Tag: Tesla

Categories
Cars Design Honda

The Shape of Fear

There’s a red-and-silver Honda CRX that shows up in a parking lot near a park I walk regularly. Not always — it’s not a daily thing — but often enough that I’ve started to look for it. When it’s there, I stop. I stare longer than a car deserves. I’ve owned other Hondas. I never owned this model, and by the time I could have, I was a family man, and a two-door coupe with a back seat that barely qualifies as a suggestion wasn’t a thing you brought home. That’s still true. I still love it anyway.

For a long time I thought the pull was nostalgia — an artifact from a specific decade doing what artifacts from specific decades do, standing in for the whole era around them. But nostalgia doesn’t usually make you stop walking.

Something more specific was going on, and I only located it recently, looking at a rendering of Tesla’s Cybercab: the same silhouette. Not the same car, not the same era, not the same anything except the one thing that matters most in a side profile — the roofline. Low nose, a peak over the front seats, one continuous downward sweep to a short, cropped tail. No break at the B-pillar to speak of. Glass that continues the line of the roof instead of interrupting it.

Two cars, forty years apart, arriving at the identical answer to a formal problem. That’s the kind of coincidence that isn’t really a coincidence — it’s a shape that keeps getting rediscovered whenever the constraints line back up.

The Cybercab gets there because there’s no driver’s compartment to package around, no B-pillar structure fighting for space, nothing back there to make room for. The roofline can just fall away because there’s nothing left to interrupt it.

The CRX got there from the opposite direction — not by subtraction of function but by subtraction of everything else. Weight. Drag. Ornament.

What I didn’t expect, going looking, was how much fear was baked into that shape.

The CRX wasn’t dreamed up in some skunkworks with time to spare. It came out of what Honda’s own people described, at the time, as something close to an image crisis — the third-generation Civic was about to launch into a market with sharper competitors than the last one, and the man responsible for small-car development at Honda R&D was worried the company’s whole small-car identity was aging out from under it. The response was billed internally as a kind of renaissance, and the CRX was its opening statement — not a side project, but the leading edge of an “all-out attack.”

The person who actually shaped it, Hiroshi Kizawa, had already put his career on the line once, on the original Civic — a car he believed Honda’s future as a real manufacturer depended on. He came back and did it again, smaller and stranger this time: a two-seat coupe, under 900 kilograms, wrapped in plastic body panels molded in-house, chosen partly because they could someday be recycled — Honda thinking, in 1981, about what happened to the car after its life was over, which is its own small strangeness worth sitting with.

The reception at home was lukewarm in a way I find almost endearing now. One Japanese trade magazine at the time called it a dehydrated Camaro with some boy-racer posturing, allowing that it might not be beautiful but was at least likeable. That’s a strange epitaph for a car I’d call one of the most purely resolved shapes of its decade. But maybe that’s how it goes with real design — the people closest to it, watching it get made under pressure, can’t yet see what it will look like from forty years out, parked in a lot, still stopping people who weren’t even born when it launched.

Less than six months after the CRX reached showrooms, Honda started work on what would eventually become the NSX. The unglamorous little economy coupe, born from institutional anxiety and injection-molded plastic, turned out to be the warm-up act for the most serious sports car the company would ever build. Fear, it turns out, is not a bad place to start, if the people afraid of it are good enough to turn it into something worth being afraid for.

Which makes me think of Ferrari’s own version of this moment, playing out right now. Their first electric car, the Luce, is exactly the kind of institutional fear the CRX was born from — a company that has to prove it still belongs to the future, using a technology it didn’t choose. And where Honda answered that fear with a shape, a single unbroken line that turned scarcity into style, Ferrari answered it with a four-door liftback, roomy and glassy and, by most early accounts, nobody’s idea of a Ferrari silhouette. I wish they’d gone the other way. I wish somebody at Maranello had looked at what a wedge does when you strip a car down to its constraints — no engine bay to hide, no B-pillar to interrupt, nothing left but the line from nose to tail — and had the nerve to make the Luce look like it was afraid of something, the way the CRX clearly was.

