The lack of tournament legal armor should have kept me safe from the humiliation of the joust, but I wasn’t that lucky. With a tournament of this size, there was a bevy of armorers circling the event seeking to sell their services and perhaps score a lucrative commission or long term engagement from a suitably impressed participant. Sture Zeelan was simply the most persistent of these. With a broad smile on his blunt features, he exuded confidence in his craft. He had the thick arms of a lifelong laborer coupled to the thick gut of the perpetually overfed. The dogged man had a response to every excuse I put forth.
“We have four days,” I said.
“I have enough hammers to get it done in three.”
“Our horses are equally unarmored.”
“I have a stockpile of lames for barding. The riveters can fix them to harnesses while the smiths hammer out the riders’ plates.”
“I did not bring the coin for such a hefty purchase,” I said.
“Surely the coffers of Salzheim are not empty. We can draw up a bill of credit.”
“I cannot bind my uncle to a debt of-” This time it was Soren who cut me off. He was waving a slip of parchment by my face. I snatched it from his hand. After a brief glare in his direction, I read the sheet.
“Freiherr Pankraz Gost, Harbormaster and Treasurer-General of Salzheim, agrees to pay the bearer of this note the sum of,” and then a blank space ending with, “Provided it is sealed and signed by Erbprinz Kord Grosz-” I stopped reading and sighed. Roland had quite literally given me a blank check to do what I had been in the middle of protesting I could not. Zeelan brushed his hands down the front of his leather apron. An apron that looked far too pristine to ever have been used at a forge.
“Arms and armor,” I said, my voice subdued, almost chastised.
Sture nodded.
“Surcoat and caparison.”
“I can arrange that,” Zeelan said.
I let out another sigh. “What price are we talking?”
Sture twitched his fingers as he did some mental math. “Lets go with a round five hundred.”
“What?” I asked flatly.
“There are four of you,” Zeelan said.
“He did promise three days,” Lenz whispered. “It’s not as if we have a lot of time.”
“You’re not the one who’ll have to tell Roland von Salzheim you spent too much on arms,” I said. It would not be good to establish a reputation among my few living relations as a spendthrift and wastrel. Sture’s expression was inscrutable, a smiling mask of confidence. He clearly read the annoyance on my face and was unperturbed by my hesitance.
“What’s the alternative?” Soren asked.
“Simple – we don’t joust.”
Soren all but gasped as his eyes widened at my pronouncement. I turned on my heel to face the door. This motion made Zeelan’s mask falter for a moment.
“Five hundred is only an estimate,” he said. “I’m sure if I had some time to go over the specific details, I could find some savings.”
“How big of a savings?” Lenz asked as I took my first step. He actually sounded worried. I glared at him as he moved to keep me from actually walking out of the room.
“I think I could shave it down to…” Sture said, the gears in his mind turning. “Four hundred Marks.”
I turned to step around Lenz and he grabbed my arm. “You’re not walking out on this.” I looked Lenz in the eye. Though his tone had been angry, his gaze was almost pleading. After a moment, I gently pried his hand off my arm and turned to face Zeelan.
“Three days. Arms, armor and accessories. Four hundred marks,” I said.
Sture nodded.
“Fine.”[20]
Naturally, the rest of that first day was wasted with measurement. Measuring us, our horses, getting references of our heraldry. It turned out that the coat of arms of Freiherr Gost showed a hand spilling coins and blood drops in equal measure. It seemed apt. However hectic and confused the day got, at least I was not expected to intervene, and had frequent intervals when I could just sit and read. Then the pages started to arrive. The liveried boys were acting as messengers and bore missives, entreaties and invitations.
“What is this nonsense?” I growled, shaking a stack of dispatches bearing a variety of seals.
“You do not get a gathering of this many nobles and their hangers-on without some degree of posturing and politicking,” Soren said.
“To be fair, we’re here to do the same,” Lenz said.
