I was 52 years old, sitting in a tattoo chair in Forsyth, Georgia, and the only person in the room who wasn’t surprised was the artist holding the machine.

Flash was a Miniature Dachshund who lived like the rules didn’t apply to him, and for sixteen years, he was mostly right. We put him down on December 22nd, and I’m still not over it.

Fifty years of trying, and nobody’s cracked it. The Capricorn Records sound wasn’t a formula — it was a specific collision of people, place, and pressure that happened once and closed the door behind it.

Most people see late-night server builds as a sleep problem. I’ve started thinking of mine as a scheduling solution — and the evidence backs me up.

Executive dysfunction doesn’t care how capable you are. It targets the start of things, not the ability to do them, and for people in high-stakes technical roles, that gap between knowing and beginning can quietly hollow out everything you think you know about yourself.

Five years ago I was busy every single evening and had almost nothing to show for it. Turns out there’s a difference between working on things and working toward something.

Most people pick a tattoo artist the way they pick a restaurant on a Tuesday night, whoever’s available and has decent reviews. After six tattoos and one more going on today, I can tell you that approach is how you end up with permanent regret.

AuDHD hyperfocus isn’t a productivity tool you switch on. It’s more like a flash flood, and my homelab is the proof of what it leaves behind.

Every April, something happens at Augusta National that has nothing to do with birdies or bogeys. It’s the only place I know where the world actually gets quiet.

I’ve worn a lot of labels over the decades: hardware guy, IT veteran, self-taught coder, grandfather. None of them tell the whole story, and some of them are starting to feel like clothes that don’t fit anymore.