Growing up, I never really had a console. My uncle had a PlayStation One, and I got to run around in Crash Bandicoot whenever it made its way into my grandparents' apartment in the summer. I got a used Gameboy Advance as a birthday present once, only for it to be sold back a couple of months later. The games were crazy expensive, and we simply couldn't afford them.I'm not trying to pull on your emotional strings here - it is what it is. But I'll never forget that one evening when I borrowed a Metroid cartridge from a friend of mine. I can't recall which one it was (probably Fusion or Zero Mission) but as I booted it up, the atmosphere of mystery washed over me, plunging me into a weird new world that I wouldn't stop exploring all night. I remember my excitement upon discovering the morph ball and the dread when the Chozo statue turned out to be alive and very much intent on devouring my ass.<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/metroid-retro-2ec43f6e-87f1-4d7d-b89b-a85e6803f772.jpeg" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>Crazy good times.</figcaption></figure>Lots of time has passed since, and I have more than compensated for my console-less-ness. Still, I can't recall the last time a game procured the same feelings I felt back then, hunched over my soon-to-be-taken-away Gameboy, basking in all its 15-bit glory.Truth be told, it's been a while. And watching E3 this year, seeing Metroid Dread for the first time, stirred no emotions other than disappointment as, instead of the eagerly anticipated "Prime 4" (which would be a no-show anyway, according to sources, but one can hope), we got "another 2D-style Metroid", and one that didn't look the part: bland interiors, a grey-ish color palette, surfaces that looked coated in a drab, Blender-cube-like material, going back to side-scrolling after three fantastic entries in the first-person "Prime" franchise (not to speak of landing amidst a hot Metroidvania market)…What the hell was this?Needless to say, the game fell off my radar big time. I wasn't looking forward to it, wasn't reading any previews, just wasn't interested anymore.Until the actual reviews dropped and extended looks at the game cropped up all over the internet. The highlights were hard to ignore: buttery-smooth 60 fps, top-notch animation work, environments that looked rich, variegated, alive.I reluctantly picked up a copy. And after spending a fair share of time with the game, my reluctance has been replaced by relief. It feels great to be so very wrong about a piece of culture every once in a while.<blockquote>Metroid Dread isn't just a fantastic entry in the Metroid franchise. It's one of the best games I've ever played, period.</blockquote>The classic Metroid formula is here and very much in your face. A stripped-of-her-powers-in-the-beginning-of-the-game Samus Aran? Check. Unexplored caverns and pathways peeking from the corners of your screen as you explore the depths of an abandoned research lab on the planet ZDR? Check. Despite that, the cadence at which you receive upgrades, the hard-but-fair combat, and the sense of mystery filling every corner of the abandoned facility you've ventured into is more than enough to make you forget about these "old-school staples" of the franchise. If anything, it wears them like stripes, toying with well-entrenched habits with sleight of hand (nope, you won't get that morph-ball in the first hour of the game).But that's nothing compared to how the game makes you feel. Running around, jumping, firing your weapon, charging your beam to smash into an enemy as a ball of lightning, only to then morph and squeeze into a small pathway on a ledge, grab an energy tank, and then blow the walls to bits to proceed. Samus Aran is badass, and by extension, so is the player. She carries herself with ease, every move of her body polished by years and years of bounty-hunting and fighting. There's confidence in her stead and posture, and you can't help but feel empowered just by pulling that joystick to the right and seeing her run effortlessly like she owns the place. The level of polish that went into the animation and responsiveness of this game is praiseworthy. I found myself thinking that I would've expected this kind of quality from a Naughty Dog or Santa Monica game, but never from a 2D-style Metroid title. Mercurysteam has gone above and beyond to deliver pure excellence on this front.<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/metroid-dread-d53a3852-f6a8-4812-9f2f-f64a702ea7ad.jpeg" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>The art direction is splendid and more often than not you'll find yourself staring at your Switch in awe.</figcaption></figure>The attention to detail continues as you make your way through ZDR's many levels and witness the impressive work the artists have poured into every section you stumble into. From spacious rocky hallways to sizzling hot caverns brimming with lava, Metroid Dread keeps revealing new, unseen facets of the planet as you venture upward. The game doesn't shy away from playing with different camera angles. It constantly pulls back and forth à la God of War to reveal more space or direct your attention, rendering the whole experience more cinematic.Outside of the "classic" Metroid enemies crawling about the walls or lunging at you mid-air, you'll encounter the E.M.M.I.: research robots turned hostile, guarding specific sections of each area. I was dubious about this part, as I don't like "surprise" roadblocks to player advancement (Alien Isolation isn't my vibe), but thankfully my fears were unfounded. The E.M.M.I. robots are by no means easy to take down, but they constitute a measured challenge with easily identifiable patterns confined to specific zones in each map. In addition to that, Samus has a few tricks up her sleeve - such as a Harry-Potter-like invisibility cloak - that she can use to outsmart the robots. Get a couple of those and running through an E.M.M.I. zone becomes a game of cat and mouse, where the mouse has to either outrun the cat using every trick up its sleeve or find a hidden Omega Cannon to blast the cat's face with. It's damn good fun.As a result of all of the above, Metroid Dread is - hands down - one of the best games I've played this year and an excellent game in its own right. It's in my personal Top 10, and every minute I spend with it is more than worth it. Frankly, I don't want to put it down. I am amazed, entertained, hooked, and as I feel the game is coming to a close, I find myself thinking that I can't wait to see what "Prime 4" got in store for us.The bar has been raised high.~&nbsp;Fin ~

Growing up, I never really had a console. My uncle had a PlayStation One, and I got to run around in Crash Bandicoot whenever it made its way into my grandparents' apartment in the summer. I got a used Gameboy Advance as a birthday present once, only for it to be sold back a couple of months later. The games were crazy expensive, and we simply couldn't afford them.

I'm not trying to pull on your emotional strings here - it is what it is. But I'll never forget that one evening when I borrowed a Metroid cartridge from a friend of mine. I can't recall which one it was (probably Fusion or Zero Mission) but as I booted it up, the atmosphere of mystery washed over me, plunging me into a weird new world that I wouldn't stop exploring all night. I remember my excitement upon discovering the morph ball and the dread when the Chozo statue turned out to be alive and very much intent on devouring my ass.

Lots of time has passed since, and I have more than compensated for my console-less-ness. Still, I can't recall the last time a game procured the same feelings I felt back then, hunched over my soon-to-be-taken-away Gameboy, basking in all its 15-bit glory.

Truth be told, it's been a while. And watching E3 this year, seeing Metroid Dread for the first time, stirred no emotions other than disappointment as, instead of the eagerly anticipated "Prime 4" (which would be a no-show anyway, according to sources, but one can hope), we got "another 2D-style Metroid", and one that didn't look the part: bland interiors, a grey-ish color palette, surfaces that looked coated in a drab, Blender-cube-like material, going back to side-scrolling after three fantastic entries in the first-person "Prime" franchise (not to speak of landing amidst a hot Metroidvania market)…

Needless to say, the game fell off my radar big time. I wasn't looking forward to it, wasn't reading any previews, just wasn't interested anymore.

Until the actual reviews dropped and extended looks at the game cropped up all over the internet. The highlights were hard to ignore: buttery-smooth 60 fps, top-notch animation work, environments that looked rich, variegated, alive.

I reluctantly picked up a copy. And after spending a fair share of time with the game, my reluctance has been replaced by relief. It feels great to be so very wrong about a piece of culture every once in a while.

The classic Metroid formula is here and very much in your face. A stripped-of-her-powers-in-the-beginning-of-the-game Samus Aran? Check. Unexplored caverns and pathways peeking from the corners of your screen as you explore the depths of an abandoned research lab on the planet ZDR? Check. Despite that, the cadence at which you receive upgrades, the hard-but-fair combat, and the sense of mystery filling every corner of the abandoned facility you've ventured into is more than enough to make you forget about these "old-school staples" of the franchise. If anything, it wears them like stripes, toying with well-entrenched habits with sleight of hand (nope, you won't get that morph-ball in the first hour of the game).

But that's nothing compared to how the game makes you feel. Running around, jumping, firing your weapon, charging your beam to smash into an enemy as a ball of lightning, only to then morph and squeeze into a small pathway on a ledge, grab an energy tank, and then blow the walls to bits to proceed. Samus Aran is badass, and by extension, so is the player. She carries herself with ease, every move of her body polished by years and years of bounty-hunting and fighting. There's confidence in her stead and posture, and you can't help but feel empowered just by pulling that joystick to the right and seeing her run effortlessly like she owns the place. The level of polish that went into the animation and responsiveness of this game is praiseworthy. I found myself thinking that I would've expected this kind of quality from a Naughty Dog or Santa Monica game, but never from a 2D-style Metroid title. Mercurysteam has gone above and beyond to deliver pure excellence on this front.

The art direction is splendid and more often than not you'll find yourself staring at your Switch in awe.

