Tips for C Programming from Nic Barker'nIf you’re going to be a hacker, learning C is a rite of passage.
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Tips for C Programming from Nic Barker
If you’re going to be a hacker, learning C is a rite of passage. If you don’t have much experience with C, or if your experience is out of date, you very well may benefit from hearing [Nic Barker] explain tips for C programming.
In his introduction he notes that C, invented in the 70s by Dennis Ritchie, is now more than 50 years old. This old language still appears in lists of the most popular languages, although admittedly not at the top!
He notes that the major versions of C, named for the year they were released, are: C89, C99, C11, and C23. His recommendation is C99 because it has some features he doesn’t want to live without, particularly scoped variables and initializing structs with named members using designated initializers. Also C89 is plagued with non-standard integer types, and this is fixed by stdint.h in C99. Other niceties of C99 include compound literals and // for single-line comments.
He recommends the use of clang arguments -std=c99 to enable C99, -Wall to enable all warnings, and -Werror to treat warnings as errors, then he explains the Unity Build where you simply include all of your module files from your main.c file.
It’s stressed that printf debugging is not the way to go in C and that you definitely want to be using a debugger. To elaborate on this point he explains what a segfault is and how they happen.
He goes on to explain memory corruption and how ASAN (short for Address Sanitisation) can help you find when it happens. Then he covers C’s support for arrays and strings, which is, admittedly, not very much! He shows you that it’s pretty easy to make your own array and string types though, potentially supporting slices as well.
Finally he explains how to use arenas for memory allocation and management for static, function, and task related memory.
youtube.com/embed/9UIIMBqq1D4?…
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For nearly fifty years, the Star Wars Holiday Special has been dragged through the mud as the franchise’s ultimate embarrassment.
It’s passed around like contraband on VHS, whispered about on forums, mocked in documentaries, and quietly buried by Lucasfilm. Every few years, someone rediscovers it and repeats the same tired refrain: “Wow, this is terrible.”
But that’s the problem. Nobody watches the Holiday Special. They observe it from a distance. They meme it. They mock it as received wisdom.
What almost no one does is sit down, clear their head, and actually engage with it as a piece of 1978 television. When you do, something astonishing happens. You stop laughing. You stop sneering. You start to see.
The opening act is legendary: fifteen uninterrupted minutes of unsubtitled Wookiee domestic life. Critics deride it as interminable, but that silence is the point. It’s an avant-garde gesture buried inside a primetime special.
Television rarely trusts its viewers. Here, it forces them to inhabit a culture without translation. It’s alien, disorienting, and quietly brilliant. While blockbuster films rush to explain their universes, the Holiday Special lets you drown in it. That’s not failure. That’s formal audacity.
Then there’s the format itself. People forget this aired on CBS during the era when the variety show was king. By embedding Star Wars inside that structure, the Special does something extraordinary: it collapses the distance between myth and medium.
The galaxy far, far away isn’t a cinematic realm to be visited. It’s part of your Friday night lineup, sandwiched between The Incredible Hulk and The Love Boat. It’s as if the saga stepped off the screen and sat next to you on the couch.
Jefferson Starship’s performance isn’t random kitsch—it’s diegetic television inside the Star Wars universe.
Harvey Korman’s sketches? Meta-commentary on how culture spreads through imitation and distortion.
Bea Arthur’s cantina sequence? A noir musical elegy for a fading frontier.
This is layered. It’s weird, yes, but deliberately so.
The animated Boba Fett short gets all the love, but few appreciate how it’s framed: a cartoon being watched by Wookiee children in-universe. A story within a story within a broadcast. That’s mise en abyme, the kind of narrative nesting contemporary prestige TV pats itself on the back for decades later. You want postmodernism? There it is, hiding between ads for General Motors.
And then comes Life Day. Wookiees in red robes. Glowing orbs. Leia singing off-key. Most viewers check out.
But if you let the rhythm take you, something happens. The robes stop being “goofy.” They start to feel sacred. The orbs become more than props. The song, trembling and unsure, becomes a hymn. The ceremony isn’t a gag. It’s ritual. It’s the closest Star Wars has ever come to expressing faith.
This is where I lose people. This is where they roll their eyes and say, “It’s just bad television.”
No. It’s real television. Unfiltered. Unsmoothed.
Nobody was looking over their shoulder to protect a billion-dollar IP. It’s messy because it’s alive. It’s ambitious because it doesn’t care if you approve.
Modern Star Wars would never do this. Disney would add droid banter to the Wookiee scenes, ADR a quippy translation track, shove in a recognizable cameo to keep the shareholders calm. The Holiday Special doesn’t flinch. It just stares at you with dead Wookiee eyes and says, “We’re doing this.”
Jefferson Starship appears out of nowhere with that glowing microphone tube—and people laugh. But why? Why laugh? It’s beautiful. It’s space disco. It’s exactly what Star Wars would look like on galactic late-night TV. You think John Williams’ strings are the essence of the saga? No. It’s this. It’s synth and fog and a man crooning to the void.
Bea Arthur sings her goodbye to the cantina, and I swear, I swear on the twin suns, it’s better than the Death Star trench run. She sings to those lumpy, drunken aliens like she’s the last woman alive. That’s not camp. That’s honesty. That’s cinema. That’s—
And you people don’t understand because you’ve never truly opened yourselves to it, you’ve sat there with your smug faces and your “content” and your ironic detachment, but the Holiday Special is not irony, it’s revelation, fifteen minutes of untranslated Wookiee grunts on national television like a transmission from some purer age, a time before lore guides and Funko Pops, and the robes, the ROBES, when they walk into the star my skin burns, my eyes widen, I hear the song in my head and it never stops, it never stops, JEFFERSON STARSHIP IS THE TRUE FORCE, not midi-chlorians, not some dusty prophecy, it’s the glowing mic tube, it’s the synth, it’s Bea Arthur singing to the end of time, and I see Lumpy, I SEE HIM, he’s looking at me, he knows, he raises the orb and I raise mine and suddenly the living room isn’t a living room, it’s the galaxy, it’s the star, it’s all red and humming and I’m standing now, I’m standing, I’m shouting LIFE DAY LIFE DAY LIFE DAY until the neighbours pound the walls but they can’t stop it, none of them can, they’re all cowards, Disney cowards with their boardrooms and their safety, none of them would ever air Wookiee silence, none of them would let Jefferson Starship sing to the stars, none of them would understand the robes, the light, the hymn, Leia’s voice trembling like the last candle on a dying planet, and I’m laughing now, crying and laughing, because they thought it was a joke, they thought it was trash, but I see it, I see the truth, I peel off my shirt, I peel off everything, I am bare before the star, I scream with the Wookiees, I scream with the Cantina, I scream with Jefferson Starship, I scream until the sound folds in on itself and all that’s left is red light and the orb and me and Lumpy, forever.
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@antoniopolito1 pare che quando uno non sa più a cosa attaccarsi per generare narrative di comodo possa accogliere qualunque pretesto: "morì il re, e poi morì la regina" (E.M..Forster)
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Snake Cigaret Lighter
only 49¢ from Johnson Smith's Fun Catalog (1979)