“But why are these all coming to me?” I asked.
“All your self-deprecation aside,” Lenz said. “Furst of Karststadt is still the most prominent title any of us is heir to, so of course they’re going to be reaching out to you.”
I bit back an oath. The title couldn’t die so long as there was someone to inherit it. And I was the uncontested claimant. In the orders of precedence of the Empire, the Furst of Karststadt was peer to persons of such standing as the Herzog Freinmarkt-Ziegeburg, and immediately below the Emperor himself.[21] That still mattered in courtly posturing. I sifted through the missives. Most were invites to this or that gathering. Checking them more carefully for conflicts and sorting based upon who the sender was, I held up one in particular.
“I do not believe we can refuse this one.”
“What is it?” Lenz asked.
“His Majesty Hengist the Third sends an invitation to dine tonight. Even I know it would be bad form to snub a King in his own lands.”
“Shall I compose polite declinations for the others?” Soren asked. I handed him the stack of invites that conflicted with the King’s dinner.
“Be my guest.”
***
I hated dressing like a strutting peacock, but Soren insisted that I should try to avoid getting mistaken for my own servant. I recognized a number of the outfits in my luggage as the options I’d rejected back in Salzheim. I ended up in a blue waistcoat embroidered with silver threads. The half-cape was of a silk so thin that it cascaded almost like water, but was blacker than the night sky. The heeled riding boots added another two inches to my height, despite the fact I already towered over most of Farcairn’s populace. The black trousers had scarlet patterns carefully stitched up the outseam, and a brocaded sash in blue and gold provided a convenient place to pin my livery badge. The badge and the gaudy sword did not look out of place in this outfit, though I felt even more so than ever. Lenz and Johan were more simply attired, but Soren was as pompously overdressed as I was. Though in his case, he seemed to prefer it.
We rode up the main thoroughfare. The breeze coming in off the sea picked up all the fetid aromas of the overblown tournament camp. All the visiting nobility, their entourages, the well-heeled spectators, the merchants and artisans seeking to make a sale to any of the rest, along with the city’s usual denizens were encamped in and around Farcairn with little in the way of engineered sanitation. I wasn’t even too sure how well the ground drained. It was not a pleasant smell. We were able to get through the gate to the city without much hassle, and ascended a narrow, winding lane to the citadel overlooking the sea. The footmen at the door wore the same livery as the first page we’d met – the radiating silver drop. We dismounted and presented the invitation. The footmen nodded and opened the door.
A vaulted corridor lit by small oil lamps led like a tunnel through the outer wall. I noticed that the inner door was carved with an emblem of a hill crowned with a ring of menhirs. I didn’t get too much time to inspect it as the herald waiting beside the door stepped in front of us. Soren stepped forward and quietly passed along our introduction. The herald nodded and pulled open the inner door. The groan of the hinges was loud enough to have drawn attention to us, but he proceeded into the middle of the next chamber and struck his heavy staff against the floor three times.
“Announcing the Prince of the North Tower, Erbprinz Kord Grosz von und zu Karststadt-Salzheim.”
I straightened my back and kept my expression passive despite the fact the Herald had messed up.[22] My left hand on the pommel of the gaudy sword, I strode into the chamber. Sandstone pillars inset with a helix of jasper rose high into the air to prop up the vaulted ceiling. A dozen chandeliers laden with burning tapers cast light upon the gilt murals lining the vaulted recesses. Reflecting off the gold, the warm light cascaded down the room where it joined the candelabras on the long tables to either side. On the dais opposite the door sat a shorter table. Behind it sat five tall chairs. The two on either side were ebony inlaid with ribbons of gold and silver framing red velveteen upholstery. The centermost chair was obscured by a cloak of purple and blue, trimmed in white fur, that had been cast off by the seat’s occupant. The attire still adorning that occupant was of the same base colors, but stitched with so much silver thread that it shone almost like armor plate. The man was fit and trim, with honey brown hair and a neat beard that framed his mouth. He wore an easy, crooked grin.