The attention to detail continues as you make your way through ZDR's many levels and witness the impressive work the artists have poured into every section you stumble into. From spacious rocky hallways to sizzling hot caverns brimming with lava, Metroid Dread keeps revealing new, unseen facets of the planet as you venture upward. The game doesn't shy away from playing with different camera angles. It constantly pulls back and forth à la God of War to reveal more space or direct your attention, rendering the whole experience more cinematic.

Outside of the "classic" Metroid enemies crawling about the walls or lunging at you mid-air, you'll encounter the E.M.M.I.: research robots turned hostile, guarding specific sections of each area. I was dubious about this part, as I don't like "surprise" roadblocks to player advancement (Alien Isolation isn't my vibe), but thankfully my fears were unfounded. The E.M.M.I. robots are by no means easy to take down, but they constitute a measured challenge with easily identifiable patterns confined to specific zones in each map. In addition to that, Samus has a few tricks up her sleeve - such as a Harry-Potter-like invisibility cloak - that she can use to outsmart the robots. Get a couple of those and running through an E.M.M.I. zone becomes a game of cat and mouse, where the mouse has to either outrun the cat using every trick up its sleeve or find a hidden Omega Cannon to blast the cat's face with. It's damn good fun.

As a result of all of the above, Metroid Dread is - hands down - one of the best games I've played this year and an excellent game in its own right. It's in my personal Top 10, and every minute I spend with it is more than worth it. Frankly, I don't want to put it down. I am amazed, entertained, hooked, and as I feel the game is coming to a close, I find myself thinking that I can't wait to see what "Prime 4" got in store for us.

Metroid Dread is the most fun I've had with a videogame this year.

There are perfectionists. People who put out only what they consider to be - "just right" - usually that piece that ticks all of their imaginary boxes, no matter how important.And then, there is the "MVP group" - those who put something out as soon as possible: to test it out, get feedback, and maybe even a first customer or two, no matter how their product looks or feels.Somewhere in the middle, I guess, are the "MLP people." MLP stands for Minimum Lovable Product, yet another acronym invented for an industry already full of acronyms. I'd say those are the teams putting out minimum viable products that people love, the word "love" being key. People don't just "use" them and get something out of them. People "love" using them. Call it a perfect combination of UI/UX and minimum functionality that manages to bring value to their users instead of just being pretty.Where am I getting with this? Well, personally, I still can't quite find my place among these, as a developer and amateur designer who likes making stuff. I wouldn't call myself a perfectionist, yet here I am again, redesigning this website behind the scenes and not publishing articles for an entire month (!!!). Why? Because "I like the new design more and it would be a shame to publish new articles on a website that already looks dated in my eyes." And so it sits there, without any updates, until I finally realize that, hey, it would be nice to actually publish something and inject some life into the thing.Rinse, and repeat.How exhausting.<blockquote>When I don't consider anything I make "perfect" how does that make me a perfectionist?</blockquote>Sure, seeing as I'm&nbsp;treating my website as a product now, and it's out there, I can just keep iterating on it while it's live. But something inside me keeps nagging and prevents me from deploying my work every single time: "Nah. The image isn't right. Let it simmer for a while." And then it does, and it turns out that the image was perfect all along, but I end up deploying a day later, whereas it could've been live a day ago. "Nah. It needs a fresh pass." As if it won't need another one tomorrow. And the day after. "Nah. The icons aren't as good as those found on&nbsp;[insert project I admire and consider miles better than my own]". Repeat after me: "The icons are never good enough. The icons are never good enough. The icons…"I know what you're thinking. "You just said you didn't consider yourself a perfectionist, but here you are, spouting 'perfectionism'." You might be right. But then again, when I don't consider anything I make "perfect" how does that make me a perfectionist?"It's like fashion. It never ends." Aaron Sorkin wrote in "The Social Network." I subscribe to that idea.Nothing I make can be perfect, seeing as it's a never-ending process of refining, tweaking, and fixing.By that definition, I'm not a perfectionist. Nobody on the web can possibly be. And yet, we tinker and push pixels and constantly redesign in the hope that one day, it'll be perfect. It'll settle. Knowing, all too well, that it won't because it's an extension of our psyche, our ideals and dreams, and our restless quest for whatever.And as long as we're restless, so are our creations. Imperfect. Eternally unfinished.Working in the industry I work in, I keep wondering whether that's a problem? Is that normal? Is it worth streamlining, improving? Does it deserve a -&nbsp;here it comes&nbsp;- solution?In a world obsessed with solutionism, I guess the answer is "yes, of course" and "duh." Solution = product = customers = $$$ = IPO = interviews with Kara Swisher = penthouse in Manhattan = a life well-spent. And who wouldn't want that, right? /sIt just doesn't seem like there is a viable solution to be offered for the boundless quest of the soul. Unless you're just aiming to make some profit any kind of creation, be it an app or a piece of writing, comes out of the dark corners of the mind, those that have retained the capacity to wonder, to walk around those winding pathways in your brain and say "what if?" out loud. Sure, you could life-hack something together: focus, concentrate, don't care so much about what others think, do research and plan it out, don't do research and just go for it, listen to your gut, etc. All definitely useful at one point or another, helping organize the random thoughts racing through your mind, to bring you forth to the pedestal of success, or however modern society defines success: "here is a human being who was able to master his thoughts and put something useful out there". All, however, failing to remedy the pitfalls and edge cases that result in yet another redesign, rethinking, retooling, good or bad.A constant process of iteration? Ah! Indeed. The pinnacle being "go to market." Curiously though, that's when the real adventure starts, doesn't it? When customers come into play and begin molding and putting your creation through the paces. Like a crowd in the Louvre, packed in front of the Mona Lisa, they hush-hush and exchange opinions about it, and they ask questions endlessly. But unlike the Mona Lisa, which no one in their right mind would even dare touch at this point (even the conservators are scared), you get a waterfall of bug tickets, feature requests and begin hammering them down. Imagine Michelangelo's David, made by committee: "No, the nose isn't right. File a ticket with support, and tell them that the nostrils need to be wider. Thanks."Congratulations, creator. Your soul searching, which this creation was supposed to help you with, is now infused with the soul searching of dozens, hundreds, thousands of others who are in their own process of soul searching.That makes me think that maybe, just maybe, because I never stop perfecting, nothing I ever do will be timeless.The irresistible pull of another redesign. Just like every movie director out there who has a hard time saying no to the temptation of the "Director's Cut" and finish what was supposed to be done. Until someone else comes around thirty years down the road and decides to remake the finished work, giving it a "fresh coat of paint for a new generation of people."Anyone willing to give a fresh coat of paint to the Mona? And let's put the new thing next to the old one. No one? Anyone willing to remake Michelangelo's David? Come on, maybe do it "for the new generation of people"? No?Alright, then.As for this website, I'll just redesign it. The old thing's barely holding together anyway.~&nbsp;Fin ~

There are perfectionists. People who put out only what they consider to be - "just right" - usually that piece that ticks all of their imaginary boxes, no matter how important.

And then, there is the "MVP group" - those who put something out as soon as possible: to test it out, get feedback, and maybe even a first customer or two, no matter how their product looks or feels.

Somewhere in the middle, I guess, are the "MLP people." MLP stands for Minimum Lovable Product, yet another acronym invented for an industry already full of acronyms. I'd say those are the teams putting out minimum viable products that people love, the word "love" being key. People don't just "use" them and get something out of them. People "love" using them. Call it a perfect combination of UI/UX and minimum functionality that manages to bring value to their users instead of just being pretty.

Where am I getting with this? Well, personally, I still can't quite find my place among these, as a developer and amateur designer who likes making stuff. I wouldn't call myself a perfectionist, yet here I am again, redesigning this website behind the scenes and not publishing articles for an entire month (!!!). Why? Because "I like the new design more and it would be a shame to publish new articles on a website that already looks dated in my eyes." And so it sits there, without any updates, until I finally realize that, hey, it would be nice to actually publish something and inject some life into the thing.

, and it's out there, I can just keep iterating on it while it's live. But something inside me keeps nagging and prevents me from deploying my work every single time: "Nah. The image isn't right. Let it simmer for a while." And then it does, and it turns out that the image was perfect all along, but I end up deploying a day later, whereas it could've been live a day ago. "Nah. It needs a fresh pass." As if it won't need another one tomorrow. And the day after. "Nah. The icons aren't as good as those found on 

[insert project I admire and consider miles better than my own]

". Repeat after me: "The icons are never good enough. The icons are never good enough. The icons…"

I know what you're thinking. "You just said you didn't consider yourself a perfectionist, but here you are, spouting 'perfectionism'." You might be right. But then again, when I don't consider anything I make "perfect" how does that make me a perfectionist?

"It's like fashion. It never ends." Aaron Sorkin wrote in "The Social Network." I subscribe to that idea.

Nothing I make can be perfect, seeing as it's a never-ending process of refining, tweaking, and fixing.

By that definition, I'm not a perfectionist. Nobody on the web can possibly be. And yet, we tinker and push pixels and constantly redesign in the hope that one day, it'll be perfect. It'll settle. Knowing, all too well, that it won't because it's an extension of our psyche, our ideals and dreams, and our restless quest for whatever.

