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Claimable Clouds are temporary Cloudinary environments for AI workflows that let AI Agents safely manage media with no signup required. Imagine you're a busy designer, with many satisfied clients who depend on you to take their images and make them look great across social media. All that manual cropping and scaling, it's enough to make a body cry. On top of that, you know that AI can give you a hand here, but managing the handoff between your AI, your own skilled hands and artistic taste and style, and your always-in-a-hurry client list is another big pain. Enter the concept of the Cloudinary Claimable Cloud, just released today. Take a look at the docs about these new temporary instances available now What we built and why Provision a disposable Cloudinary cloud with no signup, using npx @cloudinary/cloud Auto-detect a dropped image and upload it to that temporary cloud Auto-crop it into 6+ social formats (Instagram, LinkedIn, X, Facebook, Stories) using AI-based smart cropping Generate a side-by-side gallery of results automatically Hand off a Claim URL so a client can make the cloud permanent Now, you can hand off the main pain points to AI - the resizing and reshaping of your images for the various social media platforms, while giving your clients a clean handoff via a temporary Cloud environment that they can use to create a Cloudinary account and start using these assets. One side effect: this also nudges your whole client base toward the same toolset - Cloudinary. The bigger deal is working with an AI agent that makes your life easier but ALSO allows you to keep control of the output. Let's walk through how this works! It all boils down to a new command: npx @cloudinary/cloud Type that into your terminal to kick off the process. I built a small app around this concept to provide this AI agent with a simple harness, so let me show how that looks. The user experience is to drop any image you want resized into the /drop folder. Under the cover, there are a few

If your automations are simple and low-volume, Zapier's per-task billing is fine and the cheapest thing about it is your time. The moment a single workflow fans out into many steps, or you start running thousands of runs a month, the pricing model — not the sticker price — is what decides your bill. Make charges per module execution, which is finer-grained than a Zapier task; n8n charges per workflow execution regardless of how many steps that workflow has, and it can be self-hosted for infrastructure cost only. The switch point is almost always about billing units, not features. I've run all three in production for internal automations, and the migrations I've done were never triggered by a missing feature. They were triggered by a monthly invoice that grew faster than the value of the work being automated. This post is about spotting that inflection before the invoice does. How does each tool actually count usage? The three tools use three different meters, and conflating them is where most cost surprises come from. Zapier bills per task. A task is one action step that successfully runs. The trigger that starts a Zap does not count; every action after it does. So a Zap that watches a form and does one thing costs one task per submission. A Zap that watches a form, looks up a record, formats a value, and writes to two places costs four tasks per submission. Filters and paths that stop early generally don't consume a task, which matters more than people expect. Make bills per operation. An operation is a single module doing a single unit of work. It's conceptually similar to a Zapier task, but Make's modules are more granular and the included volumes on comparable tiers are typically much higher, so the effective cost per unit of work tends to be lower. The catch is that iterators, aggregators, and array-processing modules can multiply operations fast — a scenario that loops over 50 items can spend 50+ operations in one run. n8n bills per execution. One workflow run

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I switch between Claude Code, Codex, and Gemini CLI depending on the day and the task. Each one is genuinely good. Each one also has zero idea what the other one knows. I'd explain a decision to Claude Code — "we're using Postgres here because we need concurrent writes, don't suggest SQLite again" — and it'd remember, because it reads CLAUDE.md . Then I'd switch to Codex for the same repo and it would suggest SQLite. Again. Because nothing I told Claude Code ever made it into whatever context Codex was reading. Multiply that by every "we tried X, it didn't work, don't suggest it again" conversation, and you start explaining the same three things to three different tools every week. That got old fast. What I actually built Mythicator is a CLI called mythicator . It does one thing: keeps a single memory file per repo, and pushes it out to whatever context file each AI tool already reads. mythicator init mythicator add "Chose Postgres over SQLite" --type decision --reason "needs concurrent writes from multiple workers" mythicator sync That sync command writes the same memory into CLAUDE.md , AGENTS.md , GEMINI.md , and .cursorrules — wrapped in a marker block so it never touches anything I've written by hand in those files. Update the memory once, every tool gets it. The canonical data lives in .agent-memory/memory.json , committed to the repo. It's not fancy — decisions, rejected approaches, bugs, conventions, notes, each with an optional reason and tags. No vector search, no embeddings, no hosted service. Just a JSON file and a sync step. Why not just use one of the existing memory frameworks There are already solid tools doing "memory for AI" — Mem0, Zep, that kind of thing. I looked at them before building this. They're aimed at developers building agents that need long-term memory at runtime, with similarity search over a big pile of facts. That's a different problem than mine. I didn't need semantic search. I needed "the four tools I personally switch between all

