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I’ve always been fascinated by PDFs. They look simple on the surface. Just a document you can open anywhere but underneath they’re a full layout engine, object graph, drawing model, and archival format all at once. I enjoy that mix of precision and complexity and that is exactly what led me to build PDF::Make (and yes I had some help from Claude LLM). I wanted a fully featured toolkit that could both generate PDFs and let me inspect/edit them programmatically. At the low level, PDF::Make exposes the raw building blocks of the format: PDF objects, pages, the drawing canvas, a parser/reader, and import/merge primitives. This is the layer you reach for when you need fine grained control or want to work with the structure of a document directly. For everyday document creation, PDF::Make::Builder sits on top of that foundation and provides a higher level API. It handles the boilerplate of page setup, fonts, text flow, and layout so you can produce a polished PDF in just a few lines of Perl. The same toolkit is also designed for post-processing. You can open an existing PDF, extract structured text along with its coordinates, and then draw annotations or overlays back onto the page, making it straightforward to build review, QA, or markup workflows on top of documents you didn’t originally generate. This post shows a practical two-step flow: Create a PDF Re-open it, extract text coordinates, and draw border highlights around matched words 1) Create a PDF with PDF::Make::Builder Script: #!/usr/bin/perl use strict ; use warnings ; use PDF::Make:: Builder ; my $pdf = PDF::Make:: Builder -> new ( file_name => ' source_demo.pdf ', configure => { text => { font => { family => ' Helvetica ', size => 12 , colour => ' #222222 ' }, }, }, ); $pdf -> add_page ( page_size => ' Letter ') -> add_h1 ( text => ' PDF::Make blog demo ') -> add_text ( text => ' PDF::Make builds and edits PDF files directly from Perl. ') -> add_text ( text => ' In the next step we extract text coordinates and

The Chinese supercomputer LineShine was ranked as the fastest in the world, despite not using any GPUs.

Habit stacking is one of my goals this year. I've been so focused on improving my software...

Hello Devs, for months, I felt confident about system design interviews. I'd watched endless YouTube videos. I'd studied architecture diagrams. I could explain how Netflix builds recommendation systems. I understood Kafka, Redis, load balancers, and microservices. I'd memorized the designs of Twitter, Uber, YouTube, and TinyURL. Then I sat down for my first real system design interview and froze. The interviewer asked: "How would you design a notification system?" I had memorized notification systems. I knew about push notifications, email queues, delivery workers, and retry logic. I could recite architectural patterns. But suddenly, none of that helped. I didn't know which questions to ask first. I started designing before understanding the actual requirements. I built architecture for problems that didn't exist. I missed obvious bottlenecks. I couldn't articulate why I made specific trade-offs. When the interviewer pushed back, I had no framework to adjust. I failed that interview. But that failure taught me something crucial: System design interviews aren't about knowing technologies. They're about knowing how to think. After that, I went back and systematically practiced 20 system design problems. Not passively watching solutions. Actually designing. Making mistakes and refining my approach. And somewhere around problem 12, a pattern emerged. The best candidates didn't know more technologies than anyone else. They had a framework . They asked the same questions in the same order. They structured their thinking consistently. They could handle curveballs because their framework was flexible. They reasoned through trade-offs explicitly. Here's the framework that finally made it click for me. The Problem with Memorization Before I share the framework, let me explain why memorizing designs fails. When you memorize " How to Design Twitter," you learn: Use relational databases for users and tweets Use NoSQL for timelines Cache with Redis Use message queues for fanout S

