Does more visible work hold more value? What about hidden work that enables what's visible? Is 'impact' really the most true metric of the need and usefulness of work?

Blu-Ray beat HD-DVD because every PlayStation could play them. HD-DVD was arguably a better format, but better doesn't beat convenience and availability. You could buy a peripheral player to plug into your XBOX-360 but... come on. Who was going to do that.

Betamax was better quality than VHS. More robust, and smaller. But porn was only available on VHS, so game over.

MiniDisc was peerless. Smaller, more durable, and more versatile than CDs. It didn't matter though; people had already invested money into CD collections and the change wasn't big enough to make it worthwhile.

I wish I'd kept my MiniDisc player. The small inline remote with a screen, twist the end to change tracks, a small clip to go on a bag strap or jacket. Record music in mono to double the capacity, flip a small tab to prevent overwriting (a nice carryover from tapes).

OK, I'm off to eBay.

There is a trope in cycling that when things get really hard, a rider is suffering. I absolutely hate it.

Rides can be difficult; endurance, an all out effort, relentless weather, wind, or mechanical issues. The supposed suffering is self-imposed. The ride can end, be cut short, or you can just sit up and go easy until you see a cafe or a shop that can sell something sugar-packed and tasty. I've diverted to a train station to get home, added extra cafe stops, and during my first Etape du Tour, stop to sit in the shade to cool down.

People with no choice but to press on in the face of illness, migration, war... That's what suffering actually is. Not a tough bike on on an expensive triangle of carbon fibre, sometimes being given a medal at the end.

I've experienced this with making music and editing photos, I'm sure people who paint and draw have also: when do you know when you're done? When do you accept that a little extra tweak here and a change there isn't going to make things better?

I've been working on some generative 'art' using JavaScript canvas today, and I keep finding myself making little changes throughout the day, before undoing them and going back to where I was. I know that I'm at the point where it's best to ignore it for a couple of days and come back with fresher eyes, but apparently I don't know this well enough.

I never have this with writing, even on longer form technical posts. I write, I publish after one proof read. I don't look again. In fact, it's likely no one will ever read this.

As it's been 4 years since I last watched any (mens) football, I'd forgotten about players tendency fall on the floor in feigned agony at the slightest touch, only to get up and carry on once it's clear that the referee isn't going to call a foul.

I recognise that it's part of the game to try and gain any advantage possible, but this brushes a bit too close to cheating for me. And yet, I still find myself watching England during the World Cup every time.

New Presidents make their first 100 days in office a benchmark for success, pledging to enact headline policies quickly. It started with FDR whose bold plans for change meant his term began with a three month special session to pass laws designed to help turn around effects of the great depression.

JFK played down the significance of what could be done in 100 days, claiming that some things might never be accomplished but it's important is that we start.

I can't see that point of view being widely accepted in today's world of short attention spans and tribalism. Fast gratification over long term improvement is what gets people on side.

JFK also promised men on the moon by the end of the decade at a time when no one at NASA knew how to actually achieve it, pushing them to figure it out. There can be a benefit to limited time to make progress, but if it backfires someone ends up looking bad.

It's kind of remarkable how those same people wandering around the supermarket and standing in front of all the biscuits then go out to the car park and pilot a metal box back home.

Someone teaches you how to pass a test and the next day you can legally join hundreds of cars and trucks on the motorway having never been taught how slip roads and 4 lane highways work. At 17 years old.