Breaking: Anthropic just cut off Max plan access for third-party Claude tools like OpenClaw.
If you're a power user running agents across multiple subscriptions, this changes your math immediately.
A quick video reaction to what happened, why Anthropic did it, two stopgap options if you need to keep things running today, and why neither of them is a long term answer.
The free ride on subscription arbitrage is over.
Check out our blog post to read what comes next: https://t.co/cWCwKD7HQi
#openclaw #claude #anthropic #opensource
I have open-sourced a project: Nexus. It's a project I've been working on to make AI proactive, not just responsive.
As a CEO, I juggle priorities and the real bottleneck was never just execution, it was judgment. I didn't want AI to wait for me to hand it tasks, but something that could understand my goals, identify and prioritize valuable work on its own, and act accordingly.
AI was already very much involved in my processes. Eventually, it reached the point where it could independently surface meaningful opportunities, propose work, execute it, and follow through. That's now Nexus:
https://t.co/vBdoZG26Zc
Essentially, any number of specialized agents continuously look for work they believe would be valuable based on overarching objectives. A commanding agent will evaluate those proposals against values, OKRs, and other strategic priorities, requesting revisions or additional review when needed before approving or rejecting them.
Once approved, work is routed to an executor, whether that’s Claude, Codex, Gemini, PermaShip, or another system. From there, Nexus can verify quality, assess outcomes, and determine whether follow-on work should happen next.
It has already handled a wide range of work for me: everything from smaller tasks like building and deploying a website with DNS and email, to large, complex multi-repo projects with staged feature releases. Over the past few months, it has been responsible for thousands of PRs. Since then, it has expanded far beyond software development alone.
I believe this could be quite useful to a lot of people.
Poker was different when we were kids than it is now that we have kids.
In our twenties, if Andrew @Amo4sho or I made a final table, a group text would go out and within an hour, our friends would show up to the casino rail with beers in hand. Once, when I made an FT at Venetian, Andrew torpedoed his stack in a tournament at Planet Hollywood so he could be there. He’d rather bust than miss cheering me on. I didn’t say it then, but I felt how much we belonged to each other back then. We’d scream, cheer, and flag down the cocktail waitress for celebratory shots.
And no matter what place we finished, we’d celebrate—usually with an overpriced bottle of liquor at some club, trying to act like we mattered because we could afford a couch by the DJ booth. Then, Andrew and I would stumble back to our place hand in hand, kick our shoes off—letting them land with a thud at the door—then fall into bed in a tangle of limbs, drunk on tequila and adrenaline, and talk about every hand until we passed out. Not a care in the world. Not a damn thing to do the next day.
Now, it’s different.
After the long stretch of the World Series of Poker this summer when we didn’t see much of Andrew, we were finally back in rhythm as a family at home in Austin. Maya said “Dada” for the first time. Miles started waking up early just to build monster truck arenas with Andrew before breakfast. After weeks of distance, we’d all reconnected. But soon enough, it was time for another trip—Andrew was flying to Northern California to play the $2,700 Main Event at Rolling Thunder.
We drove him to the airport and kissed him goodbye. Maya waved, and Miles yelled, “Run good, play good!” from his car seat. Before walking through the sliding doors, he turned back for a moment and we caught eyes. I smiled and waved. He smiled back, but we both knew that our smiles were hiding something. Andrew loves being a poker player. It’s his passion, and his passion supports our family financially. I love being home with the kids. It’s given my life meaning. And yet, as he left, I think we both felt sadness.
Our smiles were the kind you give when you’re pretending it’s all okay. Mine covered a flicker of envy. Maybe I missed my identity as a poker player, when I wasn’t just a mom. His covered guilt. Maybe he felt bad leaving again. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he wished he could stay home. Maybe I was worried about not contributing by working. I think we both sometimes wonder, are we doing the right thing?
Andrew’s flight ended up canceled. Then rebooked. Then delayed. He was upset. I’m away from you guys for this? He ended up missing the first starting day entirely. He only had one shot: Day 1B. And he crushed it.