And as long as we're restless, so are our creations. Imperfect. Eternally unfinished.

Working in the industry I work in, I keep wondering whether that's a problem? Is that normal? Is it worth streamlining, improving? Does it deserve a - 

In a world obsessed with solutionism, I guess the answer is "yes, of course" and "duh." Solution = product = customers = $$$ = IPO = interviews with Kara Swisher = penthouse in Manhattan = a life well-spent. And who wouldn't want that, right? /s

It just doesn't seem like there is a viable solution to be offered for the boundless quest of the soul. Unless you're just aiming to make some profit any kind of creation, be it an app or a piece of writing, comes out of the dark corners of the mind, those that have retained the capacity to wonder, to walk around those winding pathways in your brain and say "what if?" out loud. Sure, you could life-hack something together: focus, concentrate, don't care so much about what others think, do research and plan it out, don't do research and just go for it, listen to your gut, etc. All definitely useful at one point or another, helping organize the random thoughts racing through your mind, to bring you forth to the pedestal of success, or however modern society defines success: "here is a human being who was able to master his thoughts and put something useful out there". All, however, failing to remedy the pitfalls and edge cases that result in yet another redesign, rethinking, retooling, good or bad.

A constant process of iteration? Ah! Indeed. The pinnacle being "go to market." Curiously though, that's when the real adventure starts, doesn't it? When customers come into play and begin molding and putting your creation through the paces. Like a crowd in the Louvre, packed in front of the Mona Lisa, they hush-hush and exchange opinions about it, and they ask questions endlessly. But unlike the Mona Lisa, which no one in their right mind would even dare touch at this point (even the conservators are scared), you get a waterfall of bug tickets, feature requests and begin hammering them down. Imagine Michelangelo's David, made by committee: "No, the nose isn't right. File a ticket with support, and tell them that the nostrils need to be wider. Thanks."

Congratulations, creator. Your soul searching, which this creation was supposed to help you with, is now infused with the soul searching of dozens, hundreds, thousands of others who are in their own process of soul searching.

That makes me think that maybe, just maybe, because I never stop perfecting, nothing I ever do will be timeless.

The irresistible pull of another redesign. Just like every movie director out there who has a hard time saying no to the temptation of the "Director's Cut" and finish what was supposed to be done. Until someone else comes around thirty years down the road and decides to remake the finished work, giving it a "fresh coat of paint for a new generation of people."

Anyone willing to give a fresh coat of paint to the Mona? And let's put the new thing next to the old one. No one? Anyone willing to remake Michelangelo's David? Come on, maybe do it "for the new generation of people"? No?

As for this website, I'll just redesign it. The old thing's barely holding together anyway.

The Constant Redesigner

I've had enough superheroes.No, really. I don't subscribe to Disney+, so I've missed all of the spin-offs on that platform, and I've watched most DC films on BluRay or streamed them (except for Nolan's, duh). I don't look forward to the Eternals or even the next Spidey (my Marvel fave, and yeah, I know I'm not even trying to stand out of the crowd with this one). As for the Spider-Man games from Insomniac? Well, I waited for two years until I picked the first one up.&nbsp;They were great, btw. If you own a PlayStation, don't miss out on both Spider-Man and Spider-Man: Miles Morales.The thing is, we've come a long way since 2007, when Marvel launched the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), with (the still terrific, in my opinion) Iron Man. Everything was born that day: the screenplay structure that later films were going to follow to the word, the snarky humor and endless punchlines, the dazzling visual effects, and a cast with enough chemistry to make Walter White blush. There's no denying that phase 1 of the MCU was a cinematic (and business) achievement. Lavish, stylish, curated by folks who lived and breathed superheroes ever since they were kids - the MCU shattered expectations and box-office results.Cut to 14 years later, and it seems as though we've seen it all. What are you going to throw at the screen? More interplanetary monarchs/dictators pushing their agenda, and third-act all-out wars that consume the Earth? Been there, done that. 10+ characters in one movie, none of whom can hope to get enough screen-time or character development to even hint at an arc? Yeah, quite used to it by now. Non-stop visual effects? (deadpan) Whoa.Sure enough, we've been spoiled. With constantly mounting, end-of-the-world stakes and two-dimensional antagonists with their continent-spanning armies. With mind-bending VFX that beat our imagination the hell out of us. With actors so first-class, you're left wondering whether something else existed before Marvel even came along.This is where movies like the late Suicide Squad (2021) by James Gunn (and shows like The Boys (2019) by Eric Kripke come in.I haven't watched the first Suicide Squad. I didn't see Birds of Prey. Aside from Margot Robbie being the Harley Quinn we've all been waiting for, the trailers for these movies gave me an unshakeable sense of deja-vu. I ended up sitting them out. It was as if I had watched the films themselves just by watching their trailers. But hey, that's me.This one, however, had my heart from the first moment I saw a gigantic, human-shaped shark gobble up a fellow human in one of its trailers. Blood and guts included. R-rated. Middle-fingers-up. A script that didn't seem to involve or rely on the Joker or any other familiar face (at least for a comic-book dilettante like yours truly) from the DC lineup.Huh.Don't get me wrong, I was sure that what I was about to see would follow the usual superhero film structure, epic battle at the end, and all. But while this is absolutely the case - at its core, this is very much a traditional superhero flick - "The Suicide Squad" is all about the characters you embark on this journey with.I won't bore you with details of the plot - chances are, if you're going to watch a Marvel/DC film, you're more or less familiar with what you're getting yourself into. The movie keeps you on your toes with clever setups, cutting back and forth between different POVs (the team gets split up twenty minutes into the film), up-close-and-personal action sequences, over-the-top gore, and top-notch acting. Next to Harley Quinn, the CG-but-very-much-alive King Shark and the little rat on the shoulder of the Ratcatcher steal the spotlight for me, along with Idris Elba stealing the spotlight as Bloodsport. Let's not forget about the superb soundtrack, now a James Gunn staple (I can't stop listening to the credits track - "Oh No!!!" by grandson - on repeat).The editing is tight and to-the-point, and the directing is inventive enough to spice things up when necessary: like two of the film's characters going at it, with the battle reflected in a helmet lying on the ground, or Harley Quinn going berserk, and as you're watching your usual fire-and-fist-fight, the sequence gets infused with Quinn's psyche, and flowers spurt out of bullet wounds, explosions of pink and blue colors wash the walls, little birdies fly about as if in a Disney princess film - all of it with a sense of purpose, tying in nicely with one of Quinn's earlier lines, and building up her character, instead of just being another firefight that you're going to watch and forget.As for the script, the reduced character roster and a generous runtime (which flies past) give Gunn leeway to work with the characters and dig into their personalities. If you've watched the Guardians, you'll be swimming in familiar waters: Gunn manages to give each cast member breathing room and dimensionality. Some get less than others - this isn't surprising - but I'd argue that the groundwork for each is solid. As someone who hasn't watched the other movies and has never read the comics, I was able to find my bearings without breaking a sweat. The isolated location the group finds itself in - on an island - helps ground the plot immensely. This isn't another pointless globe-trotting adventure, and it ends up being all the better for it.All in all, this is the best superhero/anti-hero flick I've seen in a long time and the only one that truly worked its magic on me since The Boys. It's conventional enough for a larger audience to know what they're going to watch and takes more time with its genuinely unconventional characters to make it into an experience worth your while.While we're on the subject, yes. I do suggest you watch this in a movie theatre. The stylized visuals, action scenes, and quality VFX are worth the price of admission alone, not to speak of the fact that you're going to have a blast. So why not have it the way you're supposed to watch a movie like this one - on the silver screen?~&nbsp;Fin ~<hr>As a side-note, I've read some reviews that critique the "island nation" where our heroes find themselves, which is presented in stereotypical "vague third world population gets saved by a rag tag group of Americans" fashion. While I agree in essence, I believe that a movie needs its focus, or it risks juggling too many balls simultaneously and going nowhere. The Suicide Squad works because of its tunnel-vision focus on its characters, and it works splendidly. Go have a blast!

No, really. I don't subscribe to Disney+, so I've missed all of the spin-offs on that platform, and I've watched most DC films on BluRay or streamed them (except for Nolan's, duh). I don't look forward to the Eternals or even the next Spidey (my Marvel fave, and yeah, I know I'm not even trying to stand out of the crowd with this one). As for the Spider-Man games from Insomniac? Well, I waited for two years until I picked the first one up. 

They were great, btw. If you own a PlayStation, don't miss out on both Spider-Man and Spider-Man: Miles Morales.

The thing is, we've come a long way since 2007, when Marvel launched the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), with (the still terrific, in my opinion) Iron Man. Everything was born that day: the screenplay structure that later films were going to follow to the word, the snarky humor and endless punchlines, the dazzling visual effects, and a cast with enough chemistry to make Walter White blush. There's no denying that phase 1 of the MCU was a cinematic (and business) achievement. Lavish, stylish, curated by folks who lived and breathed superheroes ever since they were kids - the MCU shattered expectations and box-office results.

