I burned a LOT of tokens over the last 36 hours using Qwen. Which Qwen? 3.5 2B, 3.5 4B, 3.6 35B A3B, 3.5 122B A10B, 3.7 Pro, 3.7 Max, and Embedding. There have been some changes:
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It’s now a 4-GPU setup, with 96GB in 3x Radeon Pro v620s and then 12GB in an RX 6700XT; I had to run a riser to mount my SAS card for LTO because all the slots are blocked
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I’m running 122B (now at a much better quant), 4B, and Embedding all at the same time now for different roles. I also call out to Openrouter for 3.7 Pro and 3.7 Max on occasion
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It took this long to really get caching sorted out to the point that it’s pretty transparent and we don’t have spurious prefill; basically, use –cache-ram with a big value (I use 32768), –cache-idle-slots, –kv-unified, and set a very high number of checkpoints, like one for every 2048 or even 1024k of context; suddenly, you just don’t evict or prefill any longer
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I should have done this before but it took until now to wire Syncthing up to keep a copy of the Openclaw workspace on my main system, where I now also act on it as a project with Kilocode
All of this to say… yeah, my job is still basically AI, and my home life is basically AI, and I spent all weekend hanging out with AI, and even had to avoid the temptation to get irritated when Qwen 3.7 Max wouldn’t loosen up because it read in USER.md that I like models to be concise and efficient.
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Americans may get irritated with people of other nationalities but we don’t hate them.
We tend to reserve hate for other Americans, because they’re the competition—we know very well that any American we know will shiv us in the back for a dollar, no matter how much we think we like them and they like us, and it makes us salty.
Why don’t most Americans do that to foreigners? I don’t know, but we don’t. We tend to do it most to each other.
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I had a whole pile of things flash through my mind today as “I ought to post that” things, but here at end of the day, it’s unclear what any of them were.
But the nature of modern life is that none of it matters anyway. Someday it will matter again, and that day will be both wonderful and also full of dire suffering.
But whatever. Sunday night.
I don’t know how many of these I still have. Some nights I feel like it’s 10 or something. Other nights I’m not so dire.
But it’s funny how you sort of know your whole life that the die is cast.
I won’t be the guy that lives to a ripe old age. How do I know? I just do. I’ve always known. I don’t know how.