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Production lock analysis: vì sao pg_stat_activity một mình không đủ, và join với pg_locks mới ra root cause Lock contention trong Postgres hiếm khi báo bằng error — nó báo bằng wait_event_type = 'Lock' ở pg_stat_activity và bằng latency tăng từ phía application. Khi một incident xảy ra ("API treo, không ai biết tại sao"), thứ team cần trong 60 giây đầu là một bức tranh: PID nào đang đợi, đợi lock loại gì trên object nào, bị block bởi PID nào, PID block đó đang chạy query gì và đã giữ transaction bao lâu . pg_stat_activity một mình chỉ trả lời được nửa câu hỏi ("ai đang đợi"); pg_locks một mình chỉ trả lời nửa còn lại ("ai giữ gì"). Phải join hai view này — và bám theo pg_blocking_pids() — để dựng được blocking tree. Không có dashboard cho luồng dữ liệu này là lý do điển hình một production freeze kéo dài 30 phút thay vì 3 phút: incident commander phải mò ad-hoc bằng psql , gõ sai query, miss idle in transaction đang giữ AccessExclusiveLock của một migration nửa đời trước. Cơ chế hoạt động pg_locks là một view phơi nội dung trực tiếp của shared lock manager trong shared memory. Mỗi dòng là một lock request (đã granted hoặc đang chờ) thuộc một backend. Theo Postgres docs phần "System Views → pg_locks", các column then chốt: locktype ( relation , transactionid , tuple , virtualxid , advisory ...), relation (OID — join pg_class ), transactionid , virtualtransaction , pid (backend PID), mode ( AccessShareLock , RowExclusiveLock , ShareUpdateExclusiveLock , AccessExclusiveLock ...), granted (bool), fastpath (lock đi qua fast-path tránh shared lock manager), và waitstart (timestamp bắt đầu chờ — bổ sung sau v14, hữu ích để đo lock wait time mà không cần snapshot diff). pg_stat_activity là view phơi trạng thái runtime của mỗi backend: pid , usename , datname , application_name , client_addr , backend_start , xact_start , query_start , state ( active , idle , idle in transaction , idle in transaction (aborted) ), wait_event_type , wait_event , backend_xid , backend_xmin , qu

Most of the "AI for observability" work I see right now hands the language model the judgment. I think that's backwards. Feed it the alert, feed it some metrics, ask it what's wrong, what should be done, and let it make the judgement call. Based on my experience working with language models, I decided that inverting the process provides better results. The short version: in my alerting pipeline, the set of allowable classifications is fixed in deterministic Python, and the model has to pick from it. The LLM's only job is to turn a structured verdict into an easily digestible sentence. It never decides whether something is bad, how bad it is, or what category of problem it is. It narrates within a decision space the code has already locked down. TL;DR: Instead of letting an LLM decide what's wrong with an alert, I let deterministic Python make every operational decision and restrict the model to explaining the result in plain English. The code classifies, validates, and aggregates; the LLM only narrates. That keeps the data consistent, prevents hallucinated classifications, and ensures the monitoring pipeline continues working even if the model fails. The problem I run a small managed monitoring service. Alertmanager fires, a webhook lands, and historically that webhook produced a line like HighMemoryUsage on host web-vm, severity warning, which is accurate, but not terribly helpful. The person reading it still has to know what HighMemoryUsage implies, whether this host always runs hot, and whether to care. I wanted plain-English context attached to the alerts without altering the alert delivery process. The obvious move was to throw the whole alert at an LLM and ask it to explain. I tried that in the first iteration of this experiment, expecting it to be somewhat accurate, but not entirely reliable, and it did not disappoint, the model was confidently inconsistent. The same alert, fired three times, produced three different "root cause" categories. One run called a

I hesitated to write this. Not because I don’t have an opinion about AI in software engineering, but...