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An AI coding agent isn't autocomplete. It runs shell commands, reads your files, installs packages, and opens things you never pointed it at. That's the whole reason to have one. It's also why I don't start projects the way I used to. Nothing dramatic happened to me, by the way. I'm not writing this from the wreckage of a dropped production table. I'm writing it because I spent an afternoon going through what could plausibly go wrong, expecting a long list of hard problems, and instead found that most of it is handled by about ten minutes of config nobody mentions on day one. So here's the ten minutes. Prose isn't protection This is the bit that took me embarrassingly long to get. You can tell an agent things two ways. A rule is prose it reads and weighs - good for judgement calls like naming, style, when to stop and ask. A ban is a config entry that makes something impossible. The trap is using the first for the second job. Writing "never force-push" into a CLAUDE.md feels like a control. It isn't. It's a request sitting in a context window next to a few thousand other tokens, competing with whatever you actually asked for. It'll usually win. Usually is fine for naming conventions. It's not fine for git push --force . 1. The deny list .claude/settings.json : { "permissions" : { "deny" : [ "Bash(rm -rf:*)" , "Bash(git push --force:*)" , "Bash(git push -f:*)" , "Bash(git reset --hard:*)" , "Bash(psql*production*)" , "Bash(*DROP DATABASE*)" , "Bash(*DROP TABLE*)" , "Bash(*TRUNCATE*)" , "Read(./.env)" , "Read(./.env.local)" , "Read(./.env.*.local)" ] } } These don't run. Not "the agent is discouraged" - they don't run, including in the scenario the list exists for, which is you at midnight approving a plan you skimmed. Two things to know before you test it. It takes effect from the next session, not immediately. So you write the file, try the blocked command in the same session, watch it go through, and conclude the whole feature is broken. Restart first. Keep the .env

A few weeks ago I killed an indicator of mine in public. I had been trying to work out how much of my audience was automated. One signal was whether an account had uploaded its own avatar. It fired on 100% of the accounts I was confident were people and 97% of the ones I suspected were not. That isn't a lenient signal. It isn't separating anything — it tracks something both groups share, and I had been counting its votes for weeks. I wrote that up. Named the defect, retired the indicator, moved on feeling like I'd learned something. Three days later I shipped another one. The same hole, in a different shape I needed to check whether a comment on one of my posts was actually visible to readers — I'd found one the API returned and the comment count included, but that moderation had removed. So I wrote a check: // v1 — passes for anyone with a second comment on the page. Zero separation. visible : html . includes ( comment . user . username ) // v2 — the only witness with jurisdiction over one comment. visible : html . includes ( comment . id_code ) Two comments from the same account, one removed and one live, both came back visible under v1. I found it by accident, and only because I happened to compare against something else. Someone in a thread put the problem in a sentence I couldn't argue with: if the fix is "I noticed this one," the next indicator ships with the same blind spot in a different shape. Which is, word for word, what I had already written about the previous defect. Their prescription was structural. A labeled control set shouldn't be a diagnostic you run when something feels off. It should be a permanent seed every indicator has to clear a margin on before it's allowed to vote — not just beat chance on the live population, which is exactly the condition that let the avatar signal pass silently. Building it Twenty-eight accounts. Fourteen labeled human, fourteen automated, and every label carries a provenance string saying how it was established — seve

