check web redirect url status code checker

Check server response of

Server response
NS records
Whois domain
Response headers
Request headers
Raw HTML code
301 Moved Permanently - v4l3.com
HTTP Status: 301
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 AppleWebKit/537.36 (KHTML, like Gecko; compatible; ClaudeBot/1.0; [email protected])
Connection: keep-alive
Content-Length: 162
Server: GitHub.com
Content-Type: text/html
Location: http://www.v4l3.com/
X-GitHub-Request-Id: 2E1E:E67AF:3E88D5D:3F1012F:6814B32C
Accept-Ranges: bytes
Age: 0
Date: Fri, 02 May 2025 11:57:33 GMT
Via: 1.1 varnish
X-Served-By: cache-hel1410028-HEL
X-Cache: MISS
X-Cache-Hits: 0
X-Timer: S1746187053.053654,VS0,VE117
Vary: Accept-Encoding
X-Fastly-Request-ID: 806c17a4f9351ece96c6214c9e8f8f2b887878cd

HTTP Code 301 Moved Permanently

301 http code means that the requested resource has been permanently moved to a new URL. All future requests should use the new address.

When is Code 301 used?

  • When changing a website domain
  • When modifying URL structures
  • When setting up redirects for SEO

What does Code 301 mean for the user?

The browser will automatically redirect the user to the new address, and search engines will update their indexes.

200 OK - http://www.v4l3.com/
HTTP Status: 200
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 AppleWebKit/537.36 (KHTML, like Gecko; compatible; ClaudeBot/1.0; [email protected])
Connection: keep-alive
Content-Length: 16042
Server: GitHub.com
Content-Type: text/html; charset=utf-8
Last-Modified: Mon, 15 Apr 2024 04:40:02 GMT
Access-Control-Allow-Origin: *
ETag: "661cafa2-3eaa"
expires: Fri, 02 May 2025 12:07:33 GMT
Cache-Control: max-age=600
x-proxy-cache: MISS
X-GitHub-Request-Id: E9DD:160695:3DD3F72:3E5B408:6814B32C
Accept-Ranges: bytes
Age: 0
Date: Fri, 02 May 2025 11:57:33 GMT
Via: 1.1 varnish
X-Served-By: cache-hel1410029-HEL
X-Cache: MISS
X-Cache-Hits: 0
X-Timer: S1746187053.264360,VS0,VE154
Vary: Accept-Encoding
X-Fastly-Request-ID: f5e7c8d418f7c918e750d9a12cdb9cce1becb91f

HTTP Code 200 OK

200 http code is a standard successful HTTP server response. It means that the client’s request (e.g., from a browser) was successfully processed, and the server is delivering the requested data.

When is Code 200 used?

  • When loading a web page
  • When successfully receiving an API response
  • When processing a form or another HTTP request

What does Code 200 mean for the user?

The user receives content without errors, and the page or application functions properly. If Code 200 is accompanied by data, the browser or program processes and displays it to the user.

GET / HTTP/1.1
Host: v4l3.com
Accept: */*
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 AppleWebKit/537.36 (KHTML, like Gecko; compatible; ClaudeBot/1.0; [email protected])

<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<body>
<head>
  <link rel="stylesheet" href="style.css">
</head>

