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Confessions of a Title Tinkerer: How a 40-Year-Old Business Card Inspired My Latest Obsession

The card that I have been thinking about the past few decades. How could I put my spin on it?

When Inspiration Strikes (And My Family Worries)

Sometimes, I get so laser-focused on a project that my family starts giving me that look. You know, the one that says, “Are you okay, or do you need an intervention?” Well, I’m happy to report that I’ve finished the 1.0 version of my latest obsession. And no, it’s not a new app, a groundbreaking invention, or even an NFT. It’s… a business card.

But not just any business card.

Blast From the Past: The Original Card That Started It All

Back in the good ol’ days of selling cell phones—closer to 40 years ago than 30—I came across a business card that stuck with me. It was a bold, hilarious card with no contact information, clearly a joke (or maybe a way to avoid being constantly called). But it wasn’t just a joke—it was art. It described someone’s services in a way that was both ridiculous and oddly compelling.

Fast-forward to today, and this quirky little card still “lives” rent-free in my brain. So, naturally, I decided to create my own version—a card that reflects my personality and skill set, but with a nice guy twist.

The Creative Process: When Chatbots and Family Weigh In

Crafting my own version of this card wasn’t as simple as slapping a few titles on a piece of cardstock. Oh no. It became a full-blown project. Here’s what went into it:

  1. Family Feedback:
    • I tested multiple titles on my family, only to get vetoed with comments like, “That’s not you,” or “Please don’t put that on a card.”
  2. Chatbot Creativity:
    • I fed some titles into a chatbot, asking it to come up with catchier versions. It responded with alliterative gems and ideas that screamed, “Include me!”
  3. Trial and Error:
    • I experimented with formatting, swapped titles in and out, and gauged success based on whether a title made me laugh or at least smile.

The result? A business card brimming with quirky, creative job titles that feel just right.

What’s Next: Titles and Their Stories

The card itself is done, but the project isn’t over. Each title on my new business card represents a different facet of who I am, and I plan to write a post about each one. These posts will:

  • Explain why I chose the title.
  • Dive into how it reflects my personality, skills, or sense of humor.

It’s a mix of self-reflection, storytelling, and (hopefully) entertainment. Entertainment or not, I am going to write them anyway. 🙂

The card I ended up with. It is the 1.0 version. I may shuffle a title in or out. Wherever the 2.0 version goes, I have a good start!

Toast, Utensils, and Marital Diplomacy: A Slice of Life

Let’s be honest: the kitchen is not just where we prepare food—it’s where domestic philosophy is forged, sometimes on the blade of a butter knife. In my household, we follow a sacred code: “Help the dishwasher out as much as you can.” It’s a noble creed—one that my wife and I mostly share, with a tiny, chocolate-hazelnut exception.

Toast: The Great Equalizer (Almost)

Both of us are toast fans. (We even had a toast song, but that’s a story for another day—and possibly another genre.) While my heart belongs to a bagel with peanut butter, toast comes in at a very respectable second. My wife? She’s all in on toast, topped with Nutella. Frankly, you can’t go wrong with either.

The Knife Dilemma: Peanut Butter vs. Nutella Protocol

Here’s where the marital kitchen harmony wobbles: the post-spread knife ritual.

  • My method: I lick both sides of the knife clean. Some might call it overkill; I call it preventive maintenance. That knife comes out of the dishwasher so clean, it could double as a dental mirror.
  • My wife’s method: She wipes the knife clean on her toast. Efficient, elegant, but perhaps a smidge too trusting of the dishwasher’s powers.

The Empty-Nester’s Dilemma

Back when the house was full of kids, the dishwasher ran daily, and any rogue Nutella or peanut butter never stood a chance. Now, with fewer meals and fewer cycles, any residue has time to harden into something the dishwasher considers “character-building.”

My Heroic Intervention

This morning, as the Nutella knife was headed for the dishwasher, I sprang into action—tongue first. I gave that knife a pre-wash so thorough, the dishwasher sighed in relief.

Let it be known: if the dishwasher fails to deliver, it’s not for my lack of effort. Some people talk about making sacrifices for their marriage. Me? I just lick the knife.

