Joy & Curiosity #79

Interesting & joyful things from the previous week

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Is software turning into a liquid?

It never was a solid, true. Pure thought stuff, as Fred Brooks wrote. But even that pure thought stuff felt more tangible than what software is turning into, did it not? Software had corners and edges: releases and version numbers. This is a piece of software, it’s done, one could say. A long time ago, software even came in boxes. Sometimes it had a printed manual.

Now ChatGPT writes tens or hundreds of lines of Python to resize images, create a PDF, or extract data from a CSV — and then throws it away, without anyone even having seen the code. An agent like OpenClaw will create a little script to check whether I turned off all the lights in the house. Nothing to throw away, because it was never stored in a file.

There is now so much code out there, appearing and disappearing as needed, that putting version numbers on it seems as futile as naming waves in the ocean.

Is this what most software is going to be? Nameless, shapeless? Created just in time?

A good friend of mine works at a company that shoots into and operates things in space. This week he told me that they’re required to record how much torque they use to tighten bolts and screws. There are torque-recording wrenches you can buy, but they cost $25k a pop. Maybe it was $15k, not sure, but it was an outrageous number. So outrageous that someone on his team thought “nuh-uh” and went out and bought Bluetooth-enabled torque wrenches for $1k — far cheaper in this comparison. Then that teammate, who’s not a programmer, used an agent to vibe-code a piece of software to talk to the torque wrenches via Bluetooth and record the data in the spreadsheet he uses. He tested it a few times to make sure it worked as it should and then, well, went to work. Tens of thousands of dollars saved.

Now that was a piece of software, right? One could even put a name on it: TorqueThis v0.0.1, or something. But I said to my friend, one could also imagine that in the future, say in a year, even that won’t be a piece anymore. Doesn’t it seem possible that in a year you can say to your agent: hey, I’m holding this Bluetooth-enabled torque wrench in my hand, I have this spreadsheet open, write some code that records the torque whenever I say “now” and adds it as a new row in column D of that spreadsheet.

And code will appear, do its things while you do your thing, and then it’ll disappear. Drip drip drip, it goes into every nook and cranny and then, job done, it evaporates.