When I wrote about shifting the engineering process left — spec sessions, autonomous agents, humans reviewing output rather than writing code — a question kept coming up. Where does the Product Owner fit in all of this? It’s the right question. And I think the answer is more interesting than “the PO disappears.” Let’s start with acceptance criteria. We invented them to bridge a gap. The team needed to know when something was done. The PO needed confidence that what got built matched the intent. Acceptance criteria were the contract between the two. But if the Spec Session is where intent gets defined — by the whole team, together, before the agent runs — that gap closes. What the team agreed on in the room is the definition of done. The spec is the acceptance criteria. You don’t need a separate validation step because the planning and the agreement happened at the same time. The tighter the loop, the less ceremony you need around it. There’s a caveat though. The spec is a necessary contract. It’s not a sufficient one. Simon Martinelli’s work on the AI Unified Process validates the spec-driven approach technically. But his model is about the artifact — requirements at the center, AI generating everything else from them. How the team actually builds shared understanding before the spec exists isn’t something it addresses. That’s not a criticism. It’s just a different question. A spec written after a real Spec Session — where the team worked through edge cases together, disagreed, got to resolution — is different from a spec written by one person and signed off asynchronously. Same artifact. Different quality of shared understanding. That distinction matters when the agent hits an edge case the spec didn’t anticipate. So what’s actually left for a dedicated PO? Two things. And they’re very different. The first is product thinking — challenging intent, representing user needs, asking why before the agent runs with something. That’s valuable. But it doesn’t require a ded

I used to fix weak AI drafts by asking for better prose. "Make it clearer." "Make it more persuasive." "Make it sound less generic." The output improved a little. Then it failed in the same place: the article looked polished, but nobody remembered what it was trying to say. TL;DR: Before you ask AI to write, fill a five-line editorial brief: audience, takeaway, material to use, first point to place, and scope delegated to AI. The prompt gets shorter because the decision-making moved back to the human. Quick answer: what should I decide before asking AI to write? Decide these five things before the first draft: Who is the reader? What should that reader take away? Which material should be used, and which material should be cut? What should appear first so the reader can follow the argument? Which part is the AI allowed to decide, and which part stays with you? That is the difference between an AI writing prompt and an AI writing workflow. A prompt says, "write a useful article about this." A workflow says, "write for this reader, to deliver this point, using this material, in this order, while leaving these decisions untouched." Here is the copy-paste version I now use before drafting: cat > ai-writing-brief.md << ' BRIEF ' Audience: Takeaway: Material to use: First point to place: Scope delegated to AI: BRIEF Output: a five-line brief that makes the human decisions visible before the AI starts drafting. If those five lines are empty, a better prompt usually will not save the article. It will only make the generic answer prettier. Why polished AI writing still feels empty AI can satisfy the instruction you give it. If you ask for more detail, it adds detail. If you ask for simpler language, it removes jargon. If you ask for a friendly tone, it softens the edges. All of that can be correct and still useless. The missing part is not grammar. It is aim. A draft can have headings, clean paragraphs, and natural transitions while still leaving the reader with no decision,

One of the biggest takeaways from Chapter 3 of AI Engineering was realizing that building an AI model is only part of the challenge. Figuring out 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗹𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 can be just as difficult. With traditional software, it's usually easy to tell whether something works. If a calculation is wrong or a test fails, you know there's a bug. But AI doesn't always work that way. A model can generate multiple reasonable answers to the same question, making it much harder to determine which one is actually better. That made me think: 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗼 𝘄𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗳 𝗮𝗻 𝗔𝗜 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗹 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴? 𝗕𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗞𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝗘𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 Reading this section made me realize how difficult it is for evaluation benchmarks to keep up with the pace of AI development. The chapter explains that GLUE (General Language Understanding Evaluation) was introduced in 2018 to measure how well language models performed on common natural language tasks. But within about a year, models had already become so good at it that researchers introduced SuperGLUE in 2019 as a more difficult benchmark. GLUE evaluates tasks such as: Question answering Sentiment analysis Sentence similarity Text classification The chapter also mentions newer benchmarks like: SuperGLUE MMLU (Massive Multitask Language Understanding) MMLU-Pro Each one was introduced because the previous benchmark was no longer challenging enough. What I found interesting is that a model getting a higher benchmark score doesn't always mean it understands language better. Sometimes it simply means the model has become very good at solving that particular benchmark. 𝗨𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗘𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗽𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘁𝘆 Another section I really enjoyed was the explanation of entropy and perplexity. The chapter explains entropy as a measure of how much information a token carries and how difficult it is to predict the next token in a sequence. Perplexity measures uncertainty. If a model is very uncertain about what comes next, its perplexity will be higher. If