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Just give it to AI might be the most dangerous phrase in software development right now. I've said it myself. Handed off a task, watched clean-looking code come back in seconds, skimmed it, and moved on because it looked right and the tests were green. Then I reviewed a PR that wasn't mine to write, just mine to check. AI-generated, clean, organized, passing every test I threw at it. I approved it the way I'd approve anything that looked competent on the surface. The bug showed up later. Not in review, not in testing. In production, after the code had already been trusted for a while. Nothing about it had looked wrong. That was the actual problem: it wasn't obviously wrong, it was quietly wrong, in the specific way that only announces itself once real conditions hit it. I went back afterward and sat with that PR properly. Not skimming this time. Actually reading it, actually understanding what it was doing and why, actually treating the review like the real work instead of the formality before merging. It took a lot longer than approving it had. It's the only way I'd have caught it before production did. Since then, I don't rush AI-code reviews anymore. I give them the time writing the code apparently didn't need. And it turns out I'm far from the only one who's landed there. 🧵 The Number That Explains What I Was Feeling According to Harness's 2026 State of Engineering Excellence Report, a survey of 700 engineering practitioners across the US, UK, India, France, and Germany, 81% of developers now spend more time in code review since their teams adopted AI tools . 28% report review time increasing by 30% or more. Here's the trade nobody advertised clearly: AI tools cut time-to-PR by roughly 58%. But those same PRs then sit in review 4.6x longer than before. Review time per developer is up an estimated 11.4 hours a week. The speed didn't disappear. It moved. It went from "time spent writing" to "time spent verifying," and verifying turns out to be the harder, slower h

Sites that start from a stock theme tend to look like it. This one did too — until recently it was the default PaperMod screen. The editorial homepage and unified article styling you're looking at came out of a single day of customization. This guide is that work written down, with the code. One principle drove all of it: never fork the theme. The theme stays a submodule and keeps receiving updates; you win with site-level files only. Hugo resolves same-path site files ahead of theme files, which makes this possible. The entire customization of this site is a handful of files: layouts/index.html ← full homepage replacement data/home/ko.yaml, en.yaml ← homepage copy (per language) assets/css/extended/home.css ← homepage styles assets/css/extended/custom.css ← unifying every other page The starting point is a Hugo site with PaperMod as a submodule, deployed to GitHub Pages. Basic installation is well covered by the PaperMod wiki , so I'll skip it. 1. Replace the homepage wholesale Create a single layouts/index.html and the homepage is yours. The theme's home template stays untouched. The key move: don't hardcode copy into the markup — pull it from data files. On a bilingual site, one template then serves both languages: {{- $copy := index .Site.Data.home .Site.Language.Lang -}} {{- $posts := first 4 (where .Site.RegularPages.ByDate.Reverse "Section" "blog") -}} <section class= "editorial-hero" > <p class= "editorial-eyebrow" > {{ $copy.hero.eyebrow }} </p> <h1> {{ range $i, $line := $copy.hero.titleLines }}{{ if $i }} <br> {{ end }}{{ $line }}{{ end }} </h1> <p class= "editorial-intro" > {{ $copy.hero.intro }} </p> </section> data/home/en.yaml holds nothing but words: hero : eyebrow : " IDEAS · PRODUCTS · OPPORTUNITIES" titleLines : - " Where ideas become products," - " and products become new opportunities." Copy edits stop requiring template changes, and adding a language is one more yaml file. Latest posts are pulled dynamically as above — handle the {{ else }} emp

