The following diagram illustrates my point.
Why is there nothing contagious that’s good? Like something that lets you jump higher for a few days, or play piano.
You mean life? Or memes (in the Dawkins sense of the word)?
The programmer, who needs clarity, who must talk all day to a machine that demands declarations, hunkers down into a low-grade annoyance. It is here that the stereotype of the programmer, sitting in a dim room, growling from behind Coke cans, has its origins. The disorder of the desk, the floor; the yellow Post-it notes everywhere; the whiteboards covered with scrawl: all this is the outward manifestation of the messiness of human thought. The messiness cannot go into the program; it piles up around the programmer.
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