Most developers treat SEO like that one dependency you know you need but keep putting off. You build a fast, clean site with solid architecture, then hand it off to a "marketing person" who asks you to add keyword-stuffed meta descriptions. Here's what changed in 2026: search engines place heavy emphasis on Core Web Vitals, which measure loading performance, interactivity, and visual stability of web pages. The technical foundation you're already building? That's 80% of modern SEO. Let me break down what actually matters when evaluating SEO services as a developer. The Technical Reality Check Technical SEO is the foundation that everything else sits on. On-page optimization and link building amplify a technically sound site. Applied to a technically broken site, they produce unpredictable, often disappointing results. If an SEO service can't speak your language about INP metrics, structured data, or mobile-first indexing, run. What Dev-Focused SEO Services Should Cover Core Web Vitals (Not Just PageSpeed Scores) Core Web Vitals (LCP, CLS, INP) are confirmed ranking factors — INP replaced FID in March 2024. Any SEO service still talking about First Input Delay is using outdated information. What to look for: Field data analysis from real users (not just lab tests) Specific fixes for Interaction to Next Paint Understanding of when to optimize vs. when to rebuild Crawlability and Rendering Google now clarifies that pages returning non-200 status codes (like 4xx or 5xx) may be excluded from the rendering queue entirely. If you're running a JavaScript-heavy framework, this matters. Red flag: SEO services that don't understand Server-Side Rendering (SSR) or Static Site Generation (SSG). Structured Data Implementation Structured data helps search engines understand what your content is about, not just what it says. In 2026, this matters for traditional search and AI search alike. Schema markup isn't just about rich snippets anymore. It's how AI systems like ChatGPT and Per

There is a popular misconception that if you do TDD, your design also stays correct. That if the tests pass, quality is guaranteed. In AI-assisted development, this misconception is the kind that quietly accumulates — the more tests you have, the more invisible damage builds up underneath. All tests passed. The design was still broken. Here is what happened today. A function called safe_post.py had its signature changed. Two arguments — notify_sh and doctor_sh — were removed. The test suite passed in full. But the callers were still using the old signature. They were silently broken. Why did the tests pass? Because the test code itself was using the old signature. The tests had been written (by AI) at a time when the design intent was already misunderstood. The misunderstanding was baked into the tests from the start. Tests passing and the design being correct are two different things. "All tests pass" tells you only one thing: the implementation matches what the tests expect. Whether the tests express the right design intent is a separate question. TDD verifies "implementation against tests" — nothing more Let me restate the TDD definition. Red → Green → Refactor. Write a test. Write the implementation that passes the test. Refactor. In this loop, what the test verifies is whether the implementation meets the test's expectation. That is one verification — and only one. What TDD does not verify is whether the test itself correctly expresses the design intent. The structure looks like this: Design intent → Tests (← this link is not verified) ↓ Implementation (← this link is verified by tests) If the person writing the tests misunderstands the design intent, the tests will pass and the design will still be wrong. Machine learning engineer Hamel Husain calls this the "Gulf of Specification" — the gap between what you intended to measure and what your metric actually measures. Optimize hard against a flawed metric and you optimize hard in the wrong direction. The same d

Anthropic's engineers ship eight times more code than they did a few years ago. And they had to start scheduling lunches so people would talk to each other. Fiona Fung, who leads the Claude Code team, said it on Lenny's Podcast last week. Working with agents all day had started to feel isolating. The team was fast, but they'd stopped running into each other. So they added pairwise programming lunches and hackathons — rituals to put back the thing that used to happen on its own. Eight times the output. Scheduled conversation. That ratio is worth sitting with. Whatever goes missing here doesn't show up in the metrics. It doesn't throw an error. It just quietly stops being available. Here's the part that bugs me most. Ask an AI whether your approach is sound and it mostly tells you it is. Not because it's lying — because it's answering the prompt. No stake in the outcome, no history with the system, no memory of the last three times this exact idea was tried and quietly failed. A colleague pushing back is a different thing. They've got context you never typed into the window, because they were there when it was earned. They're going to maintain this too. They might be wrong — but wrong in a direction you hadn't thought of. An agent can't disagree with you like that. It agrees faster. Same with scope. The agent builds what you ask for, all of it, thoroughly. It won't mention that the third feature is the one nobody will use, or that "good enough" happened two iterations ago, or that something next door already solves most of this. Knowing when to stop comes from someone who's watched a codebase rot under a hundred individually-reasonable decisions. And it only knows what you put in front of it. The person who worked on payments remembers the edge case you're about to recreate. The junior who joined three months ago still sees the thing everyone stopped noticing. That gap — between what's in the window and what isn't — is where the expensive mistakes live. Then the part

