AllTrails has a new generative AI-powered feature that let’s hikers ask for shorter or more scenic routes:
If a robot told you that walking off a cliff was your fastest route home, how close would you get to the edge before turning it off?
What could go wrong?
Taylor Lorenz & Matt Bernstein on the beige-ification of Pride:
From the aisles of Target to the Instagram feeds of big brands, the rainbow logos are gone & the merch shelves are empty.
This is quite obvious when you stop & notice how retailers position inclusion with respect to their brand. It’s business & political strategy taking priority over moral fortitude. I’m thankful to work for a retailer that stays true to its values by elevating the voices of Co-Op members & staff who are part of (and allies to) the LGBTQ+ community not only in June, but year round.
Texas is the Reason is reuniting for a run of shows and festivals this fall. Their 1996 debut (and only full-length to date) Do You Know Who You Are? was instrumental in my musical development and hooked me on the post-hardcore genre for decades. Stoked for the Pittsburgh show at Preserving Underground on September 16th!
This dude ate his way through the No Kings protest in Los Angeles, vlogging about the street food he encountered on the ground, and by doing so showed exactly how chill, measured and important the movement is. This is one of the best social commentaries I’ve seen I quite a while.
For some people, attending church on Sunday morning is the spiritual space they need in their lives. I have never been one of those people, but I am someone who needs quiet, reflection and beauty to feel spiritually fulfilled. I find my spiritual space in the nature.
This morning, as the church bells atop North Park rang to signal 8am, I started out on the Green trail. It was foggy and humid, but once I got into the woods, the fog added a layer of mystery to the familiar trail.
As I moved from the Green trail to the Orange trail, I passed a father and young son just starting out on a Father’s Day hike. They were the only two humans I’d see on the trails this morning.
I love solo runs like this. They ground me in a way I presume church or religion does for others. I listen closely to the sound of my breath and the non-rhythms of my footfalls. My mind wanders wherever it wants to wander, much like my body in these trail running moments.
After an hour or so in this zen-like state, I emerged from the woods into the church parking lot refreshed, aware and at ease — a spiritual space those now entering the church will likely have in about an hour.
It’s been several months since I stopped using a smartwatch to track health and exercise metrics, and it’s an understatement to say this simple act has fundamentally altered my mental state in the best possible way. The shift has completely changed my perspective on the purpose of maintaining good health.
Before I made the switch, I could classify my metrics gathering into two buckets:
My assumption going into the experiment was that the general life stuff would be easier to let go of than the workout metrics. But to my surprise, I don’t miss the exercise metrics at all.
In fact, not having pace and miles strapped to my wrist – or the pressure to stack miles week over week – allows me to be more present when I’m out there on a run or ride. Not knowing exactly how fast I’m pacing lets me truly listen to my body for cues about when to go harder or when to back off. I can feel my fatigue in greater fidelity, if that makes sense.
For example, I wasn’t feeling 100% after starting this morning’s run, so I decided to power hike the steep inclines of North Park’s South Ridge. In that moment, I thought to myself, “You would never let yourself hike these hills if you had pace on your wrist.” Hiking would slow down my overall pace too significantly.
It’s liberating to be able to run fast when I want to and throttle it back when I feel like I need to. Similarly, it’s refreshing (and sort of weird) to have no idea exactly how far I’m running.
When I returned home from this morning’s run, Jilly asked how far I ran.
“I’m not quite sure,” I told her. “I ran through the woods for about an hour and fifteen minutes, so that’s maybe six or seven miles, but I don’t know for sure.”
She didn’t quite understand why I would run if I wasn’t paying attention to how far I ran.
I think all of this boils down to the phase of life I’m currently in. I’m getting older and I’m okay with that. I’m not chasing paces anymore. I’m not chasing mileage volume. I’m not putting pressure on myself to progress at all costs. I don’t get upset if life gets busy and I don’t have time for my daily run. There are no ultramarathons on my docket.
Things are different now.
These days I’m chasing experiences – I want a unique one with each outing, and that’s only possible if I am fully present during each outing. These days I’m chasing future experiences and a level of fitness that will keep me on this planet for a bit longer so someday in the not-too-distant future I can be active with my grandkids.
That’s a different kind of ultra, but it’s the one I’m training for these days.
This Doomtree record was released way back in 2011, but this seems as good a time as any to revisit and play loud. Be safe out there. #NoKings
We had an amazing night at Founder’s Field for Steel City FC vs. Pittsburgh Riveters. The state of women’s soccer here in Pittsburgh is strong! It was a great game — these ladies played with such intensity — and Adeline got the chance to see the action up close as a ball girl.