Cut to 14 years later, and it seems as though we've seen it all. What are you going to throw at the screen? More interplanetary monarchs/dictators pushing their agenda, and third-act all-out wars that consume the Earth? Been there, done that. 10+ characters in one movie, none of whom can hope to get enough screen-time or character development to even hint at an arc? Yeah, quite used to it by now. Non-stop visual effects? (deadpan) Whoa.

Sure enough, we've been spoiled. With constantly mounting, end-of-the-world stakes and two-dimensional antagonists with their continent-spanning armies. With mind-bending VFX that beat our imagination the hell out of us. With actors so first-class, you're left wondering whether something else existed before Marvel even came along.

This is where movies like the late Suicide Squad (2021) by James Gunn (and shows like The Boys (2019) by Eric Kripke come in.

I haven't watched the first Suicide Squad. I didn't see Birds of Prey. Aside from Margot Robbie being the Harley Quinn we've all been waiting for, the trailers for these movies gave me an unshakeable sense of deja-vu. I ended up sitting them out. It was as if I had watched the films themselves just by watching their trailers. But hey, that's me.

This one, however, had my heart from the first moment I saw a gigantic, human-shaped shark gobble up a fellow human in one of its trailers. Blood and guts included. R-rated. Middle-fingers-up. A script that didn't seem to involve or rely on the Joker or any other familiar face (at least for a comic-book dilettante like yours truly) from the DC lineup.

Don't get me wrong, I was sure that what I was about to see would follow the usual superhero film structure, epic battle at the end, and all. But while this is absolutely the case - at its core, this is very much a traditional superhero flick - "The Suicide Squad" is all about the characters you embark on this journey with.

I won't bore you with details of the plot - chances are, if you're going to watch a Marvel/DC film, you're more or less familiar with what you're getting yourself into. The movie keeps you on your toes with clever setups, cutting back and forth between different POVs (the team gets split up twenty minutes into the film), up-close-and-personal action sequences, over-the-top gore, and top-notch acting. Next to Harley Quinn, the CG-but-very-much-alive King Shark and the little rat on the shoulder of the Ratcatcher steal the spotlight for me, along with Idris Elba stealing the spotlight as Bloodsport. Let's not forget about the superb soundtrack, now a James Gunn staple (I can't stop listening to the credits track - "Oh No!!!" by grandson - on repeat).

The editing is tight and to-the-point, and the directing is inventive enough to spice things up when necessary: like two of the film's characters going at it, with the battle reflected in a helmet lying on the ground, or Harley Quinn going berserk, and as you're watching your usual fire-and-fist-fight, the sequence gets infused with Quinn's psyche, and flowers spurt out of bullet wounds, explosions of pink and blue colors wash the walls, little birdies fly about as if in a Disney princess film - all of it with a sense of purpose, tying in nicely with one of Quinn's earlier lines, and building up her character, instead of just being another firefight that you're going to watch and forget.

As for the script, the reduced character roster and a generous runtime (which flies past) give Gunn leeway to work with the characters and dig into their personalities. If you've watched the Guardians, you'll be swimming in familiar waters: Gunn manages to give each cast member breathing room and dimensionality. Some get less than others - this isn't surprising - but I'd argue that the groundwork for each is solid. As someone who hasn't watched the other movies and has never read the comics, I was able to find my bearings without breaking a sweat. The isolated location the group finds itself in - on an island - helps ground the plot immensely. This isn't another pointless globe-trotting adventure, and it ends up being all the better for it.

All in all, this is the best superhero/anti-hero flick I've seen in a long time and the only one that truly worked its magic on me since The Boys. It's conventional enough for a larger audience to know what they're going to watch and takes more time with its genuinely unconventional characters to make it into an experience worth your while.

While we're on the subject, yes. I do suggest you watch this in a movie theatre. The stylized visuals, action scenes, and quality VFX are worth the price of admission alone, not to speak of the fact that you're going to have a blast. So why not have it the way you're supposed to watch a movie like this one - on the silver screen?

As a side-note, I've read some reviews that critique the "island nation" where our heroes find themselves, which is presented in stereotypical "vague third world population gets saved by a rag tag group of Americans" fashion. While I agree in essence, I believe that a movie needs its focus, or it risks juggling too many balls simultaneously and going nowhere. The Suicide Squad works because of its tunnel-vision focus on its characters, and it works splendidly. Go have a blast!

The Suicide Squad

Today marks the official redesign and relaunch of my website of 5 years. Or was it more than 5? Probably more, but you know how it is with first versions of things: they're usually clunky, abhorrent messes that don't deserve to exist for any reason other than you going "look, I know HTML now!".Skip to an eternity later, and me "rm-rf'ing" my old website without looking back. Don't get me wrong, I loved my previous site. It was my first Website of the Day award on "CSS Design Awards" and a much-needed pat on the back. It motivated me to keep this whole web development thing up.But while I moved on, jumping through the hoops of my career path, the website itself remained static and became outdated rather quickly. It was still visual &amp; graphic-design-driven while I had transitioned to product and web development.Last but not least, it wasn't representative of my circles of interest, which include software, creative writing, UI design, electronic music.<blockquote>My little portal had to transition from a simple portfolio into a content-driven, constantly updated platform that I could treat as a separate product.</blockquote>Suffice to say, things had to start changing.A website is like a window to the outside world for a business or a professional. It's literally a showcase. Clothing stores have visual pros working day and night on their storefronts, deciding what clothes to put where and what brands to feature (or sell the spots to). I would know, I spent more than two years of my life working for one. In the same vein, my little portal had to transition from a simple portfolio into a content-driven, constantly updated platform that I could treat as a separate product.To achieve the above, some glitches in the Matrix had to occur, and the main ones in my book were these three:<h3 id="0107a421-dfd3-4cc8-b653-ba45d186eb5c">No more client case studies (for now)</h3>Sure, case studies rock if you're a designer or an agency with a constant stream of clients and case studies to show to the outside world. But while I had started as a designer and had a couple of case studies I was proud of, these all but vanished when I started working in the Parisian startup world. Having old case studies hanging there for years on end made no sense anymore - they made the pages feel stale, heavy, static.Like old clothes in a closet, stuff that keeps piling up throughout the years and we keep holding onto needs to go, at one point or another. Treat it like editors treat the film they're given - cut the fat, let it drop to the editing floor, never to be seen again.<h3 id="7d85bca6-5db6-42e9-9e5a-da66e445bc7f">Publishing creative pieces of writing</h3>"Creative pieces of writing" is me avoiding the word "content" at all costs. But that's where it's at, I hear you say, isn't it? Content is King, tats of Gary Vaynerchuk's face all over your chest, influencing and thought-leading.Well, kind of. It certainly comes with the territory and the experience.The territory: you're on the web, so having a static swamp for a site that's never updated doesn't make much sense.The experience: you're a professional working in whatever industry eats 10 hours of your precious time per day, and some of that experience might be interesting to write about.So write. But don't write for the magic word "content". Write because you want to.As far as I'm concerned, writing extends beyond that: it has always been my release, my favorite pastime, and activity. It's the thing I see myself doing when nothing else works. Launching a blog alongside my new website seemed like a no-brainer. I'm still finding my vibe, my niche, but for now, starting out with content (ah, see? It snuck in) centered around technology and my day-to-day and publishing at least one piece of writing a week is a good enough start, with more in the works.<h3 id="00a15b9c-c119-4b56-a522-011598376a3d">Freedom to explore, test, and release</h3>If you've worked in a startup, you know that "release, and release often" is like a mantra for tech teams. And there are good reasons for that.Frequent releases mean: you move fast.Frequent releases mean: more bug fixes and features make it into the hands of your clients.Frequent releases mean: you're allowed to make mistakes, explore, and roll back whatever's not working.Frequent releases mean: you're not static. You're moving.<blockquote>Don't write for the magic word "content". Write because you want to.</blockquote>This site will keep evolving and changing as I explore what's possible and what I'd like to do with it. Of course, I'll settle on a singular approach to its branding and design, but it will serve to inform and enrich the rest of the experience rather than be its focus.<hr>In the end, every change is a good thing. It allows you to unsettle your life, declutter your mind, and what's a website if not a piece of your everyday existence which merits that kind of treatment?As things stand, I'm pretty happy with the initial result and where things are headed. I've been thinking about doing the same to my Instagram account: bulldoze everything and reorient it while I still have a following (I haven't posted on Instagram in a long while - lost interest).But everything in its time. For now - welcome to my new website.~&nbsp;Fin ~

Today marks the official redesign and relaunch of my website of 5 years. Or was it more than 5? Probably more, but you know how it is with first versions of things: they're usually clunky, abhorrent messes that don't deserve to exist for any reason other than you going "look, I know HTML now!".

Skip to an eternity later, and me "rm-rf'ing" my old website without looking back. Don't get me wrong, I loved my previous site. It was my first 

 award on "CSS Design Awards" and a much-needed pat on the back. It motivated me to keep this whole web development thing up.