I noticed something a few months ago. I was talking less to my colleagues. Not because anything was wrong. I had a question, I described it to an AI, I got something useful back. Why loop in a human if the loop is already closed? It took a while to name what was actually happening. There's a version of the AI story where the interesting work disappears. The agent implements. The spec session produces the plan. Humans review the output. What's left? Ticket hygiene and rubber stamping. Engineering as a series of approvals. I think that's wrong. But I understand why it feels true. Here's what I think is actually happening instead. The agent produces the increment. But the agent doesn't decide what the increment should move toward. It doesn't know whether this library is the right bet for the next three years. It doesn't know which of two implementation approaches leaves options open and which quietly closes them. It doesn't know whether the architectural call made today creates a problem nobody will notice until the system is under load eighteen months from now. That work — giving the project direction, validating trade-offs, deciding what the system becomes — isn't specable. You can't write a ticket for it. And it's not going away. The craft didn't disappear. It moved. Direction is the word I keep coming back to. The agent executes well. It implements against a spec. It generates options when you ask for them. But it doesn't carry a point of view about where the system should go. It doesn't have a stake in the decision. It will implement the wrong architectural direction just as confidently as the right one, if that's what the spec says. Someone has to hold the direction. Someone has to know enough about the codebase's history, the team's constraints, and the product's trajectory to say: not that library, we've been down that road. Not that pattern, it doesn't survive the load we're heading toward. This approach now, that refactor later, in this order, for these reaso

"A fool with a tool is still a fool." — often attributed to Grady Booch I keep coming back to this quote when I watch teams adopt AI. In my last post ( https://schrottner.at/2026/06/18/The-Wrong-End-of-the-Problem.html ) I wrote about shifting the engineering process left — spec sessions, autonomous agents, humans reviewing output rather than writing it. A few people asked the obvious follow-up: if an agent implements and an AI reviews, why do I need a team at all? It's a fair question. And I think the answer is in that quote. The agent validates against your prompt. That's it. If your thinking is muddled, the output will be muddled — just faster and at greater cost. An agent doesn't tell you that you're solving the wrong problem. It solves whatever problem you gave it, thoroughly and without complaint. Most AI usage right now treats AI as a tool. Which means the quality of the output is bounded by the quality of the thinking that went into the prompt. A fool with a tool is still a fool. The tool just makes the foolishness more expensive. The team is the check on intent. Not after the agent has burned three sprints on the wrong thing — before it starts. That's what mob planning actually is, when you think about it. Not a meeting. Not process overhead. It's the place where bad ideas get caught before they get expensive. Where someone asks "wait, why are we building this" before an agent runs with it for a week. But there's something else happening in that room that I think gets underestimated. It's where the learning happens. Not just prompting. System thinking. Architectural patterns. How to decompose a problem. Why a certain approach fits this codebase and another doesn't. How a senior frames a problem before an agent ever touches it — the mental model that makes the output actually good. Right now that knowledge isn't transferring. Everyone is heads-down with their own tools, developing their own habits in isolation. Engineer A gets dramatically better output than

One thing I've noticed after using AI for development over the past year is this: The code it generates is usually correct. The architecture slowly isn't. That doesn't happen because AI writes bad code. It happens because architecture rarely erodes all at once. Imagine a modular application with clear boundaries. The billing module talks to the orders module through its public interface. Authentication is isolated. Notifications are independent. Everything is predictable. Now imagine hundreds of AI-assisted commits over the next few months. One suggestion imports an internal class because it already exists. Another bypasses a service layer because it's shorter. A helper gets copied into another module. A database query is duplicated instead of reused. None of those changes are catastrophic. In fact, every pull request probably gets approved. The application still builds. The tests still pass. Customers never notice. Until one day, making a simple change requires touching five different modules because everything has quietly become connected. That's architecture debt. And unlike a failing test, it doesn't show up immediately. One thing I've realized is that our current tooling doesn't really watch for this. Unit tests verify behavior. Integration tests verify interactions. Linters enforce style. Static analysis finds bugs. All of those are important. But none of them are asking questions like: Should this module depend on that one? Did someone bypass a defined boundary? Are we introducing new architectural coupling? Is the overall architecture getting healthier or worse over time? Those questions usually get answered during code review. Or worse, during a production incident. The interesting part is that AI isn't really the problem. If anything, it's doing exactly what we ask it to do. It optimizes for solving the problem in front of it. Architecture, on the other hand, is about protecting the system as a whole. Those are different goals. As AI makes us write code fa