I dream of a web that’s small and strange and wonderful. Where personal websites grow like gardens – each one unique, crafted by hand, reflecting the beautiful weirdness of its creator. Where the web feels big because it’s made of small, individual voices.
I dream of a web where people own their words. Where our thoughts live on our own property, not rented from a company that can disappear voices on a whim. Where writing exists because you have something to say, not because the appetite of the algorithm demands it.
I dream of a web where linking is loving. Where hyperlinks have power, where blogrolls make comebacks, where discovery happens through human curation rather than manipulation by machines. Where following a thread of links can lead down rabbit holes of genuine fascination.
I dream of a web that respects our attention. Where websites load quickly because they’re not bloated with tracking scripts and surveillance infrastructure. Where reading an article doesn’t trigger an onslaught of analytics events and cookie consent banners. Where the interface serves the content, not the advertiser.
I dream of a web that’s accessible to everyone – not just those who can afford the latest devices or fastest connections. Where sites work on old phones and slow networks because the creators remembered that the web is for everyone, not just the privileged.
I dream of a web where communities form around shared interests rather than shared platforms. Where discussions thrive, where posts feel like letters from friends, where feeds let you choose your own reading rhythm instead of surrendering to an infinite scroll.
I dream of a web that’s built by humans for humans. Where the goal isn’t to automate away human expression through artificial intelligence, but to amplify the unique perspectives that only humans can offer.
I dream of a web that moves at human speed. Where conversations unfold over days and weeks instead of milliseconds. Where depth matters more than virality, and reflection is worth more than reaction. Where you can disappear for a month and come back to find your community still there, still talking, still caring.
I dream of a web where silence is golden. Where not every moment needs to be documented, shared, or optimized for engagement. Where digital sabbaths are respected, where being offline isn’t a productivity failure, where the most profound connections happen when the screens are dark.
I dream of a web that doesn’t just connect our devices, but connects our souls. That doesn’t just transfer data, but transfers meaning.
Teenage me is crushing pretty hard right now. Lisa Loeb at Three Rivers Arts Festival. The rain held off and she sounded great.
Happy Turnstile album drop day to all who celebrate! It’s a banger!
Joan Westenberg took off her smartwatch and wrote about how that small act has impacted her awareness and intuition:
What returned: a sense of calm. I could go to sleep without being scored. I could go for a walk without a badge. I started noticing things again - how I feel after coffee, the way my breath slows near water.
She’s a much more eloquent writer than I am, but her thoughts are very similar to mine on the topic of quantified self.
For those curious, I’m rocking a Timex Expedition these days and not looking back.
My friend Rob calls it my “no excuses jacket.” Every time I show up for a run when the weather is doing its worst—sleeting, pouring, or threatening something even more unpleasant—I’m wearing the same beat-up, greenish-yellow Marmot Precip jacket that’s been my constant companion for years.
It’s not the most technical piece of gear, and it’s certainly not the most stylish. But it has one quality that matters more than anything else: I trust it completely. Through Christmas Eve runs at -11 degrees, winter solstice adventures on the Rachel Carson trail in 18 inches of snow, and just last week when sheets of summer rain turned my morning neighborhood run into an impromptu swimming session, this jacket has never let me down.
The durability isn’t just about the fabric—it’s about the memories woven into every mile. This jacket has been with me through breakthrough runs and breaking points, through moments of clarity on quiet trails and the grinding determination of longer efforts. It’s become more than gear; it’s become a symbol of showing up.
But here’s what I’ve realized: the real power of the “no excuses jacket” isn’t protection from the elements. It’s protection from my own resistance to discomfort.
Weather is just the most obvious form of resistance we face. The cold whispers that it’s too harsh to go out. The rain suggests that maybe today isn’t the day. The wind argues that conditions aren’t ideal. My jacket doesn’t eliminate these conditions—it just gives me the confidence to move through them anyway.
This same principle has started showing up in other areas of my life, particularly in those moments that require a different kind of courage. Like having uncomfortable conversations with team members about performance issues. Or pushing back on a decision I disagree with in a leadership meeting. Or admitting I was wrong about a product direction we’ve been pursuing for months.
These situations don’t require literal weather protection, but they need the same kind of shield—something that helps me face discomfort rather than avoid it. Sometimes it’s preparation that serves as my jacket: spending extra time thinking through a difficult conversation before having it. Sometimes it’s a mindset: reminding myself that avoiding hard truths doesn’t make them disappear. And sometimes it’s simply the accumulated confidence that comes from having weathered difficult moments before.