Tilt a CD or DVD under a desk lamp and a band of color sweeps across its surface. The disc is not painted; it is a spiral of microscopic pits, packed so tightly that they act on light the way a finely ruled scientific instrument does. Each wavelength of white light leaves the surface at its own angle, and your eye sees the result fanned out as a rainbow. That is a diffraction grating at work. The same principle that decorates a CD is the engine inside spectrometers that identify chemical elements, tune lasers, and read the composition of distant stars. This article explains how a grating spreads light, how to compute the angles, and where the analysis goes wrong. Why this calculation matters A prism also splits white light, but a grating does it with far more control and far more precision. Because the spreading depends on a countable number — the spacing between lines — a grating can be designed to send a chosen wavelength to a chosen angle. That predictability is what makes it the heart of the spectrometer. Spectroscopy underpins a remarkable range of work. Astronomers read a star's chemistry and velocity from the dark lines in its spectrum. Chemists identify unknown compounds by the wavelengths they absorb. Telecommunications engineers use gratings to combine and separate the many wavelengths sharing a single optical fiber. In every case the first task is the same: given the grating and the light, predict the angle at which each wavelength emerges. Get that wrong and a spectral line lands on the wrong detector pixel, and the measurement is meaningless. The core formula A diffraction grating is a surface ruled with a large number of equally spaced, parallel lines. When light passes through or reflects off it, each line acts as a source of secondary waves. Those waves interfere, and they reinforce each other only in specific directions — the directions where waves from neighboring lines arrive exactly in step. The condition for that reinforcement is the grating equ

I recently worked through the classic Word Break problem in an interview. My approach was solid from the start — recursion with memoization, a breakable helper that tests every prefix and recurses on the rest. The logic was right. What slowed me down was everything around the logic. Here's the solution I landed on: class Solution { public: bool wordBreak ( string s , vector < string >& wordDict ) { unordered_set < string > dict ( wordDict . begin (), wordDict . end ()); unordered_map < size_t , bool > memo ; return breakable ( s , dict , memo , 0 ); // missed: breakable was a free function defined below -> "not declared in this scope" } private : // missed: had int here, compared against s.length() (size_t) -> sign-compare warnings bool breakable ( const string & s , const unordered_set < string >& dict , unordered_map < size_t , bool >& memo , size_t starting ) { if ( starting == s . length ()) return true ; if ( memo . count ( starting )) return memo [ starting ]; for ( size_t e = starting + 1 ; e <= s . length (); e ++ ) { string word = s . substr ( starting , e - starting ); // missed: shadowed an outer `word`, and had substr(starting, e) instead of e - starting if ( dict . count ( word ) && breakable ( s , dict , memo , e )) { memo [ starting ] = true ; // missed: wrote == instead of =, so success was never cached return true ; } } memo [ starting ] = false ; // missed: this line, so failures were never cached and memoization broke down return false ; } }; The real lesson Most of what tripped me up was syntax and scope — a function declared in the wrong place, signed/unsigned mismatches, a shadowed variable, == where I meant = . None of these were about the algorithm. But because I spent my time chasing them, I had less room to focus on the one thing that actually matters in this problem: the logical correctness of the memoization. The takeaway I'm keeping: get the syntax and scoping clean early, so the debugging budget goes toward logic, not typos. That's the

