Slack off from your job today, and spend some quality time giggling.

On passwords and security — This World of Ours

In general, I think that security researchers have a problem with public relations. Security people are like smarmy teenagers who listen to goth music: they are full of morbid and detailed monologues about the pervasive catastrophes that surround us, but they are much less interested in the practical topic of what people should do before we’re inevitably killed by ravens or a shortage of black mascara. It’s like, websites are amazing BUT DON’T CLICK ON THAT LINK, and your phone can run all of these amazing apps BUT MANY OF YOUR APPS ARE EVIL, and if you order a Russian bride on Craigslist YOU MAY GET A CONFUSED FILIPINO MAN WHO DOES NOT LIKE BEING SHIPPED IN A BOX. It’s not clear what else there is to do with computers besides click on things, run applications, and fill spiritual voids using destitute mail-ordered foreigners. If the security people are correct, then the only provably safe activity is to stare at a horseshoe whose integrity has been verified by a quorum of Rivest, Shamir, and Adleman.

On the true horror of system programming — The Night Watch

The main thing that I ponder is who will be in my gang, because the likelihood of post-apocalyptic survival is directly related to the size and quality of your rag-tag group of associates. […] The most important person in my gang will be a systems programmer. A person who can debug a device driver or a distributed system is a person who can be trusted in a Hobbesian nightmare of breathtaking scope; a systems programmer has seen the terrors of the world and understood the intrinsic horror of existence. […]

A systems programmer will know what to do when society breaks down, because the systems programmer already lives in a world without law.

On consensus protocols — The Saddest Moment

Whenever I go to a conference and I discover that there will be a presentation about Byzantine fault tolerance, I always feel an immediate, unshakable sense of sadness, kind of like when you realize that bad things can happen to good people, or that Keanu Reeves will almost certainly make more money than you over arbitrary time scales. Watching a presentation on Byzantine fault tolerance is similar to watch- ing a foreign film from a depressing nation that used to be controlled by the Soviets—the only difference is that computers and networks are constantly failing instead of young Kapruskin being unable to reunite with the girl he fell in love with while he was working in a coal mine beneath an orphanage that was atop a prison that was inside the abstract concept of World War II.

Mobile Computing Research Is a Hornet’s Nest of Deception and Chicanery

Mobile computing researchers are a special kind of menace. They don’t smuggle rockets to Hezbollah, or clone baby seals and then make them work in sweatshops for pennies a day. That’s not the problem with mobile computing people. The problem with mobile computing people is that they have no shame. They write research papers with titles like “Crowdsourced Geolocation-based Energy Profiling for Mobile Devices,” as if the most urgent deficiency of smartphones is an insufficient composition of buzzwords. The real problem with mobile devices is that they are composed of Satan. They crash all of the time, ignore our basic commands, and spend most of their time sullen, quiet, and confused, draining their batteries and converting the energy into waste heat and thwarted dreams.

On the rise and fall of hardware design— The Slow Winter

Unfortunately for John, the branches made a pact with Satan and quantum mechanics during a midnight screening of “Weekend at Bernie’s II.” In exchange for their last remaining bits of entropy, the branches cast evil spells on future genera- tions of processors. Those evil spells had names like “scaling- induced voltage leaks” and “increasing levels of waste heat” and “Pauly Shore, who is only loosely connected to computer architecture, but who will continue to produce a new movie every three years until he sublimates into an empty bag of Cheetos and a pair of those running shoes that have individual toes and that make you look like you received a foot transplant from a Hobbit, Sasquatch, or an infertile Hobbit/Sasquatch hybrid.” Once again, I digress. The point is that the branches, those vanquished foes from long ago, would have the last laugh.