I think about that shape differently now — not as a wedge from the eighties, and not as a preview of some robotaxi’s rendering either, but as a shape that seems to arrive whenever a design team is left with almost nothing to hide behind. No engine bay to speak of. No back seat to protect. No driver at all, in one case. What’s left, both times, is the same honest line — nose to tail, unbroken — and I wonder what it says that the shape survives every reason for making it, outlasting the fear and the plastic and the market anxieties that produced it, showing up again decades later for reasons nobody involved the first time could have guessed.

Categories
Design Technology

The Battery That Refused to Leave

A standard AA battery is 50.5 millimeters long and 14.5 millimeters in diameter. It produces 1.5 volts. It weighs roughly twenty-three grams, about as much as a sheet of paper folded twice. In a Costco bulk pack, forty-eight of them together weigh a little over a kilogram — the heft of a hardcover book, or a decent cantaloupe. Most people buy them without thinking much about it. They go in the cart the way paper towels go in the cart.

The size has been in continuous production since 1907, when the American Ever Ready Company first manufactured it for use in early penlights. For the first four decades of its existence, the AA battery was what might be called an informal standard — widely used, commonly understood, but not officially codified. That changed in 1947, when the American National Standards Institute fixed the dimensions and voltage in writing. The naming convention itself had come earlier, out of a series of meetings in the 1920s between government officials and battery manufacturers who were trying to bring order to a proliferating market. They began with A for the smallest practical cell, then moved outward — B, C, D — for larger sizes. When smaller cells were needed later, the alphabet doubled back on itself: AA, AAA, AAAA. Running out of letters in both directions is its own kind of history.

What the standards committee built, whether they thought of it this way or not, was a commons. The word is precise. A commons is something no one owns and everyone can use — a pasture, a fishery, a language. The AA battery became a commons of power. Any battery from any manufacturer, made to the specification, would work in any device built to receive it. The chemistry inside could vary — zinc-carbon, alkaline, lithium, nickel-metal hydride — but the housing stayed the same. No license was required. No negotiation. A manufacturer building a flashlight in 1965 did not need to solve the battery problem. A company making a remote control in 1985 did not need to negotiate with a power supplier. The relationship between a device and its energy source belonged to no one, which meant it was available to everyone.

In 1959, an Eveready scientist developed the first commercially available alkaline AA, which lasted five to eight times longer than the zinc-carbon version it was designed to replace. The devices followed the power. Transistor radios. Portable tape players. Handheld games. Cameras. Each decade brought a new category of device that found the AA battery waiting for it, already standardized, already available at every drugstore and grocery checkout lane in the country. The commons kept growing because the commons was free to enter.

Apple, eventually, decided the idea was wrong.

The iPhone, introduced in 2007, had no user-replaceable battery. Neither did any iPod before it, any iPad after it, any MacBook, any AirPod, any Apple Watch. The power source in an Apple product is sealed inside the device, charged through Apple’s own cables and connectors, managed by Apple’s own software. This is not a cost-cutting measure or an engineering compromise. Apple’s products cost more than their competitors’, not less, and the sealed battery is part of what justifies the price. The company’s founding argument — refined over decades, made explicit in every product announcement — is that hardware and software and power, designed together and optimized together, produce a better result than any open standard can achieve. The AA battery asks nothing of you except that you insert it correctly. Apple has decided that is insufficient.

Tesla arrived at a similar conclusion by a different route. Where Apple sealed the power source to improve the user experience, Tesla sealed it to own the energy relationship entirely. The Supercharger network — Tesla’s proprietary charging infrastructure, built out across highways and cities at enormous expense — is not interoperable with other electric vehicles, or was not for most of its history. A Tesla charges at a Tesla station. The battery chemistry, the cell format, the thermal management, the software that governs charging and discharge — all of it is developed in-house, at Tesla’s gigafactories, for Tesla’s vehicles. The company has spent more time and money thinking about batteries than almost any organization outside of a national laboratory. But the battery it produces is not a commodity. It belongs to the car. The car belongs to Tesla’s ecosystem. The customer belongs there too.