InfoQ has opened enrollment for a five-week AI Security & Privacy Engineering cohort for senior engineers and architects in regulated industries, focused on applying security, privacy, threat modeling, observability, and governance practices to production AI systems. By Artenisa Chatziou

In the previous article, we argued that a Locator is neither a UI control nor a search mechanism. It is an architectural concept that resolves business references within a specific business context and transforms them into canonical business identities. If that is true, however, an obvious question immediately follows. How can a Locator be described? Not how it is implemented. Not how it is executed. But how it can be described independently of any particular implementation. This question is more important than it may seem at first glance. If two different development teams decide to implement a Locator, how can they be sure they are implementing the same concept? How can we discuss a Locator without referring to a particular library, programming language, or framework? The answer is that, like any mature architectural concept, a Locator must first be separated from its implementation. This distinction appears repeatedly throughout the history of software engineering. Relational theory existed before relational database systems. SQL does not describe how a query will be executed. It describes only the result we want to obtain. The choice of indexes, execution plans, and optimization algorithms is the responsibility of the query optimizer. Exactly the same principle applies here. A Locator should not be defined by the mechanism that implements it. It should be possible to describe it independently of that mechanism. This naturally leads to three distinct levels of abstraction. Locator Pattern │ ▼ Locator Definition │ ▼ Execution Engine The Locator Pattern is the architectural concept itself. The Locator Definition is the declarative description of a particular resolution process. The Execution Engine is the component responsible for interpreting that description and performing the actual resolution. Each level has a different responsibility, and they should never be confused with one another. This means that a Locator Definition is not an implementation artifact. It

The Model Context Protocol team has promoted its Enterprise-Managed Authorisation extension to stable status, adding a centralised way for organisations to control access to MCP servers through their identity provider. The project states the aim is to replace per-server consent prompts with a zero-touch flow in which users sign in once and then access approved servers without further setup. By Matt Saunders

The Problem Nobody Talks About Everyone's posting AI-generated videos — characters speaking with lip-sync, manga panels coming alive, virtual idols dancing. The pitch: "just describe what you want." I tried. For months. Here's what I got: Character's face morphed by frame 2 "Slowly looks up" became "violent head shake" Voice-over sounded like Google Translate Same prompt, 3 runs, 3 completely different results No idea what to include or how long the prompt should be Tutorials were either too vague ("be detailed") or too technical (parameter tuning from line 1). The real issue: video prompts are structurally different from text/image prompts. You need to simultaneously control visuals, motion, audio, camera, and consistency constraints — in the right order, at the right length. What I Found A Skill in the Model Studio official repo called happyhorse-prompt-studio . It doesn't teach you theory — it asks you questions and assembles the prompt for you . 4-phase flow: 1. Inspiration Menu Shows you 4 "flavors" of what HappyHorse can do: Flavor What it does A · Voiced Manga Drama Characters talk to each other, with voice + lip-sync B · Character Voice PV Single character self-introduction, 8-10 sec C · Manga Panel Motion Static manga panel starts breathing D · Virtual Idol MV Idol performance with choreography 2. Discovery Asks you conversationally: character appearance, scene, emotion, dialogue, voice type, art style, camera. 3. Prompt Assembly Assembles using the HappyHorse Formula : Scene + Subject + Motion + Audio + Quality Key techniques: @「Image n」 syntax locks character identity across shots Dialogue ≤15 characters (split shots if longer) Japanese prompts work best (HappyHorse is JP-optimized) Always end with キャラの顔・髪・衣装が変わらない (face/hair/outfit stays unchanged) 4. Quality Check Auto-reviews: completeness, compliance, cost estimate, optimization tips. Before vs. After Dimension Writing myself With Prompt Studio Attempts needed 10-20 before one usable 2-3 to satisfacti

