<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Book Notes on Américo Dias</title><link>https://americo.dias.pt/tags/book-notes/</link><description>Recent content in Book Notes on Américo Dias</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 12 May 2026 09:34:09 +0100</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://americo.dias.pt/tags/book-notes/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Eight Things I Learned from The NVIDIA Way</title><link>https://americo.dias.pt/posts/nvidia-way-lessons/</link><pubDate>Mon, 11 May 2026 13:00:00 +0100</pubDate><guid>https://americo.dias.pt/posts/nvidia-way-lessons/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Reading &lt;em&gt;The NVIDIA Way&lt;/em&gt; is a throwback. In the late 1990s, I followed graphics card launches with the kind of attention most people reserve for sports scores. 3dfx, S3, Matrox, ATI. Brands that have long since disappeared, or been absorbed, or faded into irrelevance. Cards that felt legendary at the time: the Voodoo, the Voodoo2, the Banshee. The wars were real, the stakes felt enormous, and the gap between generations was wide enough that an upgrade genuinely transformed what your computer could do.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>