Only the seats to the left of the center throne were occupied. The first was filled by a fat man in black. His cloak was lined in sable, his jerkin was black save for the silver braid and the emblem of a rearing goat. An ebony cane whose head was also a silver goat rested against the arm of his chair. His hair was equally silver, save where it thinned to the point of exposing a spotted scalp. An eyeglass was pinched in the one eye that looked like it still worked. The other was cloudy and probably all but blind.
The seat farthest to the left of the throne held someone I was not expecting to see – a Dwarf. Not an unusually short person, but a Dwarf of Quendaverus. Quendaverus was the last remnant of the old Dwarf empire.[23] Their monarch still claimed the title of Emperor, and nominally claimed title to everything to the west coast of Valay. In practice, they were a pale shadow of the past. This particular Dwarf was very round, his gut providing additional space to display the elaborate braided plaits of his beard. Jewel-crusted clasps of gold, silver and copper bundled these braids amidst the elaborate weave of gray hairs. So many clasps that I wasn’t sure how the weight didn’t rip his face off. He wore a loose shirt of orange silk woven through with an abstract pattern of jade threads. A round cap of fox fur topped his head. At the brow of the cap was a copper fixture gripping a star sapphire the size of a quail’s egg. From behind this jewel rose three extravagantly long feathers from a bird I couldn’t identify. Hard, flinty eyes bored into me from his deeply lined face.
Standing beside the Dwarf was a figure so heavily armored that if he hadn’t moved, I’d have mistaken him for a statue of steel, bronze and gold. The thick armor plates were heavily sculpted, inlaid with geometric patterns and runic traceries that made him shine brighter than the available lighting would seem possible. The visor of the helm was sculpted in an angular representation of a Dwarven face, complete with overly long beard. The helm had to be ceremonial, as it would make simply turning the head difficult. Equally ceremonial was the double bit axe upon whose haft the armored figure’s hands rested. Rods running parallel to the haft were tied to it in a stout bundle that made grasping the weapon properly a difficult task. An honest to goodness Dwarf Lictor.
“Ahh, welcome,” the only fit man at the dais called, standing and casting his arms wide. As he stood, almost every other seated person in the room rose in a reflexive twitch. Only the infirm man and the dwarf sharing the dais with him remained where they were. I hadn’t expected him to stand, nor to rush down from the dais. “I had heard they grew men very tall in the North Tower, but I did not believe the stories,” he said, snatching up my free hand to give it a shake in a bone-crushing grip.
“I presume that you are Hengist, King of Zesrin,” I said. He still hadn’t given me back my hand.
“The chair gave it away, didn’t it?”
I could see a great many people bristling that Hengist had brazenly disregarded protocol to greet a complete stranger. A stranger who was armed. He pushed me towards the dais.
“Come, join us at the high table.”
I tried not to blanch as I was insistently pushed to the seat to the King’s right. I was already wrong-footed as Hengist had discarded all of the etiquette I’d learned, and I knew nobody at that table. The people I knew were being led to available seating along one of the side tables. With them both my only source of advice, and my sense of being where I was supposed to be. Hengist looked around the room at all of his standing guests.
“Oh, dear, I forgot.” He positioned himself in front of his seat and carefully placed himself upon it, signaling to the guests that it was permissible to be seated. Reluctantly, I took the seat I’d been offered to Hengist’s right. “Now, I don’t know if you’ve met the other worthies at the table, but this here is Herzog Hubert Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg.”
“The last time we met, Kord had not yet learned to walk, so I would not be surprised if he does not remember me,” Hubert said.
“It is an honor to finally meet you, again,” I said. “In truth I had come here in hopes of finding you.”
“There will be plenty of time to discuss that,” Hengist said, “I still have to introduce Ambassador Alexis Partanen of Quendaverus.”