Most prompts ask AI to explain things. The best ones ask it to show you something instead. That distinction sounds cosmetic. It isn't. It changes what the model generates, how you process it, and — more importantly — whether it actually sticks. I came across this idea while watching an interview with Amanda Askell — a philosopher and researcher at Anthropic whose work sits at the intersection of AI alignment and what you might loosely call Claude's inner life. She's a primary author of the document that defines Claude's values and character — the framework that governs how the model reasons when the rules run out. Almost as an aside near the end of the interview, she mentioned a prompting technique she uses to understand complex concepts. It stopped me cold. Not because it was elaborate. Because it was disarmingly simple, and it worked in a way I hadn't thought to ask for. The Exact Prompt Template Here it is, cleaned up and ready to use: I want to understand [concept]. Please explain it by writing a fable — an indirect, narrative version of the concept. The story should embody the concept completely without naming it directly. Ideally, the reader should only start to realize what the concept actually is near the end of the story. After the fable, add a short explanation that names the concept clearly and connects it back to the key moments in the story. That's it. No elaborate scaffolding. No chain-of-thought trigger. No persona assignment. Just a deliberate decision about the order in which understanding should arrive. Why This Works (and Why Direct Explanation Often Doesn't) When you ask AI to explain a concept directly, you get a definition. Definitions are accurate and forgettable. The model produces the statistical center of everything written about that concept — clear, complete, and utterly without friction. Friction, it turns out, is how things get encoded. When a concept arrives wrapped in a story, your brain does something different. It tracks characters,

Last month our visual-diff monitor flagged 47 changes on a client's homepage in one run. Forty-six of them were a rotating testimonial carousel that happened to land on a different slide each time the page was captured. One was real. If you've built or used any screenshot-based monitoring, you already know this problem. Two screenshots of the exact same, unchanged page rarely match pixel-for-pixel. Carousels rotate. Cookie banners fade in on a timer. Lazy-loaded images pop in a beat late. Ads shift half a pixel. Fonts render with slightly different anti-aliasing depending on what else the browser was doing. Diff two raw captures and you get a wall of "changes," and within a week nobody on the team opens the alert anymore. Why the obvious fixes don't work The first instinct is usually to loosen the pixel-diff threshold. That just trades false positives for false negatives - now a genuinely moved button or a broken layout has to clear the same bar as carousel noise, so you miss the thing you built the tool to catch in the first place. The second instinct is manual exclusion zones: tell the tool to ignore the carousel <div> , the ad slot, the cookie banner. This works until the page changes - a redesign moves the carousel, a new banner ships with a different selector, and you're back to noisy alerts plus a pile of dead config nobody remembers writing. The third "fix" is tolerating the noise, which is what most teams actually do in practice, and it's a big part of why visual regression tooling has a reputation for being more trouble than it's worth. Make the page prove it's stable before you trust anything about it The fix that actually moved the needle for us wasn't a smarter diff algorithm. It was refusing to treat a single screenshot as ground truth at all. Before any comparison happens, the page goes through a stabilization pass: known cookie/consent overlays get removed (we track a couple hundred variants at this point — cookie banner vendors are not standardized),

Honestly it's not a new concept. this feature already existed in models before. problem was the models were just weak. Looping only works if each attempt gets the agent closer to the correct solution. Earlier models weren't consistent enough for that. They often misunderstood feedback, repeated the same mistakes, or got stuck in an infinite loop. Instead of improving with each iteration, they frequently failed to make meaningful progress, eventually consuming large numbers of tokens without solving the problem. The Context Window Limitation Earlier language models had much smaller context windows. As the agent went through more iterations, the conversation history and reasoning gradually filled the available context. Once the context window was exceeded, older messages had to be dropped or compressed into summaries. As a result, the agent could forget previous failed attempts, lose important clues or reasoning, and sometimes repeat the same mistakes it had already made. So what did modern models actually fix? Bigger context windows Models can now hold way more of the conversation/history without forgetting, so the agent doesn't need to spin up a fresh session every few iterations. it can just keep looping with the full history of what failed and why. modern models also got way more consistent earlier if you asked a model to fix the same bug 5 times you'd get 5 different half-baked answers, now it actually converges toward the real fix. and tool use got better too . Old models could write code but couldn't run it and read the actual error, now they call a test runner, see the real failure, and fix that exact thing which is literally what makes the "verify" step possible. And then there's inference it is simply the process of a model generating an answer. like when you type "write a java binary search," the model reads your prompt, thinks, and generates code that whole process is inference. every time the model generates text, that's one inference. now here's the thin