This isn’t about toxic productivity or grinding through everything that feels hard. There’s a difference between productive discomfort and destructive suffering. The “No Excuses Jacket” philosophy is about being brave enough to engage with the things that matter, even when they feel uncomfortable. It’s about recognizing that the best runs often happen in the worst weather, and the most important conversations often happen when they feel the hardest to have.
The jacket reminds me that I have more capacity for discomfort than I usually give myself credit for. That the anticipation of harsh conditions is often worse than the conditions themselves. That showing up consistently, regardless of circumstances, builds a different kind of strength than any training plan could provide.
There’s something grounding about having a piece of gear—or a practice, or a mindset—that you trust completely. It becomes an anchor point, a reminder that you’ve faced uncertainty before and made it through. My beat-up Precip has become a tangible representation of the principle that we’re more resilient than we think, and that the best version of ourselves often emerges not in perfect conditions, but in spite of imperfect ones.
Solid bike commute this morning. Summer is definitely here in Pittsburgh and I am here for it.
Letting go is often harder than hanging on. It’s natural to grasp tightly to the people we love, but releasing the hold at times is also natural. It’s hard to understand that sometimes. Letting go requires trust & belief that the love we’ve given over time will endure across any distance.
One chapter closes, another one opens. Proud dad over here.
Hearing Things has quickly become one of my go-to sources for discovering new music and as of today they are a journalist-owned publication:
We are now proud to announce that we are now 100 percent worker-owned! This aligns us further with our values—we believe the future of journalism will be led by workers—and means that we are truly DIY.
Congrats to the team. What a fantastic milestone!
I’ve been ending one-on-one meetings with members of my team the same way for a long time: “Do you need anything from me?”
It felt like the right question. Open-ended, supportive, putting the ball in their court. I thought I was being a good manager by making space for them to voice their needs. But recently, I started paying attention to what actually happened after I asked it.
Mostly there was uncomfortable silence. Maybe a polite “No, I think I’m good.” Sometimes an occasional request for something trivial. The conversation would wrap up, and we’d both walk away feeling like we’d checked the box on our weekly one-on-one without really accomplishing much.
The problem wasn’t their response—it was my question.
“Do you need anything from me?” puts the burden on them to identify, articulate, and essentially justify their needs. It’s reactive. It assumes they have a clear sense of what I could help with and the confidence to ask for it. But that’s not how most people operate, especially with their manager.
When someone asks if you “need” something, there’s an implicit weight to that word. Need suggests dependency, maybe even weakness. It’s the difference between someone offering you food and asking if you’re hungry. One feels generous; the other feels like you have to admit to a deficit.
So I changed the question: “What’s the most important thing I can help you with this week?”
The shift in responses has been really interesting. Instead of polite deflections, I get real answers.
“I’m stuck on the technical implementation of that new feature and could use your perspective on the trade-offs.”
“I’m not sure how to approach the conversation with marketing about our timeline.”
“I’ve been spinning on the user research findings and need help thinking through what they mean for our roadmap.”
The language change did something I didn’t expect—it changed the entire dynamic of the conversation. Instead of me offering help and them having to admit they need it, I’m positioning myself as their partner who’s actively looking for ways to contribute to their success.
It’s the difference between “Let me know if you need anything” and “How can I help you win?” One is passive availability; the other is active engagement.
This small reframing has made me more aware of how language shapes power dynamics in leadership relationships. When we ask people what they “need,” we’re inadvertently creating a transaction where they have to justify their request. When we ask how we can help with what’s most important to them, we’re creating a partnership. We’re collaborating.
The best part is that it’s changed how I show up as a manager. Instead of waiting for problems to surface, I’m proactively looking for opportunities to add value. Instead of being a resource that gets activated when someone pulls the right lever, I’m engaged in their ongoing success.
It’s such a small change—eight words instead of six. But it’s shifted entire conversations, and honestly, it’s made me a better leader.
With respect and syrup, this dude hacked the Waffle House website as a hurricane barreled toward his home in Florida:
The Waffle House Index is an (incredibly) unofficial tool used by FEMA to gauge the severity of natural disasters. Why Waffle House? Because they’re infamous for not closing even during the worst of storms. If the House is closed, that means things are getting real. The problem with the Waffle House Index is that there’s not really an actual “index” you can check.
What a great story! And great to hear Waffle House was (somewhat) cool about the whole thing.
It’s a dew drop morning. Let’s slow down and notice the little things today — the small darts of beauty that strike our world.