Michael Webster discusses the rise of headless AI agents and their impact on software delivery pipelines. He shares how massive, AI-generated pull requests create a severe bottleneck for human reviewers and introduce persistent technical debt. Learn how engineering leaders can leverage test impact analysis and automated validation pipelines to verify agentic output without sacrificing stability. By Michael Webster

Why adaptability beats perfection in startup software development The Startup Trap: Building for a Future That Doesn't Exist Yet Many startup founders make the same mistake. They spend months building the "perfect" product architecture. The code is clean. The design patterns are flawless. The test coverage is near 100%. The infrastructure can scale to millions of users. There's just one problem: They don't have any users. In the startup world, survival depends on learning faster than competitors, not on creating the most elegant codebase. Product-market fit is uncertain. Customer needs change weekly. Business models evolve. Features that seemed critical last month become irrelevant the next. In that environment, the biggest advantage isn't perfect code. It's malleable code . Code that can bend, adapt, and evolve as the business learns. What Is Malleable Code? Malleable code is software that is easy to change. It isn't necessarily perfect. It isn't over-engineered. It isn't designed to solve every future problem. Instead, it's designed to support continuous experimentation. Malleable code allows teams to: Launch MVPs quickly Test assumptions rapidly Respond to customer feedback Pivot when necessary Add new features without major rewrites Remove failed features with minimal effort Think of it this way: Perfect code optimizes for certainty. Malleable code optimizes for uncertainty. And startups operate almost entirely in uncertainty. When you're still searching for product-market fit, the ability to adapt is often more valuable than technical elegance. Why "Perfect" Code Often Hurts Startups Software engineers love solving technical problems. It's natural. Building a scalable architecture feels productive. Refactoring code feels productive. Designing the perfect system feels productive. But startup success isn't measured by code quality. It's measured by business outcomes. Questions such as: Are customers using the product? Are they paying for it? Are they returning? A

Mitigating Hallucinations in Theology AI: Implementing Groundedness Evaluation Pipelines For software developers and indie hackers, the era of building generic wrapper APIs is over. The real value now lies in highly specialized, niche vertical applications. One of the most fascinating, complex, and underserved niches is the intersection of artificial intelligence and religious doctrine. Building a catholic ai tool presents unique software engineering challenges. Unlike general-purpose chatbots, a theology ai application cannot afford to "hallucinate" or generate creative interpretations of established doctrines. In this space, an inaccurate answer is not just a software bug; it is a theological error. To build a high-quality, trustworthy catholic ai app , developers must move past basic prompt engineering. We must implement robust groundedness evaluation pipelines. This article explores the technical journey of building a specialized catholic ai chatbot , the catholic church stance on ai , our choice of tech stack, and how to build a production-grade groundedness pipeline to keep your AI aligned with official church teachings. The Catholic Church Stance on AI: Designing for Ethics and Trust Before writing a single line of Dart, Swift, or Python, we must understand the ethical landscape of ai and theology . The Vatican has taken an surprisingly proactive approach to artificial intelligence. Pope Francis has frequently spoken on the topic, advocating for "algor-ethics"—the ethical development of algorithms. The catholic church stance on ai emphasizes that technology must serve human dignity and remain aligned with truth. ┌─────────────────────────────────┐ │ The Vatican's Algor-ethics │ └────────────────┬────────────────┘ │ ┌─────────────────────────┴─────────────────────────┐ ▼ ▼ ┌──────────────────┐ ┌──────────────────┐ │ Human Agency │ │ Doctrinal Truth │ │ AI must assist, │ │ AI must not alter│ │ never replace │ │ established dogma│ └──────────────────┘ └─────────