Hello, DEV Community! 👋 Hi everyone! My name is Sulemana Abdallah , and I'm excited to be part of the DEV Community. I'm passionate about software development and enjoy building modern, responsive web applications using: HTML CSS JavaScript TypeScript React Python My goal is to become a skilled Full-Stack Developer and Software Engineer while continuously learning and building real-world projects. I joined DEV to: Learn from experienced developers. Share my projects and progress. Write about what I learn. Connect with developers from around the world. I'm looking forward to growing with this amazing community. Thanks for reading! 🚀

In Part 1 , we learned that building great AI applications isn't just about writing better prompts. It's about providing the right context . But that naturally leads to another question: How much context can an AI actually understand? If you've used ChatGPT, Claude, Gemini, Cursor or any AI coding assistant for a while, you've probably experienced something like this. 🤔 "Didn't I Already Tell You That?" Imagine you're debugging a production issue with an AI assistant. You start by explaining the architecture. Then you share the API flow. Then database schema. Then logs. Then stack traces. After 30 minutes of conversation, you ask: "So what's causing the bug?" Instead of giving the answer, the AI responds: "Could you share your database schema?" You stare at the screen. "I already did..." Sometimes it even forgets details from earlier in the same conversation. Naturally, people assume: The AI has bad memory. The model is unreliable. The conversation is broken. In reality, something completely different is happening. You're running into one of the most important concepts in modern AI systems: The Context Window. Understanding this concept changes how you interact with AI—and more importantly, how you build AI-powered applications. 🧠 Before We Talk About Context Windows… We first need to understand something much smaller. Tokens. Almost every AI provider mentions them. Pricing is based on them. Context windows are measured using them. Yet many developers still think: 1 token = 1 word That isn't true. 🔤 What Exactly Is a Token? A token is the basic unit of text that an AI model processes. Humans naturally read text as: Characters Words Sentences Large Language Models don't. Before text reaches the model, it's converted into smaller pieces called tokens by a tokenizer. The model never sees your original sentence. It only sees a sequence of tokens. Think of a tokenizer as a translator between humans and AI. You write English ↓ Tokenizer ↓ Sequence of Tokens ↓ LLM The toke

"Forward Deployed Engineer" went from a Palantir-specific title to one of the hottest roles in AI in about eighteen months. But nobody had actually counted the market, so I did. I pulled every open FDE role I could find from public ATS job boards (Greenhouse, Lever, Ashby) across 11 companies and analyzed all 292 of them. Here is what the data says. Who is hiring Three companies account for 250 of the 292 openings: Palantir: 95 (they coined the title, and still call many of these roles "Deployment Strategist") Databricks: 85 OpenAI: 70 Then a long tail: Cohere and Scale AI (13 each), Sierra, Writer, Modal, Baseten, Ramp, and Sardine. What it pays Of the 40 roles that disclosed a US pay band, the median ran $197K to $294K , topping out at $390K plus equity at OpenAI and Sierra, with a floor around $137K. That is senior-software-engineer money for a role a lot of engineers have never heard of. International and most Palantir roles did not publish bands, so the true market is likely even broader. Three things that surprised me 1. 98% of these roles are customer-facing. This is the defining trait. It is not a backend role with occasional meetings. It is an engineer who lives in the customer's world, and if that sounds terrible to you, this is not a role you would enjoy occasionally. It is the whole job. 2. The title is chaos. The same role goes by at least four names: Forward Deployed Engineer (152), Forward Deployed Software Engineer (58), AI or Deployment Engineer (43), and Deployment Strategist (36). If you only search one term, you miss most of the market. 3. The job descriptions undersell the technical bar. JDs emphasize customer-facing work, cloud (AWS/GCP/Azure), Python, and integrations. But SQL and algorithms show up in only about a third of them, even though every FDE loop I have seen tests live coding and SQL under time pressure. The description sells the breadth. The interview tests the depth. The other details Geography: about 48% USA, but genuinely global