<body>
<h1>anniversary</h1>
<p>Today marks the one year anniversary of me being discharged from a week-long stay in the psych ward. This year has been one of the hardest of my life, without doubt. Nobody tells you how difficult it is to recover from psychosis. Likely, because nobody tells you about psychosis. So I want to tell you about it.
<br>
<br>
I would not say my manic episode with psychosis was bound to happen, but I wouldn’t say it doesn’t make sense in retrospect. There was nothing incredibly odd about my life leading up to my episode. I was the same person I had always been: getting through my extensive to-do list, going to class, clocking in and out, facing microaggressions, running meetings, never missing a deadline, being there for and with my loved ones and going to bed to wake up to do it all over again the next day. I’d been under pressure my whole life. I thrived under pressure. People loved the version of me that never failed to impress under pressure. Was it inevitable that I would crack? There was loss and near-loss in my family that fall. But could grief break me? I am not the only person in my family to have had an episode like this one. Did chemical predisposition seal my fate? I sometimes think the apartment building across the street from my apartment building burning down was the point of no return. Maybe it’s a miracle it took this long for me to break down, but more on miracles later.
<br>
<br>
The truth is, all of these are likely factors that led to my episode. I couldn’t control the fire, the grief or the family history of mental illness. What I could have controlled is my approach to life. I thought that taking care of myself meant making sure I was alive: somewhat fed and relatively alert. I think I was very well aware that the standards of care I held for myself were not the standards of care I held for my loved ones. If my friends told me they were eating 2 meals (meals being a generous term) a day and sleeping 6 hours a night with virtually no free time, I would have been so worried. But it was me. I had always pushed myself and never reached a breaking point, so why not keep pushing? Well, life was ready to check that logic. And I would still try to skip the lesson.
<br>
<br>
I haven’t figured out the exact moment when the descent into madness began, but I do know that I stopped sleeping after the fire on December 6. Like I said, likely point of no return. If I talked, texted or emailed you (emphasis on emailed you) at any point in December, know that my neurons were firing in ways I cannot understand to this day. I was reaching out to people I hadn’t talked to in months or even years, many who were just acquaintances. I really cannot say why I reached out to the people I reached out to outside of the fact that I felt that they would understand what I was thinking about at the time: probability applied to the experiences of marginalized people. I’ll circle back to that. Anyway, I could spend several paragraphs just on that week of December 6: missing every single final exam for the quarter, starting the wildest email chain I’ve ever seen, not a moment of rest, sobbing uncontrollably while staring out of my living room to the burned down apartment building, emailing a poem to every single one of my mathematics professors (and some physics and computer science professors for good measure), deciding I could predict the world through probability, the campus police being sent to my door, professing my previously unbeknownst (even to myself) love for someone I hadn’t spoken to properly in months (SZA dropped SOS on December 9, the universe set me up) and being so convinced that I would be able to predict the World Cup up to 2034 that money meant nothing to me. I lived a lifetime that week.
<br>
<br>
The angels I call my parents eventually flew to Chicago to pick me up on December 11. We made our way back to Florida, drove from the airport to the hospital, and I was Baker Act’ed. Expeditiously. Deep in psychosis and mania, I thought I was running the psych ward like the navy. I distinctly remember asking my parents to bring me books and reading Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler aloud to the other patients. I have many memories from the psych ward. I reminded the nurses several times that they needed to stream the World Cup final for me, and I witnessed my pick lose the final in the rec room with my grippy socks on. What I don’t remember is ever gaining clarity. My mom thinks I tricked the psychiatrist into letting me out. In all honesty, I think I did too. The world gave me a gift and curse by forcing me to become a social chameleon.
<br>
<br>
Getting out of the psych ward was not the end of my trickery, though. I had plans to study abroad in Paris just weeks after I was released from the psych ward. I had no plans to derail those plans. So I made sure to convince my psychiatrist and therapist to sign off on my sanity. Every medical professional I’ve spoken to about this has been completely and utterly shocked by this turn of events. Every person who interacted with me during my episode or knows someone who has experienced something similar is equally dumbfounded. To be completely real, I had no business being on a plane to Charles de Gaulle Airport on January 5. But I was. Do I regret it? No. Do I think I was completely over my mania/psychosis in Paris? Not at all. Was it a struggle? A deep one. The reasons I made it for as long as I did were the daily calls to my angels, the constant support of my wonderful friend Kyle, the evening dinners at Le Soleil cooked by my new friend Mustafa and weekly sessions with an excellent therapist named Rosemarie. After I passed my first two classes, it’s like my being gave up. I knew I needed those two credits to graduate. Once I got them, my drive fell to zero and I fell to pieces on Rosemarie’s couch, on the phone with my parents and at the academic director’s office. I could not be in Europe anymore, so I left. The entire time I was there I rarely felt at ease. I saw beautiful things and felt absolutely nothing. It was incredibly frustrating and heartbreaking. Europe has always been sold to me, for various reasons, as a wonderful place to be. I had been asking my parents for a trip to Paris for as long as I could remember. This was my younger self’s dream, and I could not even be present in it. I still don’t know if it was my recovering brain or the lithium/Zyprexa cocktail or something else. All I know is those weeks were some of the hardest weeks of my life.
<br>
<br>
I came back to Florida and, for the first time that I could remember, I had absolutely nothing to do. And I wanted to do absolutely nothing. There was not a thing in the world that could bring me satisfaction. I had to convince myself to get out of bed. I was definitely not manic and definitely had no distractions to keep me from reveling in the deep shame that it was to have lost my mind in public. So nothing made me genuinely happy and my brain convinced me that I was an embarrassment. THE mental trenches. You would think I would have let myself rest and fully heal. Instead, I packed my bags for spring quarter in Chicago.
<br>
<br>
The thing about me is that the one thing I knew people always respected about me was my brain. I did not grow up known for being pretty. I did not grow up known for being athletic. I did not grow up being known for anything as much as being smart. That stayed with me. To lose all logic and become erratic was to betray a core part of the image people had of me. And the image I had of myself. I remember explaining to my therapist that it felt like I was a professional runner and I’d lost a leg. Dramatic metaphor, but I guess that’s how I felt. I was still committed to making it to my personal finish line: graduation. Mental costs whatever they may be.
<br>
<br>