TL;DR — When the spec is good, implementation needs less model. I started using a top-tier model to write the spec and a cheaper, faster one to implement it — still using the strong model, just spending it on the spec instead of the implementation. The gain isn't some magic prompt phrasing; it's the context: explicit business rules, audited project constraints, a defined output contract. That's systems engineering — the discipline of anyone who's kept real software alive, whatever their stack. Every backend dev knows the scene: the Swagger is out of date, the last hotfix shipped without a unit test, and the README.md documents a command nobody's used in six months. The code works. The docs lie. And the gap between the two is exactly where AI — and we — start to go wrong. I've spent the last few months developing with AI for real inside production projects, not tutorial greenfield. My takeaway was less about which model to use and more about a shift that already has a name: the move from prompt engineering to context engineering . The difference isn't semantic. Prompt engineering treats the problem as writing — finding the magic phrase. Context engineering treats it as what it always was: a systems engineering problem . And it's where my backend background applied most directly — though anyone who's kept a real system alive has the same instinct. The experiment that convinced me Let me start with the evidence, because that's what made me take this seriously. My reflex, for a long time, was to reach for the strongest model for everything — more expensive, smarter, fewer errors. Makes sense on paper. In practice, I saw something else. When the task's specification is well done — explicit business rules, audited project constraints, a defined output format — the model capability needed for implementation drops sharply. Enough to split the work by stage: I started using a top-tier model (currently Opus) to write the spec , and a cheaper, faster model (Sonnet) to implemen

I started my career in the late 2010s, and I have had a front-row seat to the growth of the industry that has given me everything: software engineering. Looking back over the last decade, I have mixed feelings about some of the calls I made. And I am seeing the same patterns play out again now. So for engineers who are confused about where this is headed and how to navigate it, here is how I think about it. Generalist SWEs were a product of cheap money The late 2010s, I saw an huge amount of startup funding, globally. Flipkart, Snapdeal, Jugnoo, and hundreds of others were scaling hard and one hiring pattern I saw was that: everyone wanted generalist software engineers. People who could easily get upto speed across the stack.- backend, frontend, infra, deployment and simply ship. Building software was expensive. Automation was still low. Kubernetes had just gone mainstream. Shipping still meant a surprising amount of manual work: SSH-ing into servers, copying artifacts around, running mvn builds by hand, debugging deployments straight in production, duct-taping infrastructure that today you would never touch. Companies fought over engineers who maximized feature throughput. Breadth was a premium, because every extra engineer increased the rate at which software got built. It helped because the money was also free and VCs rewarded growth over efficiency, and hiring software engineers in bulk was the easiest way to spend it. Pull up a resume from an engineer who started around that time and you will usually see the same shape: a long list of technologies and frameworks, broad and adaptable, but rarely deep in any one thing. There was no incentive to go deep. LLMs Changed The Dynamics LLMs did not kill software engineering. It compressed the cost of implementation. The work that got hit first was the work that was already standardized: CRUD apps; API integration and glue code; Framework-heavy backend work; Frontend scaffolding; Standard architectural patterns. What use

Earlier this month, a German court ruled that Google is liable for its AI search summaries. Rejecting defenses like “users can check for themselves,” and that they generally know “that information generated with AI should not be blindly trusted,” the court held that the AI’s summaries are reflections of the company and “above all an expression of Google’s business activities.” This is the latest skirmish in a decades-old battle over internet publishing. Historically, there were two different types of information distributors: carriers and publishers. A phone company is a carrier. It’ll transmit whatever you say, even discussions about committing a crime. Words are words, and the phone company does not know—nor is it liable for—the words you choose to speak. A newspaper, on the other hand, is a publisher. It decides the words it publishes, and what quotes to include in its articles. If those words or quotes are defamatory or otherwise illegal, it’s liable...

Over the past weeks, I’ve been sharing a series of posts that gravitate around one question: How do...

Rethinking fake content in Symfony projects A prototype web page displaying pure placeholder content When building early UI prototypes or shaping design systems in Symfony, placeholder content becomes a constant companion. Lorem ipsum text. Dummy profile photos. Placeholder videos. Silent audio. Temporary avatars. Realistic fake user data. Every project needs them — and yet most setups rely on a patchwork of libraries, links and hardcoded values. Omnia Ipsum aims to fix that by giving Symfony developers a single, elegant toolkit for placeholder content of all kinds. In this article, I will walk you through the motivation behind the project, the conceptual patterns it follows, and its most advanced features — all designed to make your prototyping workflow faster, cleaner and more maintainable. Motivation: Why a placeholder library? Most Symfony projects start the same way: You add lorem ipsum text manually into Twig templates. You grab placeholder images from an external service. You generate avatars using yet another site. You paste in temporary YouTube or stock video URLs. You install Faker separately whenever realistic data is needed. The result is inconsistent, fragmented and difficult to maintain. And even worse: placeholder content often leaks into production unless guarded carefully. The idea behind Omnia Ipsum was simple: “If your UI needs placeholder content, it should come from one place — predictable, configurable, and accessible directly from Twig.” This cuts down on boilerplate, cognitive overhead, and the "temporary chaos" of early-stage templates. Quick Start Prerequisite Go to github.com/symfinity/recipes and follow the instructions to add the required recipe repository. Installation composer require --dev symfinity/omnia-ipsum Usage Use the Twig functions immediately: <img src= " {{ omnia_image ( 600 , 400 ) }} " alt= "Placeholder" > <img src= " {{ omnia_avatar ( 'John Doe' , 100 ) }} " alt= "Avatar" > <video src= " {{ omnia_video ( 1920 , 1080 ) }}