A demo Andrej Karpathy posted over the weekend stuck with me. He gave Opus 5 a million-token context and the first paragraph of The Lord of the Rings, and asked for a procedural 3D rendering of the scene in Three.js. The model worked alone for about two hours, wrote 5,500 lines, and coordinated polygon placement, camera paths, and animation on its own. Total cost: about $10. The result is faster to watch than to describe. Most reactions read it as the next step past "draw a pelican SVG" benchmarks. Something else looked bigger to me. What changed isn't the model's artistry. It's the unit of delegation. The unit of delegation changed Until now, the work we handed agents came in prompt-sized pieces. One function, one bug, one file. Anything bigger, we decomposed ourselves. The reason was simple: with a small context, the early parts of a long job slide out of view, and coherence goes with them. A million tokens erases that premise. Everything the model wrote and tried across a two-hour session stays in view. When the desk is big enough, there is no reason to hand work over in slices. Delegation moves from the task to the session. That is the difference between a function call and a work session. The first, we decompose and supervise. The second, we hand over material and intent, and receive a result. Karpathy's entire contribution was picking the paragraph and watching the output two hours later. Where the builder's work moves When execution costs $10 and two hours, execution is no longer the bottleneck. Two things remain. On the way in: the brief. What goes into the context. Karpathy's input was one paragraph, but choosing it was the design act. Translated to our work, it becomes choosing which spec, brand guide, reference, or codebase goes in whole — and what stays out. On the way out: judgment. By what standard do you accept the result? Reviewing 5,500 lines one by one doesn't match session-sized delegation. Instead, you define "done" before the run, then judge the

Graphical tools are great, but most of my daily development now happens in the terminal. A good CLI tool saves time, integrates with automation, and keeps my workflow consistent across local development and CI/CD. Here are the 10 CLI tools I use the most. Apidog CLI If you're working with APIs, this is the tool I've found myself using the most. I use it to run API test scenarios, manage environments, and reuse the same tests in GitHub Actions instead of maintaining separate GUI workflows. Git Still the foundation of every development workflow. Docker CLI The fastest way to spin up local services and reproduce production environments. GitHub CLI Creating pull requests, reviewing issues, and managing repositories without leaving the terminal is a huge productivity boost. HTTPie Perfect for quick API requests when debugging or exploring endpoints. jq If you work with JSON every day, jq is almost indispensable. ripgrep (rg) Lightning-fast code searching. Once you start using it, it's hard to go back. fd A simpler and faster replacement for the traditional find command. kubectl Essential for anyone deploying applications to Kubernetes. just A lightweight task runner that helps automate repetitive development commands. Final Thoughts The biggest improvement to my workflow has been moving repetitive tasks into the terminal. API testing, deployments, version control, and automation all become easier when everything is scriptable. Among these tools, Apidog CLI has had the biggest impact because it lets me keep API testing in the same terminal-first workflow that I already use for development and CI/CD. What CLI tool couldn't you live without?

Part of "AI, engineering and what survives production", a series on the parts of building with AI that hold up once real traffic hits them. There is a claim going round that you have probably absorbed by now: AI-assisted development is making codebases worse. Refactoring is down, duplication is up, we are all writing more and revising less. The numbers behind it are real, the samples are enormous, and I found I had started repeating the conclusion in conversation without ever having checked it. Then it occurred to me that those figures are averages taken across hundreds of millions of changes from thousands of organisations, not one of which is mine. So what is the rate in your repository? Nobody has told you, and on current evidence nobody is going to. I set out to find mine, assumed it would take an afternoon, and spent three days discovering that the answer is far harder to get at than the confident version suggests. So this is not a piece about what AI does to code. It is about how to ask that question of your own repository without arriving at a wrong answer, which turned out to be the genuinely difficult part. The tool I built to do it is git-habits : free, local, and it reads no source code whatsoever. What git can actually tell you Git history is a surprisingly rich behavioural record. Not of quality, about which it knows nothing at all, but of habits: how often you commit, how large those commits are, whether you go back and change what you wrote last month, and whether anybody still touches the old code. That is a narrower thing than quality and it is the thing the industry claims has changed, so it is the thing worth measuring. Four signals are computable from commit metadata alone, without opening a single source file: Moved lines. The share of changed lines sitting in files git detected as renamed or copied. It is the closest thing history offers to "somebody went back and reorganised this." Legacy touch. The share of changes landing on files nobody has