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Josephine's Unusual Birthday Present

Josephine's father was a successful businessman who spent most of his life growing his businesses. At the age of 55, he owned several businesses, including a baseball stadium. Last year, though, he had a health scare. He needed surgery for a serious health condition. Luckily, the operation was successful, but he emerged from the surgery a different person. He was now ready to live his life differently. So, when his daughter Josephine's 12-birthday was coming up, he asked her, "Sweetie, what would you like for your birthday this year? Think of whatever you want." Josephine replied, "Whatever I want? Really?" "Yes, sweetie. Tell me what you'd like for your birthday." Josephine replied, "Let me think this over. I'll tell you what I'd like tomorrow." At dinner the following evening, Josephine sat up straight in her chair and said, "Dad, I've thought about what I'd like for my birthday." Her dad said, "And wh...
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My Sermon on Open Source

Gather ye round, ye pilgrims of progress, ye seekers of syntax and salvation, for today I bring you not just words—but The Word Made Code . I bring glad tidings of great joy: the Gospel of Open Source. Let he who has eyes, read the README. Let she who has ears, hear the license of the Lord—be it GPL, MIT, or Apache—freely given, freely shared. I. In the Beginning Was the Code And lo, in the early days, the Code was without form and void. Proprietary darkness covered the face of the deep. And the Spirit of Collaboration hovered over the servers. Then came the First Commandment: "Thou shalt not hide thy source, nor bind thy neighbor with licenses of bondage." But some turned from the path. They hoarded their algorithms. They DRM'd their data. They made idols of profit and obfuscated truth with closed binaries. These were the False Coders. II. The Prophet Linus Spake But in the wilderness of Finland arose a prophet. His name was Linus. And he saith unto the people: "I b...
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Makers have a compulsion to explore the realms of the possible

Makers often say they feel something stirring inside them when they sense an unexplored idea. It is not dramatic in the way movies portray discovery—there is no lightning strike, no sudden orchestra swelling. It is quieter and more private, like a tap on the shoulder from a thought that has not fully formed yet but knows exactly whom it wants to visit. The tap can come while they are walking through a hardware store, or stirring their coffee, or half-asleep in the early morning when the world is hushed enough for strange possibilities to slip through. Makers will often say that once this tap happens, they cannot let the idea go. It sits in their mind like a small flame, flickering at first, then growing brighter each time they return to it. That small flame is the beginning of the compulsion—the nearly irresistible pull toward an invention domain no one else has explored. Part of this pull is rooted in curiosity, but curiosity alone does not explain all of it. Plenty of people are curi...
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The Sanctuary of Music Making

In a crumbling apartment building on the edge of Detroit, seventeen-year-old Malik adjusted the strings of his beaten-up cello. Downstairs, the rattle of pipes and the occasional shout from the street found their way through the thin walls, but inside this room—his grandmother's old sewing room, now converted into a makeshift studio—there was only the cello and the slow breath of silence before music. Malik had discovered the cello by accident, stumbling upon it in a school closet during detention. The music teacher, Mr. Alvarez, had let him take it home "just to see if it fits you." It didn't at first—his fingers were clumsy, his bowing a disaster—but something in the deep voice of the instrument had spoken to a place inside him that words never reached. Across the ocean in a sun-drenched village in southern Italy, 64-year-old Sofia sat on the worn wooden stool in her kitchen, her accordion resting gently on her lap. The kitchen smelled of garlic and lemon zest, and ...
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Dear Dairy

Moosetta was no ordinary teenage cow. For one, she had a penchant for introspection that set her apart from the herd. While her bovine peers spent their days ruminating on grass and gossiping about Farmer Ted's questionable overalls, Moosetta dreamed of expressing herself. So, one day, she picked up a pen (a challenge without opposable thumbs, but determination prevailed) and started her journal, Dear Dairy . Day 1 Dear Dairy, Today, Betsy said I chew my cud like I'm in a Shakespearean tragedy. That's udderly unfair. If contemplating existence while chewing is a crime, then lock me up. Also, I caught Farmer Ted sneaking cookies behind the barn. He dropped one. It was chocolate chip. A win for me, a loss for his waistline. Day 3 Dear Dairy, I've decided that I want to write poetry. Here's my first attempt: The pasture green, the sun does gleam, My moo unheard, a bovine dream. It needs work, but the chickens seemed impressed. Except for Cluck Norris—he's always s...
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The Biggest Little Free Library - A Short Story