Both companies are making a version of the same argument: that the future of technology is integrated, that the best products are closed products, that power should be managed rather than swapped. They have built that future, or a version of it, for the customers who can afford to live inside it.

Warren Buffett, in 2014, bought the thing neither of them wanted.

Berkshire Hathaway’s acquisition of Duracell from Procter & Gamble was structured as a stock swap — Berkshire exchanged its $4.7 billion stake in P&G for full ownership of the battery company, recapitalized with $1.8 billion in cash. The tax advantages were real and significant; Berkshire had held the P&G shares since the company’s acquisition of Gillette in 2005, and the cost basis was $336 million. A cash sale would have produced a substantial capital gains bill. The swap avoided that. Buffett is attentive to such things.

But the more durable rationale was simpler. Buffett has spent sixty years looking for businesses that are easy to understand, that generate predictable cash, that sell something people buy out of habit. See’s Candy. GEICO. Coca-Cola. The common thread is not glamour but persistence — products whose value proposition does not need to be reinvented, whose customers return not because they have been excited but because they have been satisfied, reliably, for a long time. Duracell has twenty-five percent of the global battery market. It has been the category leader for decades. The people who buy it at Costco are not making a considered choice between competing technologies. They are buying what they have always bought.

The Costco pack of forty-eight is, in Buffett’s framework, infrastructure. Not the infrastructure of data centers or power grids — the quiet infrastructure of daily life, the kind that gets restocked when the supply runs low and otherwise goes unnoticed. Smoke detectors. Remote controls. Children’s toys. Wireless computer mice. Clocks on kitchen walls. The devices that run on AA batteries are not going away, and the economics of replacing them — not just the devices but the habits, the muscle memory, the universal availability of the standard — are formidable. Buffett is not betting that the AA battery will conquer the future. He is betting that it will remain in the present for a very long time.

Two different visions of where technology is going, then, expressed in the form of capital allocation. Apple and Tesla have built sealed ecosystems and asked their customers to enter. Buffett bought the battery for the people who haven’t. The AA cell, fifty millimeters long and fourteen and a half millimeters wide, 1.5 volts, unchanged in its dimensions since a group of manufacturers met in the 1920s to agree on something everyone could use — it sits at the back of a kitchen drawer in most houses in America, waiting for the smoke detector to chirp.

Categories
AI Business SpaceX

Overcoming Limiting Factors: Orbital Data Centers & The Optimus Era

One of my favorite persons to follow on X is @pbeisel (Phil Beisel). He’s quite active sharing his thoughts about many of the same topics I’m interested in: technology, AI, robotics, computing, etc. Phil’s written a series of great articles about Tesla Full Self Driving, Optimus, etc. that are well worth spending time with.

On Saturdays, he get together on YouTube with Randy Kirk and they talk about what’s interesting from the last week – often that’s got something to do with various aspects of the “Musk-conomy” – the various companies of Elon Musk.

This week’s edition reviews Phil’s distillation of the Cheeky Pint interview with Elon published earlier this week. As usual, Phil’s comments add additional insights into the topic.

When I begin viewing a long YouTube video, I also like an accompanying summary that I can follow along. YouTube now has the ability to generate these summaries but I’ve got a custom Gem prompt that I prefer to use instead which tailors the results a bit more to my liking.

Below, for example, is the summary of this week’s conversation between Phil and Randy that was generated by Gemini Pro 3:

Executive Summary: The Musk “Musconomy” Convergence

The central thesis of the discussion is that Elon Musk is moving toward a total vertical integration of his companies (Tesla, SpaceX, and xAI) to overcome terrestrial “limiting factors” and dominate both the physical and digital manifestation of AI.

1. The “Limiting Factor” Philosophy [11:20]

  • Problem-Solving Framework: Musk focuses personal time and resources strictly on the “limiting factor” of any given project—currently identified as compute power and energy.
  • Vertical Integration: To bypass supply chain bottlenecks (e.g., turbine blades for power plants), Musk is opting to manufacture raw materials and components in-house rather than relying on external catalogs [18:18].

