Just walked in the front door after work. My 5 year old son ran to greet me. "Hi dad!" he said excitedly. As he went to hug me, I grabbed his shoulders and said, "Bud, I think you're overestimating the value of human relationships. I read that in a Substack today. Everything is different now. I mean - it was different before, but it's super different now." He blinked, clutching a plastic dinosaur. I couldn't believe it. Attachment to physical objects in a post-digital era. I gently rotated him toward the hallway mirror. “Look,” I continued, “do you see that reflection? That’s legacy hardware. Carbon-based. High latency. Limited processing power." As I kicked off my shoes, my 3 year old daughter came running up to me with a drawing she made in preschool this morning. She was glowing. Beaming. “Look, Daddy! I made this for you!” I glanced at it and explained that Nano Banana one-shotted her entire effort. Her job prospects were hopeless if she didn't understand this. “Sweetie,” I said gently, kneeling down, “this crayon sun? It’s 2022. Nano Banana can generate 100,000 emotionally resonant suns before you finish saying ‘primary colors.’ You need API access.” She asked what an API was. “Exactly,” I said, standing up. The crying started around then. Very emotional household. Understandable. They hadn't read *the essay.* My wife heard the children crying in the foyer and came to check on us. "I don't understand what's happening here, but why don't we sit down for dinner and talk about this?" she asked. "I made chicken pot pies!" “Dinner? Your contribution to a world where Amex and Mastercard are heading to zero by 2028 is DINNER?!” I started laughing. “Uh yeah…” I explained: “Cooking is a pre-Claude activity. Do you realize I can vibecode a functional DoorDash competitor in about 8 minutes now? It's all right there in the Substack.” As the kids continued sobbing, my wife looked at me in disbelief. “Okay, okay. Maybe it would take me 15 minutes to spin up a functional Doordash competitor,” I conceded. “Payments integration can be annoying.” She asked if I was feeling alright. “Better than alright,” I said. “I’ve seen the roadmap. I've read the Substack.” I gestured broadly at the house: “This? This is a future data center. The hugs? Deprecated. The drawings? Automatable. The chicken pot pies? Disrupted.” My wife folded her arms. “You used to like chicken pot pies.” “That was before I could prompt at a few hundred words per minute,” I said.