody tells you they exist. Let's fix this."

Here's what he showed him in the next 8 minutes. 🧵

[Doggie Daddy @PatentJeweler]

@libsoftiktok @AGTimGriffin I wonder if, instead of “no name given” someone actually wrote “incognito,” if they would actually put it on a CDL

[Doggie Daddy @PatentJeweler]

@JGreenbergSez @CyborgPeds Looks just like Mamdani. Creepy

[Doggie Daddy @PatentJeweler]

@godblesstoto I used to enjoy Monty Python as skit comedy. Had I known it was a documentary I don’t think it would’ve laughed quite as hard.

[Soulfood @Soulfoodiiee]

Here is the Recipe Link 💗
https://t.co/IFo1Dpgaq2

[Patricia 🇺🇸 @1109Patricia]

These kids came up with a unique performance for their school Talent Show doing Synchronized “Air Swimming!”

[Rick D @RickD_GK]

This guy went to Goodwill and found a clock, so he bought it...
I bet he opened it up and saw the contents before buying, so of course it was worth the $6.

As he was heading to his car, a couple was persistently trying to purchase it from him for $100.

They more than likely were the original owners, trying to get there few hundred bucks back.

Would you have done the same thing as this guy? Or made a deal with the other folks?