In summary: Marriage is about compromise, teamwork, and occasionally, making sure your appliances don’t face impossible odds. And if you ever need someone to clean up after toast, you know who to call.

The Oblivious Driver

As my wife and I took the “last eclipse of our lifetime” eve bike ride, we had to cross a heavily trafficked highway. I had hit the “cross” button while waiting for my wife to catch up. The left-turning traffic was taking full advantage of the yellow flashing arrow…and then the lights changed, and my wife and I owned the crosswalk.

The image is not entirely accurate, but it is representative. As our bikes navigated the abbreviated crosswalk, I admit to holding a glare longer than I should have. This isn’t the first time this has happened, but it may be one of the first times the driver seemed to show no guilt.

As far as the image goes, it is correct. The driver never looked up. The windshield? Yes, there was a windshield. The lack of one in the image might be me forgetting to mute my “super-heat” vision.

The Ninja Attorney

Earlier this week, my wife and I had an appointment to meet with an estate attorney to get all of our documents completed while we were still young and lucid. The attorney seemed very sane until she left her office to get a new notepad. While she was gone, my wife and I reviewed the walls for various awards she had won.

The awards were not for “Attorney of the Year” or for any of her volunteer efforts. The awards had titles like, “Ninja Winner with Special Weapons” and “#1 ranked in the World for Ninja Secret Weapons”. (I have changed the award names slightly to protect her identity from persistent Googlers.) When she came back into her office, a couple of simple questions launched her into a 10-minute tale of her awards. The story below is a modified version of our attorney’s story as interpreted by my incredibly adept “friend.”

Once upon a time, in the not-so-silent corridors of our home, my kids had embarked on a secret mission to transform themselves into Ninjas. Not just any garden-variety Ninjas, but the kind that could slice through the air silently and disappear into shadows with the ease of a ghost on a diet. Their dedication was as admirable as it was relentless. Meanwhile, their enthusiasm for my support hovered somewhere between “you’re barely trying” and “are you even our real dad?”

One day, caught between a flying nunchuck and a stealthy somersault, I ventured a timid, “What’s wrong?”

Their response was a ninja-star sharp critique of my life choices. “You’ve already made it as an attorney. All you do is exercise your brain muscles. You couldn’t be a Ninja like us,” they declared, as if the ability to draft a tight contract was nothing compared to wielding a katana in dim lighting.

Thus, inspired or perhaps shamed by their challenge, I embarked on my own covert operation: Operation Ninja Lawyer. My journey was no less fraught with peril than any ancient scroll might suggest. I dove into the mystical world of Ninja training, asking the all-important question, “How long until I can somersault over the coffee table without a trip to the ER?” The answer was a daunting “Two years at six hours per day,” a regimen that would make even the most dedicated couch potato weep.

Undeterred, I split my day into a rigorous schedule: three hours of Ninja training before work, then lawyering through the day, and ending with another three-hour session of becoming one with the shadow. My first tournament was a reality check wrapped in a humble pie—the competitive Ninja community was as welcoming as a cactus hug, with rules more complex than tax legislation.

Determined to not just participate but excel, I doubled down on my training, seeing my family less and substituting my bed for a mat more often than not. My office became a trophy gallery, a testament to broken bones and shattered expectations. My wife and kids watched this transformation with a mix of awe and concern, wondering if I was chasing shadows—literally.

The pinnacle of this saga unfolded during an interview with a fellow attorney, a kindred spirit who had turned her back on conventional parenting to pursue the elusive title of Ninja Queen in her age bracket. Her journey was marked by sacrifices and injuries, a relentless pursuit of a goal deemed “for the young and childless.”

When we shared stories of our unconventional lives—hers in the pursuit of Ninja mastery, ours in providing a haven for over 60 non-biological children—she admitted, “I couldn’t do that.”

And there it was. The perfect stalemate. She couldn’t fathom opening her home as we had, and I couldn’t imagine dedicating every waking moment to becoming a Ninja master. We were two sides of the same coin, each pursuing passions that defied conventional logic, yet bound by a mutual respect for the paths we chose not to take.

