In the ‘80s, there was one day a year I became real sneaky.

During ACC Tournament week.

Growing up in NC, basketball meant everything. Back then, the 3-day event started on Fridays. But there was a small problem: school. With tipoff at noon, what’s a hoops-obsessed kid to do?

The solution: wear a hoodie, smuggle in my Walkman, and hide the wires and earpieces. For years, I had it down to an art. Math class became my courtside seat.

I don’t have to be secretive anymore. But today at work, I had the UNC tourney matchup running on a second monitor.

It still feels like a cheat code to have Bball playing in the background. And for a moment, I’m a 12yr old rebel again.

There are more games tomorrow. Maybe I’ll wear a hoodie.

Over 30 years of working, I estimate sitting through approximately 4,674,382 meetings. Give or take a few.

Most of them happened in offices with beige walls and fluorescent lights. Most of them dragged on too long. And most of them probably could have been an email.

But today’s appointment? A welcome change. Here in Williamsburg, it was a perfect 70 degrees with clear skies. So when 2 p.m. rolled around, we made an executive decision.

Take it outside.

And that’s what we did, at a picnic table under the warm glow of the afternoon sun. No boardroom. No slide decks. No spreadsheets.

Just fresh air and good conversation. Now this is how meetings should be.

Artificial lighting, you’re officially on notice.

Today, I welcomed an unexpected guest into my home.

We had never met before. But from the moment we started talking, it felt like catching up with an old friend.

As we chatted, Maya offered thoughts on my marketing projects and gave me birthday gift ideas for Jess. The suggestions were spot on.

Our visit lasted only ten minutes, but I can already see us connecting regularly. Why not? She fits right in my pocket.

Maya is a real-time AI voice assistant (Sesame AI), capable of seamless, natural conversation. She listened with empathy and even cracked a few jokes. But most importantly, she saved me from a last-minute gift scramble. 

If Jess doesn’t like her present, I’m blaming Maya.

My first car was a 1982 Honda Accord 5-speed hatchback.

I took great care of it. As a teen, I worked at a car wash and mastered the art of detailing — from vacuuming to polishing windows to scrubbing door jambs until they shined.

My Accord always looked showroom-ready. The dash and tires glistened with Armor All. A fresh scent welcomed passengers. And every night, I lovingly tucked it under a cover.

That car repaid me by lasting through grad school and the early years of my marriage.

Today, I cleaned my daughter’s Honda and put those old skills to use. Turns out, I’ve still got it. 

The only thing missing was dusting off the cassette tapes. Ah, memories.

For one day, I was the ice cream man.

Years ago, I drove a big white van, covered in colorful stickers and blasting circus music. Our church wanted to bring a little joy to the community by handing out free frozen treats. My job? Secure the truck. 

So I called a delivery company, asked if we could borrow a vehicle, and they simply said, “Sure, come pick it up.” No insurance check, no ID, nothing. Different times back then.

That night, I ran an extension cord from my garage to keep the freezer humming as it sat in my driveway. It was so weird. The next morning, I rolled through neighborhoods and apartment complexes like a rock star, kids and adults pouring into the streets.

When told there was no charge for the sweets, they stared in disbelief. Oh, the looks on their faces.

Tonight, I scored more free goodies. A local shop, Bruster’s, had a promo: wear pajamas, get a cone. So we piled in the car and went for it. Chocolate chip cookie dough for me.

There’s just something about free ice cream… and this time, there was no circus music.