With around 80 players left, Andrew had a big stack. Then he got into a hand—check-raised the flop, barreled the turn and river, then faced a shove. He tanked, then folded a flush. His opponent proudly tabled a bluff. Andrew admitted what he folded. Another player at the table, who’d been running well, looked at him over her huge stack and said, in a condescending tone, “Oh honey, you can’t fold a flush there,” as if Andrew was some washed-up has-been and she was the new sheriff.
He said it felt like the table relished in watching the big bad pro stumble. Like they’d been waiting all day to see him get it wrong. The version of Andrew in his 20s might’ve shot back with a jab. Or melted under the pressure and tried to force the next big play, trying to prove himself. Because back then, Andrew always wondered if he’d just gotten lucky, and that any minute, everyone would find out he wasn’t as good as he seemed. But the version of Andrew in his 40s took a deep breath. He knew, from experience, that folding the best hand isn’t always weakness. Sometimes it’s wisdom. If you never fold the winning hand, you’re calling too much. The bigger test is whether you can fold the best hand and still play well after.
Andrew looked down at his now-short stack and said to himself: Okay. Let’s see what we’re made of.
And he climbed back. Slowly. Quietly. Until he made the final table as chip leader. At the dinner break, he FaceTimed us. I told Miles, “Daddy is trying to win a trophy.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead and said, “Yeah, buddy. But it’s been really hard.”
Miles jumped up, put Grave Digger in front of the camera and said, “Take a monster truck and smash everybody!” We laughed. Then Miles repeated something I say to him often: “You know you can do hard things, Dada.”
Andrew smiled. “That’s great advice, buddy.”
Sometime around 10:30 PM in California—12:30 AM for me—I was in bed, Miles’ foot lodged in my back, Maya latched and half-asleep on my chest, scrolling in the dark, refreshing updates with one hand, until I read the final one.
Andrew Moreno is the Main Event Champion. $200,000.
No cheering rail. No shots. No victory lap. I wished I could have been there with him. To hug him. To sit on his lap for a winner’s picture. To go for steak and eggs and talk about every hand. I felt that familiar swell in my heart, the butterflies in my stomach, just now in a silent room.
When we were kids, poker was about proving we mattered. Maybe part of it still is. But now, with kids, it also feels like something deeper. Something more meaningful. Maybe to belong. Maybe to provide. Maybe to become the humans we want our kids to learn from. I thought about this as I read the updates while listening to Miles’ little stuffy nose whistle.
Then Andrew texted: We did it.
The phone glowed as I read it. I smiled. That’s what he always says now, when he wins a tournament. We did it. Not “I.” And that small word—we—reminds me that we, from the time we were kids to now, are still in this together.
I texted back: I’m so proud of you.
Andrew: It was really hard today
Me: Good thing Miles gave you some good advice
Andrew: He really did
I pulled the kids closer and closed my eyes, knowing, for the first time, that the "we" Andrew was talking about… was all of us.
(if you've made it this far, thank you! And I have a substack now- check link below)
Ledger Library Exploit Explainer for Average Folks
What is going on with the recent alerts not to use dapps?
A library that is used by many dapps that is maintained by Ledger was compromised and a wallet drainer was added.
What do I do as a normal user?
Do not interact with any dapp front ends on websites for now. This is an ongoing situation and it is risky to use dapps currently if you don't understand what backend libraries they use.
How does this drain your money?
If you visit the website you won't get automatically drained or your funds. However, prompts from your browser wallet (like MM) will display that give your assets to the malicious actors.
Does Ledger know about this?
Yes they do and are working on it.
Note: Even after Ledger corrects the bad code in their library, projects using and deploying that library will need to update things before it is safe to use dapps that use Ledger's web3 libraries.
Disclaimer: This is my own opinion and not the opinion of any of my employers. Take this advice at your own risk.
Stay safe ♥️
Went to Bellagio today to access my box and my key was stuck/not opening it. They wind up having to drill it and when they lift the box out, it’s empty. Extremely fucked up situation. If anyone has any insight on best steps/who to contact from here, please reach out.
@JonathanLittle@BrettRichey It's just an easy way to get exposure to genesis legendaries because it's the most expensive, and generally expensive early TCG cards outperform. Genesis legendaries will go for around $150-400 right now and Jason is $2500. Also his abilify likely works across changing metas.