This is my first post here, so I'm going to use it as an introduction. I'm Usman, a software + data engineer who primarily works with data pipelines, backend systems. Not a huge fan of frontend development though. Although I do what I can, projects honestly feel incomplete without them, because at the end of the day you do have to showcase a working end to end system when you build something. I'm here after dozens of incomplete personal projects, and projects that never even got past the design phase, you know the drill. Procrastination and imposter syndrome kept stopping me from taking the next step, but I'm here now, gotta keep myself in check fr. I was scrolling through LinkedIn the past few days, and oh my god, the amount of AI-related brain rot there. Every single post written by AI, telling you how to use AI and how not to use AI. I mean I get it, yeah, the paradigm is shifting and AI is essential to development, but where are your personal anecdotes, stuff you solved, stuff you learned, the challenges you faced, how you overcame them. You know what maybe it's my fault, it's my algorithm after all. Anyway, here I am, looking to interact with like-minded engineers and learn from them. I'm also going to post regularly about my progress and what I am building, even though I have quite a bit of experience, and have built and contributed to large-scale production systems and pipelines, I'm going to start with something small, so I can stay consistent and keep myself in check. Software engineering fascinates me a lot, and there are so many domains that I wish to explore and have explored like game development, data engineering, web/app development. My significant other is graduating in a few days, and I'm thinking of making a small game for her, alongside which I'll be working on a small sales lead enrichment pipeline. Hoping to showcase my work and document it publicly, and hoping to get to know and learn from you all! Also, I'd love to know your thoughts on the am

Introduction Python's testing tools are lightweight enough that it's easy to write a lot of tests without writing good ones. A suite that mocks every collaborator, duplicates the same assertion ten times with different inputs pasted in by hand, or chases a coverage number will pass in CI and still miss real bugs. pytest gives you fixtures, parametrize , and monkeypatch — the tools that make it just as easy to write the right tests as the wrong ones. This post covers how to use them well. Test at the Right Level: the Pyramid Not every test should look the same. The test pyramid is a rough guide to where your effort should go: Unit tests — the bulk of the suite. Pure functions and classes, no I/O, no real database. Milliseconds each. Integration tests — fewer of these. Verify the seams : does your ORM query actually produce correct SQL against a real database, does your HTTP client actually parse a real response. End-to-end tests — a handful. Cover the critical flows through the whole stack, accepting they're slower and more brittle. # Unit — pure logic, no database, no framework def test_applies_ten_percent_discount_for_orders_over_100 (): calculator = DiscountCalculator () total = calculator . apply ( order_total = 150.0 ) assert total == pytest . approx ( 135.0 ) # Integration — the seam that matters: our query against a real database import pytest @pytest.fixture def db_session ( postgres_container ): # real Postgres in a test container, not mocked with postgres_container . session () as session : yield session def test_finds_orders_placed_in_the_last_week ( db_session ): db_session . add ( Order ( id = " ord-1 " , placed_at = datetime . now ( UTC ))) db_session . commit () recent = order_repository . find_recent ( db_session , within = timedelta ( days = 7 )) assert len ( recent ) == 1 A unit suite that never touches a database runs in seconds and catches most logic bugs. A handful of integration tests catch what only shows up at the boundary — the query that's s