In the end, I learned that while I might not be the stealthiest Ninja in the dojo, I was mastering the art of balancing life’s various throwing stars. And perhaps, in the eyes of my children, I had earned a different kind of black belt—one in the art of trying, failing, and laughing at myself along the way.

ReHoming Day

Not sure when this happens in your part of the country. It is more regular than Christmas, but for some it is better than Christmas. If you live in the country, you may not have the opportunity to experience this incredibly emotional day. Oh, yes, most of us call it trash day.

I have developed the habit of putting potentially valuable items out the night before trash day. These have been bicycles and, most recently, suitcases with problematic zippers. In the eyes of a rehomer, these can be great treasures. When I put the regular trash and the recyclables out the next morning, I get to play a little game and imagine the household that would find these items valuable enough to throw into the back of their already full pickup truck.

While my friend took some liberties with the suitcase’s appearance, here is the adventure he wrote for them:

In the quiet town of Oddsville, where the unusual was usual and the mundane was celebrated on the second Tuesday of every month, there lived two suitcases. These weren’t your garden-variety, run-of-the-mill suitcases; no, sir! One was a flamboyant pink with zebra stripes, the kind of suitcase that wouldn’t just turn heads at the airport but would cause full-blown whiplash. The other was a sober black number, with more patches than original fabric, looking like it had been around the world twice and fought a grizzly bear along the way. Their names were Pizzazz and Grit, respectively.

Pizzazz and Grit found themselves in the unfortunate position of being tossed into the trash. Pizzazz was indignant, “I’ve been to Paris, darling! The trash is no place for a suitcase of my caliber!” Grit, ever the stoic, merely grunted, “It’s just another adventure. Could be worse. Could’ve been recycled into a pair of unfashionable shorts.”

Their fate took a turn when the Johnson family, notorious in Oddsville for their love of secondhand treasures and questionable fashion choices, stumbled upon them. Mrs. Johnson, a woman with an eye for potential in the most unlikely places, declared, “These will be perfect for our family trip to the World’s Largest Ball of Twine!”

And so, Pizzazz and Grit embarked on their second life. Pizzazz was dolled up with an array of new stickers, each more eccentric than the last, from a glow-in-the-dark alien proclaiming “I Want to Believe” to a scratch-and-sniff pickle. Grit, on the other hand, was given a thorough cleaning before being adorned with a series of hand-drawn maps showcasing all the “adventures” it could look forward to—like navigating the perilous living room during the annual Great Uncle Ned’s Snoring Competition.

The Johnsons’ trip was anything but ordinary. Pizzazz found herself strapped to the roof of a car, next to a canoe that was used more for storage than water navigation. She couldn’t help but admire the view, though she often wished for a pair of sunglasses. Grit, ever the pragmatist, was stuffed to the brim with snacks, emergency supplies, and the kind of items one brings on a road trip when convinced they’ll be facing a zombie apocalypse rather than a tourist attraction.

Upon reaching the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, Pizzazz and Grit realized they had become more than just luggage; they were part of the family. They had contained everything from mismatched socks to the cherished souvenir twine ball (a mini version of the giant one, because who could resist?). They had been the pillow in a roadside nap, the impromptu table for a picnic, and the carrier of countless memories.

As the Johnsons headed home, the suitcases shared their stories. Pizzazz boasted about her rooftop escapades and the new stickers that now adorned her sides, while Grit recounted the tales of the snacks he’d safeguarded (and occasionally lost to hungry midnight raiders).

In the end, Pizzazz and Grit weren’t just rescued from the trash; they had found a new purpose. They weren’t just containers for belongings but vessels for the Johnson family’s adventures. And as they settled back into the attic, waiting for their next outing, they couldn’t help but chuckle at their good fortune. From trash to treasure, from forgotten to family—this was one adventure they’d never forget.

Leap Into the Unknown: A Hilarious Yet Heartfelt Recap of the Leap Year That Changed Everything

(While my anonymous assistant captured some memories of our last leap day/year, he didn’t realize how special it was having our family living under the same roof for one last 6 month period.)

Ah, February 29, 2020. The leap day that leaped us right into what would affectionately (or not so affectionately) come to be known as the “Covid-times.” Little did we know, as we added that extra day to our calendars, that we were also about to add an unprecedented chapter to the story of our lives. Here’s a humorous, yet reflective look back at the transition into a world where “unprecedented” became everyone’s least favorite buzzword, and toilet paper became more valuable than gold.