But while I moved on, jumping through the hoops of my career path, the website itself remained static and became outdated rather quickly. It was still visual & graphic-design-driven while I had transitioned to product and web development.

Last but not least, it wasn't representative of my circles of interest, which include software, creative writing, UI design, electronic music.

Suffice to say, things had to start changing.

A website is like a window to the outside world for a business or a professional. It's literally a showcase. Clothing stores have visual pros working day and night on their storefronts, deciding what clothes to put where and what brands to feature (or sell the spots to). I would know, I spent more than two years of my life working for one. In the same vein, my little portal had to transition from a simple portfolio into a content-driven, constantly updated platform that I could treat as a separate product.

To achieve the above, some glitches in the Matrix had to occur, and the main ones in my book were these three:

Sure, case studies rock if you're a designer or an agency with a constant stream of clients and case studies to show to the outside world. But while I had started as a designer and had a couple of case studies I was proud of, these all but vanished when I started working in the Parisian startup world. Having old case studies hanging there for years on end made no sense anymore - they made the pages feel stale, heavy, static.

Like old clothes in a closet, stuff that keeps piling up throughout the years and we keep holding onto needs to go, at one point or another. Treat it like editors treat the film they're given - cut the fat, let it drop to the editing floor, never to be seen again.

"Creative pieces of writing" is me avoiding the word "content" at all costs. But that's where it's at, I hear you say, isn't it? Content is King, tats of Gary Vaynerchuk's face all over your chest, influencing and thought-leading.

Well, kind of. It certainly comes with the territory and the experience.

The territory: you're on the web, so having a static swamp for a site that's never updated doesn't make much sense.

The experience: you're a professional working in whatever industry eats 10 hours of your precious time per day, and some of that experience might be interesting to write about.

So write. But don't write for the magic word "content". Write because you want to.

As far as I'm concerned, writing extends beyond that: it has always been my release, my favorite pastime, and activity. It's the thing I see myself doing when nothing else works. Launching a blog alongside my new website seemed like a no-brainer. I'm still finding my vibe, my niche, but for now, starting out with content (ah, see? It snuck in) centered around technology and my day-to-day and publishing at least one piece of writing a week is a good enough start, with more in the works.

If you've worked in a startup, you know that "release, and release often" is like a mantra for tech teams. And there are good reasons for that.

Frequent releases mean: more bug fixes and features make it into the hands of your clients.

Frequent releases mean: you're allowed to make mistakes, explore, and roll back whatever's not working.

Frequent releases mean: you're not static. You're moving.

This site will keep evolving and changing as I explore what's possible and what I'd like to do with it. Of course, I'll settle on a singular approach to its branding and design, but it will serve to inform and enrich the rest of the experience rather than be its focus.

In the end, every change is a good thing. It allows you to unsettle your life, declutter your mind, and what's a website if not a piece of your everyday existence which merits that kind of treatment?

As things stand, I'm pretty happy with the initial result and where things are headed. I've been thinking about doing the same to my Instagram account: bulldoze everything and reorient it while I still have a following (I haven't posted on Instagram in a long while - lost interest).

But everything in its time. For now - welcome to my new website.

Why I decided to start treating my website as a separate product

This website is served up to your gorgeous, aluminum-encased slab of tech from a serverless lambda brought to you by Netlify. And no, this isn't an ad for Netlify, but rather a stab at the term serverless, which is nothing but a marketing term for "servers that you don't need to think about. Just don't think about them. They'll always be there, but hey, just one more thing your glorious product doesn't need to be preoccupied with."The point that I'm trying to make is that in good-old, Silicon Valley fashion, the term doesn't mean what it's supposed to mean. Just like the term "Cloud." All kinds of adjectives come to mind when you think of a cloud, don't they? Pretty, puffy, weightless...&nbsp;Wireless.Right?<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/ramsey-c3a6cbf0-6937-4f90-abe0-8afd5b8ff1f1.gif" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>Eeeeek!</figcaption></figure>You remember cables? No, I'm not talking about the pristine-white, can't-even-take-it-across-the-room power cable of your gazillion-dollar Apple device. Or that adapter you're carrying around (because you bought an Apple device). Or the dozen USB-C and lightning cables you got lying around (because... Well, you get the gist). These are - "Psh, whatever" cables. They aren't even "cables," you know? They're accessories (you might want to look at what Apple charges for a cable. Hint: better save all that money and invest it into a Birkin bag. Or food.)But then, you'll wonder, what are these mythical "cables" you're talking about, Andrey?I'm talking about <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://www.submarinecablemap.com/">these cables</a>.<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/cables-01-b26cf640-57bc-43ea-b34c-df3031c57cbc.jpeg" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>Here, have an existential crisis.</figcaption></figure>For all the talk about the Cloud and as of late, 5G, about&nbsp;<a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/60150/10-facts-about-internets-undersea-cables">99% of your data still transmits through cables</a>. And 750.000 miles of those are under the sea.I mean, just look at that image. I bet if James Cameron went down to the Titanic one more time, he'd find a bunch of FAANG cables laying on top of the ship, like spaghetti.We've come a long way since 1858 when the&nbsp;<a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transatlantic_telegraph_cable#First_transatlantic_cable">first trans-Atlantic cable</a>&nbsp;was laid down at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, to the genuine surprise of whatever scary-ass fish reside down there.Telecommunications companies led the fray in the 20th century. As you can imagine, these days the telegraph's gone the way of the dinosaurs (and when was the last time you called someone on a landline?), which is why tech companies are slowly taking lead in how much cable they can spider-web all over the seafloor. Your precious Cloud is resting in the Mariana Trench.This all eats a shit-ton of money. <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/03/10/technology/internet-cables-oceans.html">According to the New York Times</a>, similar subsea projects cost "up to $350 million, depending on the length of the cable". That's nothing for the likes of Google. Remember, these are the guys who have shelled out <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2020/11/10/eu-antitrust-probe-google/">$10 billion to the EU</a> for all kinds of violations and are still very much in business. $350 million? Psh. Hold my Android. And while you do, take a look at the below image of a cross-Atlantic Google cable. It's pretty telling:<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/cables-02-e11e7789-09f9-4b76-a069-472d02c32f1e.jpeg" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>$350 million. Maybe. Maybach. Lambo. (Image edited to fit the info square at the top)</figcaption></figure>Google has the power to lay 6.400 km of cable and not bat an eyelash. And what have you heard about this project? A project that takes your precious Google data and kicks it back and forth between continents?A whole lotta nothing.This is the point where we have to pause and get something straight:&nbsp;there's nothing wrong with a private corporation laying its own infrastructure to serve its own needs and its own users. Telecommunications companies have been doing this for the past century - why not tech companies?And while I do have a couple of suggestions for answering that question - most of them rooted in the ever-increasing power of Big Tech - this piece isn't trying to do that. However, while the media rants on about the battle above-ground for 5G airwaves and who's going to snatch up those precious contracts (<a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://www.wsj.com/articles/us-5g-companies-11621870061?mod=searchresults_pos7&amp;page=1">sorry, Huawei</a>), I can't shake the feeling that there's a more subdued race to domination over who transfers your data, where, when, and for how much, going under the surface of our seas.Oh well, it might be just my imagination. I'll be the first to admit that it can take me places.At the end of the day, my main gripe with all this is more akin to a cry of the soul, a wound to the imagination, and the sadness that comes with realizing that we've been sold short. Your wireless WiFi router isn't really wireless when it needs a damn cable to even function. It's wireless alright, but only as far as the four walls of your apartment are concerned. That blazing-fast 5G signal? Well, it's still going to hit a cable at one point or another. It's an illusion of independence, of weightlessness, like a hot air balloon that is tied down to prevent it from soaring further into the skies.And all in all, the wireless future we've all been promised looks very... Grounded. Those rocket emojis posted by every single unicorn startup in an industry built on hopes, dreams, and promises to take you to the moon, take a whole different meaning when you pause and look at the WiFi router in your own apartment, and the RG-45 cable sticking out of its back.I guess you can only fly as long as you're tethered to the ground.- Fin -

This website is served up to your gorgeous, aluminum-encased slab of tech from a serverless lambda brought to you by Netlify. And no, this isn't an ad for Netlify, but rather a stab at the term serverless, which is nothing but a marketing term for "servers that you don't need to think about. Just don't think about them. They'll always be there, but hey, just one more thing your glorious product doesn't need to be preoccupied with."

The point that I'm trying to make is that in good-old, Silicon Valley fashion, the term doesn't mean what it's supposed to mean. Just like the term "Cloud." All kinds of adjectives come to mind when you think of a cloud, don't they? Pretty, puffy, weightless... 

You remember cables? No, I'm not talking about the pristine-white, can't-even-take-it-across-the-room power cable of your gazillion-dollar Apple device. Or that adapter you're carrying around (because you bought an Apple device). Or the dozen USB-C and lightning cables you got lying around (because... Well, you get the gist). These are - "Psh, whatever" cables. They aren't even "cables," you know? They're accessories (you might want to look at what Apple charges for a cable. Hint: better save all that money and invest it into a Birkin bag. Or food.)