2. Orbital Data Centers: The Space “Escape Hatch” [24:19]

  • Energy Constraints: Terrestrial data centers are hitting a wall due to slow public utilities and permitting [15:26].
  • The Vision: Moving inference-based data centers to orbit using a constellation of satellites connected by optical laser links.
  • Economic Viability: Musk projects economic viability for space-based data centers within 30–36 months, with reusability of the Starship being the primary hurdle [25:03].
  • Strategic Advantage: Unlike Google or Meta, Musk owns the “kilogram-to-space” delivery mechanism, potentially forcing competitors to rent capacity from SpaceX [32:19].

3. Optimus and the “Abundance Engine” [39:00]

  • Physical Dexterity: Musk is prioritizing high-dexterity actuators designed in-house to achieve human-level utility [40:30].
  • Training Scale: Tesla is moving toward training Optimus in “gymnasiums” using 10,000–30,000 bots working 24/7 to develop “composable” skills (basic movements) and “decomposable” skills (complex tasks) [55:13].
  • Impact: Optimus is viewed as a paradigm-shifting product that will redefine global GDP by decoupling labor from human constraints [54:56].

4. xAI: The Digital Control Plane [56:19]

  • The “Brain” Portability: xAI is viewed as the “orchestration AI” for the entire fleet of Musk’s physical assets (Starships, Teslas, and Optimus) [59:01].
  • Unified Interface: The vision includes a seamless “digital personality” or movable brain that follows the user from their phone to their car to their home robot [01:00:15].

Key Projections & Timelines

Objective Target/Detail Timestamp SpaceX IPO Likely to happen before a Tesla merger to attract cheap capital [03:31] Solar Scaling Aiming for a 300x increase (100 gigawatts/year) [22:21] Starship Reusability remains the “unlock” for space-based AI economics [25:51]

Conclusion: The “Musconomy” is transitioning from separate ventures into a singular entity where SpaceX provides infrastructure, Tesla provides the physical bodies, and xAI provides the intelligence.

Categories
Business

The Geometry of Focus: Finding the Limiting Factor

In the modern landscape of high-stakes management, there is a recurring temptation to solve everything at once. We are taught to optimize across the board—to improve efficiency by 2% here, 5% there—until the entire machine hums. But in a recent conversation with John Collison and Dwarkesh Patel, Elon Musk repeatedly returned to a single, almost obsessive mantra: the “limiting factor.”

It is a deceptively simple phrase. It suggests that at any given moment, there is one specific bottleneck that dictates the speed of the entire enterprise. If you aren’t working on that, you aren’t really moving the needle. You are merely polishing stuff.

“I think people are going to have real trouble turning on like the chip output will exceed the ability to turn chips on… the current limiting factor that I see… in the one-year time frame it’s energy power production.”

Musk’s management technique is not about broad oversight; it is about a radical, almost violent prioritization. He looks at the timeline—one year, three years, ten years—and asks: What is the wall we are about to hit? Right now, it might be the availability of GPUs. In twelve months, it might be the physical gigawatts of electricity required to plug them in. In thirty-six months, it might be the thermal constraints of Earth’s atmosphere, necessitating a move to space.

This approach requires a high “pain threshold.” To solve a limiting factor, you often have to lean into acute, short-term struggle to avoid the chronic, slow death of stagnation. John Collison noted this during the interview:

“Most people are willing to endure any amount of chronic pain to avoid acute pain… it feels like a lot of the cases we’re talking about are just leaning into the acute pain… to actually solve the bottleneck.”

For many leaders, the “limiting factor” is often something they aren’t even looking at because it lies outside their perceived domain. A software CEO might think their limit is talent, when it’s actually the speed of their internal decision-making. A manufacturer might think it’s raw materials, when it’s actually the morale of the factory floor.

To manage by the limiting factor is to admit that 90% of what you could be doing is a distraction. It is a philosophy of subtraction and focus. It demands that we stop asking “What can we improve?” and start asking “What is stopping us from being ten times larger?” Once you identify that wall, you throw every resource you have at it until it crumbles. And then—and this is the part that requires true stamina—you immediately go looking for the next wall.

By focusing on the one thing that matters, we stop being busy and start being effective. We stop managing the status quo and start engineering what may feel like the impossible.