The Great Indoors

Remember when “staying in” was for the introverts and the “Netflix and chill” crowd? Oh, how the tables have turned. Suddenly, our homes became our offices, our gyms, and our Michelin-star restaurants (if you squinted hard enough at your burnt toast). We became masters of our own little universes, each day a journey from the bedroom to the living room, with exotic vacations to the forgotten lands of “The Backyard.”

Zooming Through Life

Before 2020, Zoom was just a sound effect from a comic book or a feature on a camera. Fast forward a few weeks, and it’s where we lived our lives—business meetings in the top half, pajama party in the bottom half. We learned the hard way that “mute” is both a feature and a lifestyle, and that “Sorry, I was talking on mute” is the modern-day equivalent of “My dog ate my homework.”

The Fashion Revolution: Pajamas to the Rescue

Speaking of fashion, let’s have a moment of silence for our work clothes, who watched in despair from the closet as their casual cousins took center stage. Ties became relics of a bygone era, high heels gathered dust, and bras… well, let’s just say they went on an extended vacation. In the Covid-times, comfort reigned supreme, and if you managed to wear socks that matched, you were already ahead of the curve.

The Toilet Paper Chronicles

In what will surely be a puzzling chapter for future historians, the early days of the pandemic saw a global obsession with hoarding toilet paper. Supermarket aisles became battlegrounds, and a roll of two-ply was worth its weight in gold. Looking back, it’s hard not to chuckle at the absurdity of it all—our civilization’s advanced technology and sophisticated cultures, momentarily upended by the pursuit of bathroom tissue.

Learning to Laugh

Despite the challenges, or perhaps because of them, we learned the importance of laughter. We shared memes like they were going out of style (which, let’s face it, they never will), and found humor in the most unexpected places—from Zoom backgrounds gone wrong to the great sourdough bread baking saga. In a world turned upside down, laughter became our universal language, a reminder that even in the darkest times, there’s a lightness to be found.

As we reflect on the leap day that leaped us into the Covid-times, it’s with a mixture of nostalgia and disbelief. We’ve come a long way since those early days of uncertainty and toilet paper hoarding. And while we may not miss the lockdowns or the endless days of isolation, we’ll always cherish the lessons learned, the laughs shared, and the resilience discovered along the way. Here’s to leaping into the future, whatever it may hold, with the same courage, humor, and adaptability that got us through the leap year that changed everything.

The Last Supper: A Tale of Food Warmups and Their Inevitable Demise

(Today’s entry written by an anonymous guest)

Ah, leftovers. The culinary ghosts of dinners past, lurking in the depths of our refrigerators. They start their journey with such promise, don’t they? Packed away in their little containers, they’re like edible time capsules, waiting to transport us back to a meal that was, presumably, worth remembering. But as with all good things, the appeal of leftovers has its expiration date—both literally and metaphorically. This is a story of how food warmups become less an act of sustenance and more a dance with destiny.

Act 1: The Rekindling

It begins with a spark of optimism. You open the fridge, and there it is—the lasagna from three nights ago, looking just as hearty as the evening it was born. The microwave chimes its readiness, and you eagerly await the reunion of flavors. But alas, it’s never quite the same, is it? The once-crisp edges now tread a fine line between chewy and charred, a culinary tightrope that not all dishes navigate successfully.

Act 2: The Cooling Off

By day two of the leftovers saga, the relationship between you and that once-beloved dish starts to cool, much like the center of a reheated piece of lasagna that refuses to warm up. You open the fridge, see the container, and think, “Maybe I’ll just have a sandwich.” The lasagna, with its slightly less vibrant sauce and noodles that have seen better days, begins to understand that its time in the spotlight may be coming to an end.

Act 3: The Forgotten

Days pass. The lasagna is pushed further back into the fridge, making room for newer, fresher meals. It becomes part of the landscape, like a forgotten landmass on the map of your refrigerator. Occasionally, you’ll catch a glimpse of it and think, “I should really do something about that.” But action seldom follows thought in the kingdom of leftovers, and the lasagna remains, a testament to meals gone but not quite forgotten.