But then, you'll wonder, what are these mythical "cables" you're talking about, Andrey?

For all the talk about the Cloud and as of late, 5G, about 

99% of your data still transmits through cables

. And 750.000 miles of those are under the sea.

I mean, just look at that image. I bet if James Cameron went down to the Titanic one more time, he'd find a bunch of FAANG cables laying on top of the ship, like spaghetti.

We've come a long way since 1858 when the 

 was laid down at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, to the genuine surprise of whatever scary-ass fish reside down there.

Telecommunications companies led the fray in the 20th century. As you can imagine, these days the telegraph's gone the way of the dinosaurs (and when was the last time you called someone on a landline?), which is why tech companies are slowly taking lead in how much cable they can spider-web all over the seafloor. Your precious Cloud is resting in the Mariana Trench.

, similar subsea projects cost "up to $350 million, depending on the length of the cable". That's nothing for the likes of Google. Remember, these are the guys who have shelled out 

 for all kinds of violations and are still very much in business. $350 million? Psh. Hold my Android. And while you do, take a look at the below image of a cross-Atlantic Google cable. It's pretty telling:

$350 million. Maybe. Maybach. Lambo. (Image edited to fit the info square at the top)

Google has the power to lay 6.400 km of cable and not bat an eyelash. And what have you heard about this project? A project that takes your precious Google data and kicks it back and forth between continents?

This is the point where we have to pause and get something straight: 

there's nothing wrong with a private corporation laying its own infrastructure to serve its own needs and its own users

. Telecommunications companies have been doing this for the past century - why not tech companies?

And while I do have a couple of suggestions for answering that question - most of them rooted in the ever-increasing power of Big Tech - this piece isn't trying to do that. However, while the media rants on about the battle above-ground for 5G airwaves and who's going to snatch up those precious contracts (

), I can't shake the feeling that there's a more subdued race to domination over who transfers your data, where, when, and for how much, going under the surface of our seas.

Oh well, it might be just my imagination. I'll be the first to admit that it can take me places.

At the end of the day, my main gripe with all this is more akin to a cry of the soul, a wound to the imagination, and the sadness that comes with realizing that we've been sold short. Your wireless WiFi router isn't really wireless when it needs a damn cable to even function. It's wireless alright, but only as far as the four walls of your apartment are concerned. That blazing-fast 5G signal? Well, it's still going to hit a cable at one point or another. It's an illusion of independence, of weightlessness, like a hot air balloon that is tied down to prevent it from soaring further into the skies.

And all in all, the wireless future we've all been promised looks very... Grounded. Those rocket emojis posted by every single unicorn startup in an industry built on hopes, dreams, and promises to take you to the moon, take a whole different meaning when you pause and look at the WiFi router in your own apartment, and the RG-45 cable sticking out of its back.

I guess you can only fly as long as you're tethered to the ground.

Down in the clouds

Man, things have changed.5 years ago I was working at a little agency in Paris, trying to push for React (or for that matter, anything "new and interesting" in the JS community) with another developer. At least a small project, at least a widget, like, let us test this thing!The answer was always "no". Why would we do that? What's the point? It's another fad, it'll fade out as quickly as it appeared. "Ugh, another framework. No? Oh, it's just a library? Why use it, then, when it doesn't have all the stuff that Angular ships with? We're happy with Angular, we'll stick the course".Sure. If you got production projects relying on existing tech, you don't want to throw a wrench into the engine, and have it stall or break. I get that.But resisting anything new that comes along, just because you're the senior engineer in the company, and "what we have works already", and you tested "that new thing" and didn't like it (for no specific reason, other than it being new), particularly when you got a bunch of junior front-end developers (that I was a part of) sitting around, eager to test new stuff?Fast-forward 5 years, and React seems to be everywhere. Now, I'm not talking about client-facing websites, specifically. Sure, <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://nextjs.org/">NextJS</a> and <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://www.gatsbyjs.com/">Gatsby</a> have made strides in that space, but personally I know people still building with good-old vanilla JS, skipping <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://webpack.js.org/">Webpack</a> for <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://github.com/parcel-bundler/parcel">Parcel</a> (or anything easier to set up), and benefitting from all of the advances of modern JS and CSS, while building traditional, static websites (and yours truly is one of them, despite this blog running on Next).But web applications? Man. Everywhere I look, it's React. Most front end job listings in the startup world are "all about that React". I mean, by this point it might even seem like a redundant thing to say, especially if you work in the field. Yes, <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://vuejs.org/">Vue</a> is there, too, I'm not trying to downplay the amazing community built around it, but this is a post about React, after all, and React is that "big thing" everyone used, that rocketship, the one everyone was going nuts about (one of THE big JS libraries) even before Vue was on the horizon, that today, finally seems to have reached a "stability" point, where it's just... There.It's not "hot" anymore. Not "new". Not "dubious and dangerous". Not "wut?! HTML in my JS?!".And you know what? That's a good thing.That means it's stable to use in big, production-ready projects. That means the community has survived through the highs and lows, and has come together to make a tool, in the true sense of that word, and not just another "Here's my version of the solution to that problem. Go ahead, npm install it".And now it has hit <a target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" href="https://reactjs.org/blog/2021/06/08/the-plan-for-react-18.html">version 18</a> (alpha). 18 versions in the JavaScript world is a whole eternity. Even two versions are enough for a JS framework to undergo breaking-change-grade overhauls (looking at you, Angular) and a massive split in its own community.It makes me think about Ruby on Rails. DHH's framework was able to hit that feel-good sweet spot for writing back-end (primarily). React did the same with front-end, and I think is largely responsible for bringing the word "engineer" into the front-end dictionary, with its architectures, state management libraries, proper CI builds &amp; deployments, etc. It's what made me realise I'm not building websites anymore (most of the time), but applications, and that's not one and the same.Now that it's "over", the dust has settled, and React is a true tool... I wonder what's next? And yes, I'm going to leave it at that, instead of picking the first 5 front-end related buzzwords and ending the article with nothing but noise.Let's all do some quiet thinking.

5 years ago I was working at a little agency in Paris, trying to push for React (or for that matter, anything "new and interesting" in the JS community) with another developer. At least a small project, at least a widget, like, let us test this thing!

The answer was always "no". Why would we do that? What's the point? It's another fad, it'll fade out as quickly as it appeared. "Ugh, another framework. No? Oh, it's just a library? Why use it, then, when it doesn't have all the stuff that Angular ships with? We're happy with Angular, we'll stick the course".

Sure. If you got production projects relying on existing tech, you don't want to throw a wrench into the engine, and have it stall or break. I get that.

But resisting anything new that comes along, just because you're the senior engineer in the company, and "what we have works already", and you tested "that new thing" and didn't like it (for no specific reason, other than it being new), particularly when you got a bunch of junior front-end developers (that I was a part of) sitting around, eager to test new stuff?

Fast-forward 5 years, and React seems to be everywhere. Now, I'm not talking about client-facing websites, specifically. Sure, 

 have made strides in that space, but personally I know people still building with good-old vanilla JS, skipping 

 (or anything easier to set up), and benefitting from all of the advances of modern JS and CSS, while building traditional, static websites (and yours truly is one of them, despite this blog running on Next).

But web applications? Man. Everywhere I look, it's React. Most front end job listings in the startup world are "all about that React". I mean, by this point it might even seem like a redundant thing to say, especially if you work in the field. Yes, 

 is there, too, I'm not trying to downplay the amazing community built around it, but this is a post about React, after all, and React is that "big thing" everyone used, that rocketship, the one everyone was going nuts about (one of THE big JS libraries) even before Vue was on the horizon, that today, finally seems to have reached a "stability" point, where it's just... There.

It's not "hot" anymore. Not "new". Not "dubious and dangerous". Not "wut?! HTML in my JS?!".

That means it's stable to use in big, production-ready projects. That means the community has survived through the highs and lows, and has come together to make a tool, in the true sense of that word, and not just another "Here's my version of the solution to that problem. Go ahead, npm install it".

 (alpha). 18 versions in the JavaScript world is a whole eternity. Even two versions are enough for a JS framework to undergo breaking-change-grade overhauls (looking at you, Angular) and a massive split in its own community.

It makes me think about Ruby on Rails. DHH's framework was able to hit that feel-good sweet spot for writing back-end (primarily). React did the same with front-end, and I think is largely responsible for bringing the word "engineer" into the front-end dictionary, with its architectures, state management libraries, proper CI builds & deployments, etc. It's what made me realise I'm not building websites anymore (most of the time), but applications, and that's not one and the same.

Now that it's "over", the dust has settled, and React is a true tool... I wonder what's next? And yes, I'm going to leave it at that, instead of picking the first 5 front-end related buzzwords and ending the article with nothing but noise.

Is React the new boring?