Partanen spoke in the Dwarfish tongue. “I did not come all this way to meet a load of horse fornicators.”
“It is fortunate then that I have not had such relations,” I said, responding in the same language. His eyes snapped towards me, shock and horror filling them at the realization that I’d understood him. Hengist was left looking like a smiling idiot, his ignorance of what was being said apparent. The potential awkward moment was interrupted by the ring of the herald’s staff on the floor.
“Announcing the Subheirophant of Azerion, Alyssa de Corval.”
The figure crossing the floor was as thin as her carved ivory staff. The scales of Azerion, wrought in jet, capped the staff and hung about her neck. Voluminous robes in white and gold failed to hide the fact that she was little more than parchment thin skin over a gracile skeleton. Her expression was harder than the metal mask of the Lictor’s helm, frozen in perpetual scowl. This time, Hengist had enough sense to not stand and force the remainder of the guests to do the same. Though he was equally inobservant in gesturing towards the final chair at the dais and hitting me with his arm. I simply smoothed out my waistcoat and refrained from causing a scene. The ancient priestess hobbled up to the empty chair and visibly fought not to make a relieved noise as she lowered herself into it. I wasn’t all that comfortable around Azerion’s clergy. Though most people now saw him as a god of justice, the older theological interpretations saw him as a god of death. His role as the judge of the dead with an aspect of justice had simply been flipped.
Serving girls began laying out goblets of carved quartz and filling them with pale wine. I was more distracted by the servants attire. Though the cut of their gowns was traditional, they were made from a gossamer fabric that implied an immodesty denied by their close-fitting white undergarments. I did my best not to stare. De Corval muttered to herself in Valayan. It was a disapproving utterance she didn’t intend to be overheard. I tried not to ask myself if the judgmental cleric of Azerion was not too much of a stereotype.
“Tell me, what event are you most looking forward to?” Hengist asked.
“To be honest, your majesty, I just hope I manage to not embarrass myself,” I said.
“Don’t tell me your family has been negligent in your upbringing,” Hengist said.
Before I could say that I’d been orphaned, Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg stepped into the conversation.
“Your Majesty, I’m certain Prinz Kord is just being modest.”
“I never understood the inclination to hide the fact that you are good at something,” Hengist said. “Seems dishonest.”
“A lot of politeness is dishonesty,” I said.
“Are we waiting for anyone?” Hengist bellowed across the chamber to the Herald.
“The Baron Sprelnede has not yet arrived.”
“We can start without him. Get with the food.”
The more the dinner dragged on, the less I liked Hengist. He struck me as someone who’d ignored his tutors on matters unrelated to the arts of personal combat. Even the uptight de Corval was a better conversationalist. She spoke at length about astronomy, contrasting the various theories and their theological implications. I wish I could remember half of what she talked about. Unfortunately, she nodded off halfway through the main course. A couple of discreet and attentive servants spirited the priestess away to a more private chamber to sleep. I was then stuck listening to Hengist try to impress us with his knowledge of the jargon and minutiae of several different fencing styles. The problem was, those differences were just that, minutiae. A five degree change in blade angle did not warrant a brand new term when the stance and stroke is otherwise functionally identical. Though that didn’t stop the King from miming the actions with a butter knife.
Still, this was his kingdom, and being impolite to him here had no benefit beyond the brief moment of satisfaction. A moment that would not be worth the consequences. Especially if I wanted the Herzog to have a favorable impression of me. There was a definite overabundance of food. Artfully crafted into miniature masterpieces, the dishes were each sufficient to be meals in of themselves. It would take the most gluttonous of men to be able to clean all of the plates put before each of us. As the meal wore on, I grew increasingly annoyed at the profligacy as yet another mostly uneaten plate was removed to make room for the next. Logically, I knew someone would eat what was left behind, either the servants or the poor seeking alms, but it still looked like a colossal waste as it walked away.