The Three Rivers Branch Library, located in Visalia, California, was modest—two rooms, beige walls, and shelves that smelled of sun-warmed paperbacks. It stood quietly near the Kaweah River, more a gathering place than a building, more heart than institution. Yet in early spring, rumors spread like wildfire through the town: the county was considering closing it down. For many in Three Rivers, this was unthinkable. The library wasn't just about books. It was where children learned to dream, where retirees found company, and where hikers stopped by for maps and stories before heading up to the groves of Sequoia National Park.   So, the townsfolk called a meeting. They packed into the multipurpose room—farmers with dusty boots, artists with paint on their sleeves, shopkeepers, and children still clutching backpacks. The library manager, a thoughtful man named Mr. Alvarez, scribbled notes as the room buzzed with ideas. "Bake sales." "A fundraising gala." "Part...
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Revised Corporate Mottoes for 2025

Google: "Do no evil -- on Fridays, between 4:30 pm and 5 pm." "All your thoughts are belong to us." "One search to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them." "Google product graveyard tours start on the hour, every hour, between 8 am and 10 pm, PST. Follow the happy guides with the multicolored open umbrellas." Microsoft : "That's a nice little company you've built there. It would be a shame if something happened to it." "Your dependence is our innovation." "We'll stop supporting you when the world stops supporting us." "Please do not turn off your mind until the upgrade is completed." Apple: "For your convenience, you can now direct deposit your paycheck to the Apple Store." "Selling you back the illusion of freedom, one device at a time." "Would you like a device with your adapter? We also sell adapter for our adapters. Tesla: "As an add-on to your car pur...
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Affordable Housing for Billionaires

One of the thing I'm most concerned about is affordable housing for billionaires. Many of them do not have a regular paycheck. They subsist month to month on passive income that flows into their bank accounts like the Niagara River surging after an intense downpour. Many of them have no idea where their next $100 million will come from. Take a moment to look behind the facade of their lives. Underneath their gilded and sparkling trappings lie tales of uncertainty and apprehension, where maintaining an extravagant lifestyle is akin to treading a tightrope suspended over a chasm of financial instability.   Picture, if you will, the bewildering complexities of their predicament. While the rest of society frets over bills, mortgages, and making ends meet, billionaires grapple with an entirely different set of fiscal quandaries.   Their lifeblood, the passive income, ebbs and flows with the volatility of the global economy, subject to the caprices of stock markets, real estate vent...
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Working at the Public Library is an Extreme Sport

Working at a public library may seem serene—rows of books, whispered conversations, the soft click of a keyboard—but don't be fooled. This is no place for the faint of heart. It's basically the X Games in cardigans. Consider the adrenaline rush of refiling books during toddler storytime. You've got 26 kids under four hyped up on Goldfish crackers and "The Wheels on the Bus," stampeding past the reference section like caffeinated wildebeest. One wrong move and you're knocked into the biography shelves by a rogue stroller. Or the circulation desk showdown: a line of impatient patrons, each one convinced they returned The Grapes of Wrath three months ago, even though you're holding it in your hands, complete with fresh marinara stains and a receipt from Olive Garden tucked inside. Negotiating overdue fines requires the poise of a diplomat and the reflexes of a ninja. But the most dangerous task—the true Everest of public service—is the printer. "When wo...
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The Humble Virtues of a Simple Private Jet

I have often thought that the question of how one ought to live is as perennial as the seasons, and as susceptible to overcomplication as the foliage of a tangled wood. To live deliberately, with purpose, requires discernment: a stripping away of the superfluous so that the essential may shine forth. And yet, in this age of noise and haste, we find ourselves burdened by the overornamentation of our means. I submit, dear reader, that even in the realm of private aviation—perhaps especially there—simplicity is the truest luxury. It is not the extravagance of the flight, nor the ostentation of its trappings, that speaks to the nobility of human endeavor. A gilded fuselage or a chandelier within the cabin may dazzle the senses, but they do little to elevate the spirit. Far better to have a simple, unadorned jet: one that carries us swiftly, efficiently, and humbly to where we must go. The grandeur of the journey lies not in the seat coverings or the champagne served but in the soaring per...
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