I will say, spring quarter in Chicago was far easier than winter in Paris. Part of it was definitely having so many loved ones around me. Obviously, the fact that the mania and psychosis had worn off was another huge factor. Part of it might have been dropping the Zyprexa and adjusting the lithium. It was still difficult, though. Circles by Mac Miller on repeat. Combing through crevices of myself for the confident, charismatic me that used to exist. Familiar flow followed so effortlessly turned to uncharted waters. Carrying conversations like a glass piece. Laughter becoming my most craved affirmation. 
<br>
<br>
My therapist and I talked about that a lot, whether I was still an interesting person. I thought I wasn’t. I thought I talked too much about my episode. Definitely when I came back and people asked about Paris, I was honest. Being honest meant I usually ended up talking about my episode. Everyone was very supportive. Nearly everyone I spoke to immediately told me about a loved one’s or their own experience being hospitalized for reasons similar to mine or having an episode like mine. One particular time stood out to me: my final critique for my 3D art class that spring. For our final project, we were supposed to embody an affective term through sculpture. I immediately gravitated towards embarrassment. This was born:
</p>
<img src="images/wide_shot.png" alt="Painted brown eye on white background, title on top says 'probability psychosis leads you to declare your love for a dude you hooked up with 6 months ago: 1'">
<img src="images/zoom_eye.png" alt="Zoomed in picture of brown painted eye, reveals white tunnel with writing on sides in carved rectangle">
<img src="images/inside_eye.png" alt="Zoomed in photo on white tunnel with writing on sides (referring to romantic probabilities) and hanging text messages">
<p>
I presented my sculpture. People thought it was cool. I was ready to move on from it, until a girl who had never really spoken to me in that class tapped my shoulder. She told me she was really touched by my piece. She had gone through a psychotic episode in the past, too. It was comforting for her to see me be open and vulnerable about it, hadn’t seen people do that often. I get that. As I said, it seemed everyone around me had direct or indirect experience with these situations. But I didn’t know about that before I offered my experience. 
<br>
<br>
If I’m completely honest, before it took over my brain, I was very ignorant to the concept of psychosis. That it could happen so suddenly. That it could happen to me. While I was hospitalized, the nurses would repeat things I’d said to my parents for confirmation. One verified fact that shocked them was that I was going to get my BS in math at a “prestigious” institution the following June. I guess I wasn’t the type of person people picture getting checked into the psych ward for a week. So, for many reasons, I want to tell people that I am. I hope, at the very least, reading this shatters your perception of who does and does not end up in a behavioral center. I hope it also shatters your perception of me. And I hope you piece me back together in a way that gives your perception of me a bit more depth.
<br>
<br>
Obviously, I don’t know how everyone perceives me. But I have some intuition as to the way many people perceive me. Particularly smart or inordinately optimistic or exceptionally adaptable or even brave. A mix of that or some other things. There are also people who have told me they admire me or are inspired by me. I guess I sometimes feel that people think I am more special than I am. And that’s not to sound self-deprecating. I am intelligent. I am hopeful. I am resilient. I try to be courageous. But I am also vulnerable. 
<br>
<br>
I have much to learn. I process grief, often. I break down, clearly. I fear. This has always been true. I don’t think those are parts of me I was happy to present to everyone, though. Maybe because I knew I had to sell a version of myself to the world, a version that would put me in places not built for a truer, more honest version of myself. Not a unique story, but my story nonetheless. I marketed myself so well that I too bought into it. Always wanted to be the one supporting and refusing to be the one who was supported. I could take care of myself, and everyone else. Life taught me, in many ways, that hyper-independence suited me. And I was nothing if not a star student.
<br>
<br>
Today officially marks a year since I was discharged from the behavioral center. A period of time replete with lessons learned the hard way. I will never be able to thank my family and friends enough for their unconditional support. For those who never failed to do everything they could to take care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself. For those who never looked at me differently or loved me any less even when I could barely recognize or be at peace with myself. The day I find words sufficient to express my overflowing love for you, you'll be the first to know. It was not my resiliency or bravery or hope or intelligence that got me through this year, it was you. With assists from my therapists, psychiatrists and lithium, of course.
<br>
<br>
Having such an incredible support system is not the rule. I firmly believe I am an outlier in regards to everything I had stacked in my favor going through this. Still, I am not too different from others who were forced to stomach the psychosis/mania combo. My search history would certainly reveal that I’ve incessantly looked up stats to confirm that my experience was not unique. Did other people deal with romantic fixation? Lose track of their happiness? Did other people run out of motivation? Misplace their personality? Did other people have episodes that lasted several months? Did I? Did other people get better? Can I?
<br>
<br>
Still, no stat and no amount of love from the people closest to me who hadn’t experienced psychosis ever affirmed me as a couple of posts on r/Psychosis. There is nothing like someone being completely and utterly vulnerable about something you went through too. So that’s another reason why I’m being public about this. If reading this does for a single person what I know it would have done for me some months back, worth it. Recycling the trusted and true cliche: it gets better. And know what else? I’ll say it: it’s a miracle.
<br>
<br>
I was saying and doing many nonsensical things last December, but my brain was cooking at some points. Free styling like a grandma in a kitchen, for sure. But that’s how some life changing dishes come to be no? To summarize my time, space and probability theory: marginalized people are constantly performing miracles. If we take life to be a permutation of probabilities between 0 and 1, then the probability that we exist and persist might as well be 0. But we exist and persist nonetheless, so it cannot be zero. Some of you are doing things nobody in your family has ever done. Things nobody in your neighborhood has ever done. Things nobody from your country has ever done. And you don’t think you are performing miracles? You don’t think hope is mathematically sound? It was cool to come across this quote from Albert Einstein a month or so ago: “There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.” Guess crazy concurs with verified genius. 
<br>
<br>
</p>
<div class=footnote>
<p>
Although I started this page with this piece of writing, I am planning to use this site as a creative outlet for different forms of expression. Planning to code and publish a display of poems and other art I made during my episode June of next year. If you want to get updates on that and whatever else I may use v4l3.com for, click <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSf0NRNK82533AvXRHxwq3X36AgGN0bf8hB0WGMEkf_S93pcZA/viewform?usp=sf_link">here</a>!
<br>
<br>
Posted on December 19, 2023
</p>
</div>
</body>
</html>