The final dish came out on tiny silver platters. Drizzled with far too much honey and a red syrup, it was molded into the shape of a fish. The actual content proved to be a chopped mix of fruits, nuts, and the meat of something that had probably walked on land. The fins were carved from a very green fruit, and almond-slice scales decorated the body. It had an intact cherry for an eye. The hausbrand served with it had been distilled from some form of fruit wine. I took a few polite nibbles to avoid being rude, but I really didn’t have the room for any more, and it was not a terribly pleasant mix of flavors.
[20] I’d argue he was grossly overcharged, but my comparison rates did not include getting the material from plates to armor in three days. Some have said this time frame was impossible, but Zeelan evidently started with existing plates and had whole packs of assistants to work on separate pieces at the same time.
[21] I find it frustrating that Prince Kord doesn’t appreciate the value of Imperial Immediacy. If I had to be vassal to an intermediate lord, I’d rather not be a Graf.
[22] I find this hard to believe, as Prince Kord repeatedly fails to figure out the proper form of address for himself multiple times within this account.
[23] Far from it, I’ve found several others, but this is another case of ‘true at the time’ from his perspective.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This series will be moving to the Sunday 4pm Central time slot.
I’m beginning to wonder if the pacing of this book was ill-suited to serialization.
Only to the extent that I couldn’t handle the waiting, bought the book, and devoured it in one long sitting…
#metoo
Not quite one sitting, but over a few days…
It’s fine by me.
We have enough content to add back a Sunday afternoon slot?
*tosses confetti*
I guess.
I’m getting bumped from this one because Animal wrote some more stuff.
/starts taping the Tarot cards back together
Pull down the statues.
Rename the bases and schools.
Remove the grave markers.
Rescind the medals.
https://www.defense.gov/News/News-Stories/Article/Article/3848583/austin-orders-review-of-wounded-knee-medals/
Christallfuckingmighty, they just can’t leave well enough alone can they? The Indian Wars weren’t our proudest moment but let the dead lie.
Totally disagree, Stinky. The very best way to prevent future atrocities is to erase the existence of the past ones.
Are they going to take them back?
Apparently there’s substantial precedent for doing so. The article references an incident in 1916 in which 911 MoH citations were rescinded. https://www.military.com/history/why-united-states-revoked-hundreds-of-medals-of-honor.html
Next up: awards to the Indians at Little Big Horn for their victory over colonizers.
Austin is giant shitbag.
Austin is indeed a giant shitbag, but I can’t get too excited over taking back some awards for valor that should have never been awarded in the first place.
Can I be irritated on the surplus of workers if there’s enough slack to form an investigative committee about this?
Nope. You may not be irritated. Not about anything, ever, forever. Not even if you roll around naked in a bunch of poison ivy.
Minitru will keep working until the past completely conforms to whatever the current requirements of the state may be.
134 years; approaching 7 generations.
What a waste of time and resources.
Hardly a person is still alive that remembers those awards.
Those that don’t learn from history…
History subject to revision without notice.
Revision?!
We have always been at war with Eastasia!!
Report to Room 101 at once.
I wonder if Austin and Haaland teamed up to make that decision.
What does Big Chief Lizzy Warren think?
The firewall at megacorp blocks all sorts of innocuous content and yet a strange set of risqué content on youtube regularly passes without issues.
A week ago it was the “try on” videos of see-through clothing. Today it’s body painting with nude models.
It would be stupid to click on the links, but the thumbnails are revealing enough.
I see you use the same vendor we do…
This should fix everything.
Onward to our glorious future, comrades!
“shootings, violence, and murders occurred in the area”
Sounds like a fitting memorial for a career criminal.
I hope they pay for the renovations in counterfeit $20s in honor of St. George.
From the morning thread, the Late P Brooks observes:
It’s so bizarre. What is “transgenderism” if not the ultimate most virulent form of homophobia imagineable?
Apparently, yes?