I'm a night owl by nature. I love the calm and quiet of the night when you look outside your window, and the only light on the block still on is yours. When the occasional high-speed car or chopper racing past is a reminder that at night, anything goes. When inspiration hits and hits big.A friend of mine used to say that "at night, all the ideas are out for grabs." And man, this phrase has been my motto, my de-facto way of functioning, for the past 10 years. I couldn't imagine not going to sleep at 3 AM. Not getting in that last line of code, scribbling down that last idea on paper. I still get FOMO whenever I lay in bed, and an idea hits me. I jolt from under the sheets to the resigned eye-roll of my wife and run to the living room, where I grab my phone and write it down before it slips through my fingers.<blockquote>There's something about staring into that darkness and have it stare back at you, like a blank canvas begging to be painted on.</blockquote>Regardless of the above schedule, I still managed to sneak in 6-7 hours of sleep daily. Go to sleep at 3 AM, get up at 9 AM - would you look at that: it's still morning, I look as fresh as a french croissant straight out of the oven! Here I come, world!Rince, and repeat. (Try and) leave the weekends out of it.If you took a good, hard look at the blueprint of my day-to-day over the past years, that's what you'd see. The screen of my computer acting as a neo-noir night lamp, illuminating my room as I work through the night, plowing through ideas, good and bad.I walked around the apartment at 3 AM, like a ghost, making the floorboards creak and waking people up. I got endless complaints from my family that despite what I might think, I don't seem to be getting enough sleep, and the persistent bags under my eyes proved it. A never-ending feeling of exhaustion and tiredness hovered over my head as if to say: "See? They're right! You're tired! You need to fix this!"<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/ghost-02-2e2a8cfa-1470-40a5-a4f2-fa7900a69d26.jpeg" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>Don’t mind me, just going to the bathroom.</figcaption></figure>A prolific Twitter user would've hammered away on a tweet, asking their following to share "their experience" (just to get confirmation that, indeed, they weren't getting enough sleep, alongside twenty useless tweets starting with: "I don't know about sleep, but...") Someone else might've picked up a book "On Sleep - a NY Times Bestseller!" to learn more about the subject and replicate some of the tips found in the book (Ok, I'm on the hunt for one, please advise).<blockquote>The transition was simple: 3AM - 9AM became 11PM - 6AM.</blockquote>In my case, the feeling of tiredness, alongside my family's worried glances and the undeniable fact that 3AM - 9AM wasn't your run-of-the-mill sleeping schedule, was enough to convince me to try and tweak the time I went to sleep.The transition was simple: 3AM - 9AM became 11PM - 6AM. My main goal was to preserve the same hours of work and the same hours of sleep but rearrange them in such a way that would allow me to get a "good night's rest" (whatever that means).I'm happy to say that, at the time of writing this, I've committed to the above schedule for the past four months, and the results speak for themselves.<h2 id="e4e6d8b8-56db-4c2c-85b3-d0e698ddf99a">1. No more bags.</h2>No, I'm not talking about LV or Gucci bags (sorry, Cardi). The first sign of change came about when the bags under my eyes went away. Yes, I didn't look like a freaking panda anymore, and I quite liked it.<h2 id="140a5814-2ebb-4819-80f4-f8217099e1ba">2. I'm done with playing night-time catch-up.</h2>Overall, I feel better. More rested, despite getting in about the same amount of shut-eye. Waking up with the birds makes it seem like I accomplish more because I start my day when it actually kicks in, instead of feeling like I'm playing night-time catch up. A placebo effect? Maybe. But if that's the case, it's one hell of a placebo.<h2 id="bb9f3767-1800-47bc-8dfe-4b8de2563110">3. Winning the breakfast game.</h2>A healthy, slow, morning breakfast, compared to the on-the-run "swallow whatever I find in the fridge because I gotta go" breakfast, is a huge win and welcome addition to my morning routine.<h2 id="c593da33-d83b-41a1-b990-54c37295cdb4">4. Re-discovering slowness.</h2>To be clear, when I say "slowness", I'm not thinking about Flash - the Sloth from Zootopia. But I am the type of guy to barrel down the street, the world around me a blur, with a clear image of my destination painted vividly in my head. It's so strong a habit that a friend of mine once spent ten minutes walking next to me, and I didn't even notice he was there. I can't guarantee this type of behavior has been fixed, but for their part, the mornings have a stable cadence to them that feels good. It's miles better than tornado-ing around the apartment looking for my shoes with a slice of bread in my mouth because I "gotta run."Of course, everyone's sleeping habits are different. All in all, as far as this night owl is concerned, this little experiment was successful. Going to sleep earlier, and waking up earlier, proved to be a much better fit for my daily routine than pulling constant all-nighters.Sure, whenever genuine night-time inspiration hits me, I allow it to ebb and flow because it must. Those ideas floating around in the feeble glow of the moonlight gotta be snatched up. And if not by me, then by who? There's something about staring into that darkness and have it stare back at you, like a blank canvas begging to be painted on. But allowing it to hit me occasionally, instead of forcing it to come forward every night, seems like a more natural way of growth, both for me and my creative neurons.I can't wait for the next truly inspired all-nighter. As for now, I'm off to sleep. It's bedtime.<img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/bed-02-c244456e-5862-415c-8bee-e04bf20355ce.jpeg">

I'm a night owl by nature. I love the calm and quiet of the night when you look outside your window, and the only light on the block still on is yours. When the occasional high-speed car or chopper racing past is a reminder that at night, anything goes. When inspiration hits and hits big.

A friend of mine used to say that "at night, all the ideas are out for grabs." And man, this phrase has been my motto, my de-facto way of functioning, for the past 10 years. I couldn't imagine not going to sleep at 3 AM. Not getting in that last line of code, scribbling down that last idea on paper. I still get FOMO whenever I lay in bed, and an idea hits me. I jolt from under the sheets to the resigned eye-roll of my wife and run to the living room, where I grab my phone and write it down before it slips through my fingers.

Regardless of the above schedule, I still managed to sneak in 6-7 hours of sleep daily. Go to sleep at 3 AM, get up at 9 AM - would you look at that: it's still morning, I look as fresh as a french croissant straight out of the oven! Here I come, world!

Rince, and repeat. (Try and) leave the weekends out of it.

If you took a good, hard look at the blueprint of my day-to-day over the past years, that's what you'd see. The screen of my computer acting as a neo-noir night lamp, illuminating my room as I work through the night, plowing through ideas, good and bad.

I walked around the apartment at 3 AM, like a ghost, making the floorboards creak and waking people up. I got endless complaints from my family that despite what I might think, I don't seem to be getting enough sleep, and the persistent bags under my eyes proved it. A never-ending feeling of exhaustion and tiredness hovered over my head as if to say: "See? They're right! You're tired! You need to fix this!"

Don’t mind me, just going to the bathroom.

A prolific Twitter user would've hammered away on a tweet, asking their following to share "their experience" (just to get confirmation that, indeed, they weren't getting enough sleep, alongside twenty useless tweets starting with: "I don't know about sleep, but...") Someone else might've picked up a book "On Sleep - a NY Times Bestseller!" to learn more about the subject and replicate some of the tips found in the book (Ok, I'm on the hunt for one, please advise).

In my case, the feeling of tiredness, alongside my family's worried glances and the undeniable fact that 3AM - 9AM wasn't your run-of-the-mill sleeping schedule, was enough to convince me to try and tweak the time I went to sleep.

The transition was simple: 3AM - 9AM became 11PM - 6AM. My main goal was to preserve the same hours of work and the same hours of sleep but rearrange them in such a way that would allow me to get a "good night's rest" (whatever that means).

I'm happy to say that, at the time of writing this, I've committed to the above schedule for the past four months, and the results speak for themselves.

No, I'm not talking about LV or Gucci bags (sorry, Cardi). The first sign of change came about when the bags under my eyes went away. Yes, I didn't look like a freaking panda anymore, and I quite liked it.

2. I'm done with playing night-time catch-up.

Overall, I feel better. More rested, despite getting in about the same amount of shut-eye. Waking up with the birds makes it seem like I accomplish more because I start my day when it actually kicks in, instead of feeling like I'm playing night-time catch up. A placebo effect? Maybe. But if that's the case, it's one hell of a placebo.

A healthy, slow, morning breakfast, compared to the on-the-run "swallow whatever I find in the fridge because I gotta go" breakfast, is a huge win and welcome addition to my morning routine.

To be clear, when I say "slowness", I'm not thinking about Flash - the Sloth from Zootopia. But I am the type of guy to barrel down the street, the world around me a blur, with a clear image of my destination painted vividly in my head. It's so strong a habit that a friend of mine once spent ten minutes walking next to me, and I didn't even notice he was there. I can't guarantee this type of behavior has been fixed, but for their part, the mornings have a stable cadence to them that feels good. It's miles better than tornado-ing around the apartment looking for my shoes with a slice of bread in my mouth because I "gotta run."

Of course, everyone's sleeping habits are different. All in all, as far as this night owl is concerned, this little experiment was successful. Going to sleep earlier, and waking up earlier, proved to be a much better fit for my daily routine than pulling constant all-nighters.