Whois info of domain

Domain Name: V4L3.COM
Registry Domain ID: 2829916453_DOMAIN_COM-VRSN
Registrar WHOIS Server: whois.networksolutions.com
Registrar URL: http://networksolutions.com
Updated Date: 2024-10-16T06:02:35Z
Creation Date: 2023-11-15T15:21:22Z
Registry Expiry Date: 2025-11-15T15:21:22Z
Registrar: Network Solutions, LLC
Registrar IANA ID: 2
Registrar Abuse Contact Email: [email protected]
Registrar Abuse Contact Phone: +1.8777228662
Domain Status: clientTransferProhibited https://icann.org/epp#clientTransferProhibited
Name Server: NS1.BLUEHOST.COM
Name Server: NS2.BLUEHOST.COM
DNSSEC: signedDelegation
DNSSEC DS Data: 35916 13 1 44F7B012A42309573DD50C437D604999DDEFAB19
DNSSEC DS Data: 35916 13 2 232BF811352DEC3333D306462E8F9B64BD2076A2F35465F2942BD4D613DF1C83
DNSSEC DS Data: 35916 13 4 08B0C851B42167C1DB183A9400ABE9BD1A543A4B3A643FD775859111489F200B6F459A0F7B04618D9E8948D0ABCAB9C1
URL of the ICANN Whois Inaccuracy Complaint Form: https://www.icann.org/wicf/
>>> Last update of whois database: 2025-05-02T11:57:13Z <<<
For more information on Whois status codes, please visit https://icann.org/epp
NOTICE: The expiration date displayed in this record is the date the
TERMS OF USE: You are not authorized to access or query our Whois
by the following terms of use: You agree that you may use this Data only
to: (1) allow, enable, or otherwise support the transmission of mass