I’m Firas Abu-Hmeidan.
Linux nerd by choice, retro gaming addict, part-time car mechanic (by necessity, not choice),
full-time IT guy who somehow also does graphic design, video editing, web dev — all before lunch.
This blog is my outlet. I write about the things I actually care about: Linux setups, old games that still slap, tech that improves life, and the chaos of working IT in a small business where I’m the guy people call for literally everything — from resetting passwords to unclogging printers with a screwdriver.
I also talk about the stuff I tinker with — DIY projects, modding my car, diving trips, off-roading adventures, and occasionally ranting about countries I’ve traveled to (the good, the bad, and the weird).
If you’re into real talk, no fluff, and side quests that sometimes turn into main quests… you’re in the right place. Enjoy!
Older games hit harder not because we were younger, but because they had less room to waste our time. They relied on tighter design, stronger atmosphere, real challenge, and actual identity instead of drowning players in bloat, hand-holding, and monetized nonsense. Modern games may be bigger, but older games were sharper, stranger, and far more memorable.
I paid flagship money for a phone I use like a walkie-talkie. Calls. Maps. End of story. Everything else is expensive decoration pretending to be essential. The specs aren’t for my life, they’re for marketing slides. At that point, a dumb phone isn’t a downgrade. It’s just refusing to keep funding bullshit.
Training exists to compensate for bad design. The more time you spend explaining a system, the more that system has already failed. People already know how browsers work.
There was a time when saying “Bethesda” actually meant something. Now, I have no idea what the hell are they doing.
Fallout 4 is a gem. Not flawless, not shiny, but a gem that glows with grime and ambition. And buried inside it, deeper than most players ever dare to go, is a smaller, meaner gem: Survival mode.