Categories
AI Robotics

Breaking the Glass: When Intelligence enters the Physical World

For the last forty years, our relationship with digital intelligence has been trapped behind glass. From the beige box of the personal computer to the sleek slab of the iPhone, we have accessed information through a window. We stare at intelligence; it stares back, passive and disembodied. We ask it questions, and it flashes text on a screen. But it has no hands. It has no agency. It cannot pour a glass of water or comfort a child.

As Phil Beisel astutely notes, we are standing on the precipice of a profound phase shift:

“Optimus marks the moment intelligence leaves the screen and enters the physical world at scale.”

This isn’t just about a “better robot.” It is the convergence of three exponential curves crashing into one another: AI software capability, custom silicon efficiency, and electromechanical dexterity. When you multiply these factors, you don’t just get a machine; you get a new category of being. We are moving from “compressed book learning”—the LLMs that can write poetry but can’t lift a pencil—to embodied intelligence that understands physics, gravity, and fragility.

The Pluribus Moment

The philosophical implication of this transition is staggering. We are building a “Pluribus” entity—a hive mind where individual learning becomes collective capability instantly.

In the human world, if I learn to play the violin, you do not. I must teach you, and you must struggle for years to master it. In the world of Optimus, if one unit learns to solder a circuit or perform a specific surgery, the entire fleet learns it overnight. The friction of skill transfer drops to zero.

The End of Scarcity

Elon Musk calls this the “infinite money glitch,” a sterile economic term for what is actually a humanitarian revolution: the decoupling of labor from human time. If the machine can replicate human movement and action 24/7, the cost of labor effectively trends toward zero. We often fear this as “replacement,” but looked at through a lens of abundance, it is the collapse of scarcity.

We are watching the birth of a world where the physical limitations that have defined the human condition—exhaustion, injury, the slow grind of mastering a craft—are solved by a proxy that we built. Intelligence is no longer a ghost in the machine; it is the machine itself, walking among us, ready to work.

Categories
Business China

Innovations from the Automotive Sector

I’ve been listening to the latest podcast from Dwarfish Patel in which he’s interviewing Arthur Kroeber (“China’s Manufacturing Dominance: State Directives & Ruthless Competition“).

One of the topics discussed is how “China recognized that pretty much every other country that had gotten rich had done so in large part by building up an automotive industry that then served as the mechanism for creating innovations in other sectors. … They said, “We have to have a big auto industry. This is one of the key industries that we have to support.””

Kroeber goes on to describe how China opened up to enabling 50/50 joint ventures between Chinese auto companies and foreign auto manufacturers.

While that worked initially, eventually it became clear that to really enable globally competitive auto manufacturing in China there had to be another solution.

That solution was allowing Tesla to come into China in 2018 and build a Gigafactory in Shanghai. In so doing, China allowed a globally competitive auto manfacturer (Tesla) to effectively compete with local Chinese companies and, in so doing, create the need for those local Chinese companies to compete much more effectively with a global player like Tesla.

It’s a fascinating story. One of the other discussions in the early part of the interview involves how the U.S. might consider doing that in reverse – allowing Chinese companies to come into the U.S. market and through competition educate American companies so that they improve their globally competitive position. Politically impossible in the current climate – but an obvious idea based upon the Chinese experience.

Categories
Stuff

Humanoid Robots

A couple of YouTubers I enjoy watching are very upbeat about the prospects for humanoid robots in our future. They talk of massive markets ahead for these creatures. Elon talks about Tesla becoming the biggest revenue company on the planet based on sales of Tesla’s Optimus robots.

Count me skeptical. I’m a big believer in purpose built robots for specific tasks. A couple of years ago I spent a few hours in an Amazon Fulfillment Center in Tracy, California and got to see a whole fleet of industrial robots helping automate that facility and speed shipments to customers. Years before that I toured the Tesla factory in Fremont, California and saw big industrial robots maneuvering car parts around on the factory floor. Those kinds of robots make lots of sense to me.

But humanoid robots? Maybe there’s a market but I suspect there’s too much optimism about the size of that market. After all, do you want or need a humanoid robot driving your car?