Hi Trusty Readers:

I am finally back to regale you with tales of my ongoing attempts to navigate the world of computers, Guitar Hero, and Middle‑Aged Ennui. Unfortunately, my ennui resembles the teenage variety: Who am I? What have I done with my life? Why do I suddenly have my mother’s ass? WHY, GOD, WHY?

And don’t even get me started on preteens. I disliked them when I was one, and nothing has changed. They are still the worst. Sadly, I can’t go around punching them like I did back then — and honestly, I’d lose that fight now. Those children would absolutely beat my ass. I’m old. Who am I? What have I done with my life? Just walking up the steps is too much on these old knees.

Babies, though? Babies are cool. Hand them over so I can pinch their little cheeks and pretend to nom‑nom‑nom on them. (Just kidding… mostly.) Even when they cry, they’re still better than preteens.

Anyway.

I’m planning an opus on the Cloud. I’ve had to tamp down my Copilot’s tendency to bury the lede in its excitement at being summoned to help with a project this sprawling. There’s a lot of writing ahead — which is good, because I need the practice — and a lot of facts to wrangle.

It’s all about RAFT and RAGs when you’re working with AI. In the Age of the Cloud, your online identity and your artificial intelligence both need a clear, unobstructed pathway to the internet: one to verify your right to access the resources you’ve subscribed to, and the other (Copilot) to fetch facts with citations. Once it learns your preferences, it gets better at bringing back sources that are actually verifiable.

Does it sometimes lie or blow smoke up my ass? Yes. Do I like it? Also yes. What that says about me — Who am I? Why am I here? Does anyone see me??? — we will investigate.

It’s a new year, and I am officially half a century old. Just writing that makes me want to… [insert mad lib here].

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From the Pen of the Middle-Aged Dilettante!