The Problem Typography should be one of the simplest parts of a project. In reality, it often ends up scattered across multiple layers: Bootstrap: $font-family-base variables Tailwind: JavaScript configuration TypeScript: type definitions Design systems: W3C Design Tokens The same font information gets copied and maintained in several places. Every update means touching multiple files, hoping everything stays in sync. It's repetitive, error-prone, and easy to get wrong. So I built Font Manager. Define your fonts once and export them in whatever format your project needs — CSS, Bootstrap variables, Tailwind configuration, TypeScript definitions, design tokens, and more. The Solution A simple Twig function: {{ font_manager ( 'Ubuntu' , '400 700' ) }} Configuration: symfinity_font_manager : export : formats : - scss_bootstrap - tailwind_config - typescript_definitions One lock command: php bin/console fonts:lock Every format, automatically generated. Perfectly synced. Bootstrap Example Before: // Manually copy font name $font-family-base : 'Ubuntu' , sans-serif ; // ❌ Duplication @import 'bootstrap/scss/bootstrap' ; After: symfinity_font_manager : export : formats : [ scss_bootstrap ] php bin/console fonts:lock // app.scss @import './assets/styles/fonts-bootstrap' ; // ← Auto-generated @import 'bootstrap/scss/bootstrap' ; Bootstrap uses your fonts automatically. No manual mapping. No duplication. Tailwind Example symfinity_font_manager : export : formats : [ tailwind_config ] // tailwind.config.js const fonts = require ( ' ./assets/fonts-tailwind.config.js ' ); // ← Auto-generated module . exports = { theme : { extend : { fontFamily : fonts . fontFamily } } }; <p class= "font-sans" > Your custom font, via Tailwind. </p> TypeScript Example symfinity_font_manager : export : formats : [ typescript_definitions ] import { fonts , type FontFamily } from ' ./assets/fonts ' ; applyFont ( element , ' sans ' ); // ✓ Valid applyFont ( element , ' invalid ' ); // ✗ TypeScript erro

Math.random() returns a number between 0 and 1, and roughly nobody reading this could explain what happens between the call and the return. That is fine, fine right up until the output decides who gets money, and then it becomes one of the genuinely hard problems in applied software, the kind that regulated industries build entire testing labs around. Start with the thing most people get wrong: a sequence that passes for random and a fair sequence are different claims, and your users cannot tell them apart by staring at outputs. The users will never catch the difference and that is the whole problem in one sentence. This is why fairness in any real-money system, an online casino being the sharpest example, is a verification problem long before it is a math problem. Pseudorandom generators are deterministic. A PRNG eats a seed, runs it through fixed arithmetic, and spits out numbers that sail through statistical randomness tests while being completely predetermined by that seed. Mersenne Twister is the poster child: excellent distribution, used everywhere by default for years, and from a few hundred observed outputs you can reconstruct its internal state and predict the rest. For a Monte Carlo simulation, who cares! For anything where a human has a financial reason to guess your next number, you just shipped a vulnerability and called it a feature. What you want when stakes exist is a CSPRNG. The guarantee that matters: even with a long history of outputs, an attacker cannot compute the next one or recover the internal state. crypto.randomBytes() in Node. crypto.getRandomValues() in the browser. They sit one autocomplete away from the unsafe option and offer wildly different guarantees, which is exactly why this bug ships so often. The safe call and the dangerous call look like fraternal twins. ** The part players actually rely on ** Say you build it correctly: a proper CSPRNG, real entropy, no timestamp nonsense. You know it is fair but now prove it to a stranger wh