Sure, whenever genuine night-time inspiration hits me, I allow it to ebb and flow because it must. Those ideas floating around in the feeble glow of the moonlight gotta be snatched up. And if not by me, then by who? There's something about staring into that darkness and have it stare back at you, like a blank canvas begging to be painted on. But allowing it to hit me occasionally, instead of forcing it to come forward every night, seems like a more natural way of growth, both for me and my creative neurons.

I can't wait for the next truly inspired all-nighter. As for now, I'm off to sleep. It's bedtime.

At night, all the ideas are out for grabs. That is, if you're not asleep.

There are these books that hit home. They just do, and there's not much you can do about it. You hear a book is good, add it to your "Want to read" list and when you finally pick it up, every chapter is a small revelation."Think Again: The Power of Knowing What You Don't Know" by Adam Grant is such a book. A piece about a subject so "trivial", most of us don't even think (no pun intended) about it. Mind you, I haven't finished the book yet, but the chapter on conflict, entitled "The Good Fight Club" is so fascinating I couldn't pass up writing a post about it. Like you, I imagine, I deal with conflict on a daily basis. And when I haven't had enough, I fire up a movie or a video game, to find myself sitting through even more conflict.It seems as though there's never enough of it, whether made-up, or real.At work, having a heated argument with another engineer about "inline svgs" or "CSS-in-JS vs plain-old CSS" is a constant, never-ending battle (for those of you not into front-end, or web development, think of these as life-defining, application-breaking decisions. Because that's what they ab-so-lutely are. Tooootally). And yet, when the argument's over, we go back to our jobs as if though nothing happened. In "Think Again", Grant quotes organisational psychologist Karen "Etty" Jehn, who puts it quite nicely: you're not seething at the other person because the conflict you're having isn't personal conflict, but task conflict. You're not trying to shoot each other, Mexican stand-off style, because the other guy broke into your farm and burned down your fields (I've played way too much Red Dead Redemption 2 lately, please don't @ me), you're trying to accomplish a job, and work towards a common goal.As Adam points out in his book, in the case of task conflict:<blockquote>"We don't challenge because we're insecure, we challenge because we care."</blockquote>How do you keep steering the course, though, walking that silver lining between, as Adam puts it, "getting hot" and "getting mad"? Because when you get mad, and windows shatter to the high-pitched tone of your "MY IDEA IS BETTER THAN YOURS", that's when task conflict transforms into relationship conflict. Emotions run wild. And that's the keyword: emotions. When each side is arguing about why their shinier approach is, indeed, shinier.The thing here, according to Adam, is to "turn away from arguing about why, and start arguing about how".Let's take a front-end development analogy. It is my everyday job, after all.Ask a React developer why is CSS-in-JS better than plain CSS and they'll pull out their pedestal and preach about the developer experience of styled components, or the out-of-the-box theming solution that comes with the ThemeProvider, or simply go "Dude, it's React".Ask them how it works, and they'll dig their teeth into the documentation, and probably realise that the landing page they're making has no need for all of those bells and whistles, and just writing a couple CSS classes is a faster way to go about their job, without installing another npm package, without bundling it into the code they ship, without having to teach everyone about a new API, and just... Using the stuff that's native in the browser and everyone is familiar with, is the solution they're looking for.Ask them how you're going to integrate it into your current stack, and they might stutter, because it's often a nail-biting process of working alongside legacy CSS, maybe even SASS, maintaining both for a (usually long) period of time, slowing down your work and your builds, selling it to your product manager, and in the end (depending on your project size), you'll probably be better served by just cleaning your existing CSS or, if you're using SASS, just dropping the preprocessor (because admit it - you're mostly using it for the variables).<figure><img src="http://andrey.blpnt.com/uploads/source-3a16ec83-ff03-4781-bb9c-4328c7060728.gif" draggable="false" contenteditable="false"><figcaption>Yeah yeah, ri... Oh my gawd, I am, aren't I?!</figcaption></figure>And pulling away from code analogies, as someone in a married relationship, this advice rings Notre-Dame-sized bells, for whenever my wife and I have had a conflict about something as trivial as ordering food or which movie to watch (why should we watch an umpteenth rom-com is a bad bad bad question to ask and instantly veers into "you and your sci-fi" or "you and your serious HBO shows").Thing is, it's just easy being a preacher, right? Rambling on about our thing, wrapped in that two-sided board hanging from our shoulders, locked up in our own bubble, our own feed. It's comfy in there, safe. We often want something to just be, especially in these times. We care about the why - because we want it, plain and simple. The how - well, that's a wholly different matter. From how our phone works, to how we eat, to how we watch, speak, exchange, take the bus. The how opens up a can of worms we just... Want to close, because, let's be frank: we don't always know the how, and we don't always want to know about the how. It complicates things, and we're already living complicated enough lives.For starters, I guess, we can start slow and read the documentation.<hr><ol><li>For the sake of the argument: CSS-in-JS absolutely has its merits and a purpose. For big applications, like the one I'm working on over at Aircall, that can benefit from white-labelling &amp; theming, strong component reusability, as well as DX, when you have a big team and maybe even a shared design system, it's a pretty good match.</li></ol>

There are these books that hit home. They just do, and there's not much you can do about it. You hear a book is good, add it to your "Want to read" list and when you finally pick it up, every chapter is a small revelation.

"Think Again: The Power of Knowing What You Don't Know" by Adam Grant is such a book. A piece about a subject so "trivial", most of us don't even think (no pun intended) about it. Mind you, I haven't finished the book yet, but the chapter on conflict, entitled "The Good Fight Club" is so fascinating I couldn't pass up writing a post about it. Like you, I imagine, I deal with conflict on a daily basis. And when I haven't had enough, I fire up a movie or a video game, to find myself sitting through even more conflict.

It seems as though there's never enough of it, whether made-up, or real.

At work, having a heated argument with another engineer about "inline svgs" or "CSS-in-JS vs plain-old CSS" is a constant, never-ending battle (for those of you not into front-end, or web development, think of these as life-defining, application-breaking decisions. Because that's what they ab-so-lutely are. Tooootally). And yet, when the argument's over, we go back to our jobs as if though nothing happened. In "Think Again", Grant quotes organisational psychologist Karen "Etty" Jehn, who puts it quite nicely: you're not seething at the other person because the conflict you're having isn't personal conflict, but 

. You're not trying to shoot each other, Mexican stand-off style, because the other guy broke into your farm and burned down your fields (I've played way too much Red Dead Redemption 2 lately, please don't @ me), you're trying to accomplish a job, and work towards a common goal.

As Adam points out in his book, in the case of task conflict:

How do you keep steering the course, though, walking that silver lining between, as Adam puts it, "getting hot" and "getting mad"? Because when you get mad, and windows shatter to the high-pitched tone of your "MY IDEA IS BETTER THAN YOURS", that's when task conflict transforms into relationship conflict. Emotions run wild. And that's the keyword: emotions. When each side is arguing about 

 their shinier approach is, indeed, shinier.

The thing here, according to Adam, is to 

"turn away from arguing about why, and start arguing about 

Let's take a front-end development analogy. It is my everyday job, after all.

 is CSS-in-JS better than plain CSS and they'll pull out their pedestal and preach about the developer experience of styled components, or the out-of-the-box theming solution that comes with the ThemeProvider, or simply go "Dude, it's React".

 it works, and they'll dig their teeth into the documentation, and probably realise that the landing page they're making has no need for all of those bells and whistles, and just writing a couple CSS classes is a faster way to go about their job, without installing another npm package, without bundling it into the code they ship, without having to teach everyone about a new API, and just... Using the stuff that's native in the browser and everyone is familiar with, is the solution they're looking for.

 you're going to integrate it into your current stack, and they might stutter, because it's often a nail-biting process of working alongside legacy CSS, maybe even SASS, maintaining both for a (usually long) period of time, slowing down your work and your builds, selling it to your product manager, and in the end (depending on your project size), you'll probably be better served by just cleaning your existing CSS or, if you're using SASS, just dropping the preprocessor (because admit it - you're mostly using it for the variables).

Yeah yeah, ri... Oh my gawd, I am, aren't I?!

And pulling away from code analogies, as someone in a married relationship, this advice rings Notre-Dame-sized bells, for whenever my wife and I have had a conflict about something as trivial as ordering food or which movie to watch (

 should we watch an umpteenth rom-com is a bad bad bad question to ask and instantly veers into "you and your sci-fi" or "you and your serious HBO shows").

Thing is, it's just easy being a preacher, right? Rambling on about our thing, wrapped in that two-sided board hanging from our shoulders, locked up in our own bubble, our own feed. It's comfy in there, safe. We often want something to 

, especially in these times. We care about the 

 - because we want it, plain and simple. The 

 - well, that's a wholly different matter. From how our phone works, to how we eat, to how we watch, speak, exchange, take the bus. The 

 opens up a can of worms we just... Want to close, because, let's be frank: we don't always know the how, and we don't always want to know about the how. It complicates things, and we're already living complicated enough lives.

For starters, I guess, we can start slow and read the documentation.

Andrey Soloviev

Front-end developer at Aircall
Designs and builds software
Born in Kamchatka, Russia, raised
in Greece, now based in Paris.

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