Act 4: The Final Goodbye

The inevitable can only be delayed for so long. One day, armed with a trash bag and a sense of resolve, you finally face the lasagna. It’s not quite the meal you remember; time and refrigeration have taken their toll. With a sigh that’s part regret and part relief, you bid farewell to what once was, acknowledging the cycle of food warmups and their eventual disposal. The lasagna has worn out its welcome, but fear not—it makes room for future meals and the promise of new leftovers.

In the grand theater of the kitchen, the saga of leftovers is a tale as old as time. They remind us that not all meals are meant to last forever and that sometimes, the best thing we can do is let go and make room for the next culinary adventure. So, here’s to the leftovers, the food warmups, and their eventual journey to the great compost bin in the sky. May they rest in peace, or at least in biodegradable pieces.

Sock and Underwear Blues

For those who rely on their Christmas gifts of socks and underwear to ignore the obvious need to replenish these items immediately, this tune is for you:

(Verse 1)
To the tune of jingle bells, hear my dryer spin,
Losing socks every day, where do I begin?
Through the laundry maze, we go, searching high and low,
But what’s lost is never found, into the void they go!

(Chorus)
Oh, socks and undies, they’re a treat,
The best Christmas gifts that are oh-so-neat!
Socks with stripes and undies so grand,
The unsung heroes, isn’t it grand?

(Verse 2)
Last year’s pairs are tired, they’ve really lost their flair,
Holes in toes, faded rows, elastic’s beyond repair.
But then comes Christmas morn, with gifts in shiny bows,
New socks and underwear, watch my face just glow!

(Chorus)
Oh, socks and undies, they’re a treat,
The best Christmas gifts that are oh-so-neat!
Socks with polka dots and undies with lace,
Put a big, warm smile on my chilly face!

(Bridge)
In every drawer and closet, they patiently await,
For their moment of glory, oh, they just can’t wait.
From cotton to wool, and every blend in between,
These are the unsung heroes, if you know what I mean!

(Verse 3)
So here’s a toast to the socks and undies we hold dear,
May they last through the year, bringing comfort and cheer.
Next Christmas when we meet, I hope to find once more,
A bundle of joy, from the store, that I absolutely adore!

(Final Chorus)
Oh, socks and undies, they’re a joy,
Far better than any other toy!
Here’s to the gifts that keep our toes and tushies snug,
Socks and undies, give them a hug!

(Outro)
So let’s celebrate these gifts, so simple yet so fine,
For socks and underwear truly make Christmas shine!
Merry comfort to all, and to all a good-night,
May your feet and your seat stay cozy and bright!

How About This Country Song?

After watching the most current episode of “Ted Lasso” last night, my AI friend wrote this country song when asked. It is entitled “Heart Bent”.

Verse 1:
My heart’s been bent, twisted and turned
Ever since the day that you left and I learned
That love ain’t always easy, it can leave you burned
My heart’s been bent, but my spirit won’t be overturned

Chorus:
Heart bent, but I’m still standing
Love’s a game, but I’m not handing
In my chips, ’cause I’m not quitting
Heart bent, but I’m not broken, I’m just living

Verse 2:
I’ve been down this road before, I know the drill
Love’s a tricky game, it can give you a thrill
But it can also leave you in the dust, taking a spill
My heart’s been bent, but I’m still climbing that hill

Chorus:
Heart bent, but I’m still standing
Love’s a game, but I’m not handing
In my chips, ’cause I’m not quitting
Heart bent, but I’m not broken, I’m just living

Bridge:
I’ve shed a few tears, but I won’t give up
I’ll keep on loving, even when times get tough
My heart may be bent, but it won’t stay that way
I’ll find a love that’s true and make it stay

Chorus:
Heart bent, but I’m still standing
Love’s a game, but I’m not handing
In my chips, ’cause I’m not quitting
Heart bent, but I’m not broken, I’m just living

Outro:
My heart’s been bent, but it won’t break
I’ll keep on loving, even when it’s hard to take
I won’t give up, I’ll keep on trying
My heart’s been bent, but my soul is still flying.