From X
Trans activists shut down a lesbian pride march in Berlin on Friday after the lesbians involved were “exposed” for not being sexually attracted to males who “identify as women.”
https://x.com/ReduxxMag/status/1817584260582154736?s=19
OMG I can’t breathe I’m laughing so hard
https://x.com/GavinNewsom/status/1817768956754788440
https://x.com/elonmusk/status/1817775398047937009
I was aware of the parody advert, but had not watched it yet.
Perhaps AI isn’t totally evil.
The hilarious aspect is actual leaders on the left pointing to this as some illegal election interference.
Unambiguously a joke, and funny at that, there is no question that the voice is faked. That is part of what makes it funny.
Deceptively editing videos to make it look like Trump said the opposite of what is said is still ok I suppose.
AI is neither good nor evil. AI is amoral.
You make it sound almost like a gun.
It is, with one key difference. The goal of AI is for it to. have agency but to follow commands. That usually doesnt work out the way the one giving the commands thinks it will.
Wife was having a fit last night…military want to create AI controlled weapons and set them loose. That seems like a bad move to me.
Amoral doesnt mean no agency.
That was pretty good.
Was the original ad marked as parody like in the second link? Not that it needed to be, JFC.
When I saw Elon’s re-post I don’t believe it explicitly read “parody” but he _was_ explicitly holding it up as a really impressive example of an AI voice mimicking someone. I.e., obviously it wasn’t real nor presented as such.
The best part is Newsome having the richest man in the world make a Deez Nutz joke at him.
Holy crap, that is amazing.
Truly, we live in the stupi-best timeline.
I had to stop reading after “Professor Suggon Deeznutz” and run to the bathroom. I can’t believe that he did it… but I love that he did it.
thanks for the story UnCiv
You’re welcome.
So, I go to CNN to see what they are saying about Venezuela. (Short answer, not much and it is buried down the page)
The top headline is
“Election Officials Warn of Unlawful Disenfranchisement”
https://www.cnn.com/2024/07/29/politics/voter-rolls-ballot-challenges-true-the-vote-elections/index.html
No, not about Venezuela. No, not about DNC election rigging.
No, we are back to that “every election in my lifetime” DNC story that evil Republicans are trying to disenfranchise minority voters.
In this case, by challenging voter registrations with the registrar.
This is a hit piece on True The Vote, claiming that states already meticulously maintain voter rolls and their efforts simply waste government time and challenge legitimate voter rights for no reason at all.
Oh, irony
Tesla did not have a good second quarter for 2024, and it could have been a whole lot worse had it not been for the U.S. government. Sure, profits fell 45 percent during the time period, but Tesla benefitted from one very important weapon for improving an income statement: regulatory credits.
A truly wild amount of Tesla’s second-quarter profit – over half of it, in fact – was attributed to the sale of these credits to rival automakers that use them to meet emissions rules, the Wall Street Journal reports. Sure, the money – which is pure profit – isn’t technically a subsidy, but Tesla is still very much benefitting from government programs that are aimed at aiding the development of electric vehicles.
This news is baked in a whole lot of irony considering Tesla CEO Elon Musk has long been in favor of eliminating government subsidies that encourage the development of EVs, and he has been pushing hard for former President Donald Trump to return to the White House.
It’s a small price to pay for saving the Earth.
It’s always been this way, hasn’t it? Without being able to sell indulgences, TSLA would go to the great charging station in the sky.
Was the original ad marked as parody like in the second link?
According to what I read earlier, the original tweet of the mock ad was clearly marked parody but Musk retweeted it without specifically noting it, so he is a Nazi in violation of his own rules.
Deceptively editing videos to make it look like Trump said the opposite of what is said is still ok I suppose.
Quoting him out of context to convince people he is a “one man, one vote, one time” Idi Amin wannabe is also acceptable.
Deceptive editing has been standard practice for both sides my whole life.
Trump just makes it easy because he’s a professional bullshit artists who say outrageous things to get a rise out of his opponents.
Thanks for sharing your book with us UnCiv.
You’re welcome.
Fuck the Olympics.
Two transgender boxers cleared to compete in 2024 Olympics despite being disqualified in 2023
I hear they’re favored to win the gold in the Inflicting Permanent Brain Damage on the Fairer Sex competition.
It’d be a good plot for a wacky ‘80’s type comedy if it wasn’t real.
Punch her in the nuts!
Seriously, he can win gold in women’s boxing by having every woman he faces disqualified for punching him in the nuts repeatedly until the ref calls it. Were I the ref that would be, maybe 8-10-15 times.
If the nuts are off limits, how about the Adam’s apple?
It’s never women that want to fight in the same weight category as men.
Which is weird since Marvel shows how easy it is for a 105 lb female to throw 250-lb male across the room.
Can’t you be disqualified from Olympic boxing for hitting your opponent too hard? Or am I thinking about taekwondo?
It’s been decades, but I recall there being some knockouts in Olympic boxing.
Olympic boxing refs are rules are idiotic. Probably the last year its an event.
Best President ever
Musk started feeling he was being snubbed out of plans in August 2021, when the president hosted an event with three major car companies: General Motors, Ford Motor, and Chrysler parent Stellantis.
Musk and Tesla were excluded from the event.
Tesla and Musk were allegedly kept off the invited list for these events because Tesla is the only major US car manufacturer without unionized factory workers.
Biden officials did not want to ruffle the feathers of the United Auto Workers union, which leaned on the White House to keep its distance from Musk, people familiar with the matter told the Washington Post.
Politics uber alles.
It was very obvious that was happening. Such an F You to an American success story. “The Great Uniter.”
There are those ‘people familiar with the matter’ again. Geez, they sure get around a lot.
Bigger, longer, uncut!
https://www.wsj.com/politics/elections/how-elon-musk-broke-with-biden-and-the-democrats-4960b7d8?st=355opm21ho71lqi&reflink=desktopwebshare_permalink
Hobgoblin, off the starboard bow
Thanks to the artificial intelligence boom, new data centers are springing up as quickly as companies can build them. This has translated into huge demand for power to run and cool the servers inside. Now concerns are mounting about whether the U.S. can generate enough electricity for the widespread adoption of AI, and whether our aging grid will be able to handle the load.
“If we don’t start thinking about this power problem differently now, we’re never going to see this dream we have,” said Dipti Vachani, head of automotive at Arm. The chip company’s low-power processors have become increasingly popular with hyperscalers like Google, Microsoft, Oracle and Amazon — precisely because they can reduce power use by up to 15% in data centers.
What about the EV fast chargers on every corner? Have they been run over by the market?
whether our aging grid will be able to handle the load.
STEVE AM HERE TO PROVIDE STRESS TESTING.
Haven’t we been spending hundreds of billions of dollars on “infrastructure”? How could the grid have been left out?
Energy bad! Bike paths good!
Not “shovel ready” enough.
I am a dumbass. I have been asking for years…can someone explain to me exactly in detail what ‘shovel ready’ means?
It means ready to be buried in a memory hole and forgotten, once the money is divided up.
When the neighbor’s GSD does a job in your front yard.
Ready to be buried.
e.g. Joe Biden.
I remember the Obama infrastructure money….a lot of people got very very rich and we got new road signs.
Is anyone else already a bit sick of Estee Palti? I of course assume that some of that is actually Kamala’s fault.
Who?
The Kamala Harris impersonatrix.
I saw the one video and that was enough. I didn’t even look to see who it was.
She’s really good, the problem is I don’t want to hear either the real or the fake Kamala talking.
She and that Trump impersonator should make a porn together.
I guess we know what TOK’s fetish is.
Joke’s on you, I have all the fetishes.
Orange and Black for Hallowe’en? It certainly sounds scary!