Two friends pour a drink and make a pact: 2026 won’t be another year we watch from the sidelines. We set a no‑regrets tone and mean it, digging into the everyday choices that create momentum—returning the call, sending the honest text, booking the trip, and shaping work so it serves our lives instead of swallowing them.

We get real about family: bridging gaps with cousins we only see at weddings and funerals, planning an Edinburgh graduation around complicated calendars, and scheduling monthly time in Hilton Head to show up on purpose. The thread is connection without burnout—how small, consistent gestures build deep ties. On the work front, we unpack a practice owner’s associate-hiring detour and the long slide toward a managing role that scales, plus a six-month hospital renovation sprint aiming for Center of Excellence status. It’s leadership, operations, and exit strategy with both feet on the ground.

Parenting lands with the heaviest punch. We talk about the fleeting window before kids leave home, the shift to adult-to-adult conversations, and how to prepare for the empty nest without rushing it. Along the way, we wrestle with tipping fatigue and the cost of dining out, rediscover the joy of cooking, and laugh about local growth—new restaurants, airports expanding, endless roadwork. We even peek at midterms to come and the sci‑fi feeling of living past the years we once saw on movie posters.

If you’re ready to trade vague resolutions for tangible moves, this one’s for you. Press play, then tell us the one bold step you’ll take this week. And if our brand of honest, funny, and practical hits home, follow the show, share this episode with a friend who needs a nudge, and leave a five-star review to help others find us.

What if the year didn’t just fly by—you did too? We pressed pause long enough to take stock of a season that felt like a sprint: ambitious resolutions, a surprise running breakthrough, and the harder lesson that being present is a daily practice, not a bullet point. Between a career year that started with budget fights and ended with vendor chaos, and a holiday stretch spent juggling parents moving to Seattle and kids boomeranging home, we found clarity in smaller choices: watch the movie, make the call, take the walk, protect the time.

We go candid on the sports rollercoaster—title highs, gut-punch losses, and the gnawing friction of NIL and transfer timing that makes loyalty feel optional. Then we widen the lens to the news cycle, where everything is urgent and nothing sticks. The result is a stubborn skepticism and a shared exhaustion with vetting every headline. That sets the stage for our biggest worry and weirdest fascination: AI. We’ve seen it clean photos and spit out working code, and it’s impressive enough to ask new questions about what work endures. We argue for skills rooted in trust and touch—craft, care, and presence—while admitting the future is arriving faster than any of us planned.

Threaded through all of this are the relationships that held. We talk about mending old rifts, checking on friends with intention, and refusing tables that don’t truly invite us. We also laugh at the chaos we can still control: shipping detours, gift lists gone sideways, and the shopper’s patience we wish we had. The takeaway isn’t a glossy reset. It’s a practical edit list for 2026: less scatter, more signal; fewer obligations, deeper commitments; a calmer body and a clearer calendar. If time won’t slow down, we can choose what we notice. Press play, then tell us what you’re cutting, keeping, and finally doing next year. And if this resonated, subscribe, share with a friend, and leave a review to help more people find the show.

Be decent to each other, friends. Happy New Year!

What do you still watch with your mouth open? We start with a rave for Netflix’s Frankenstein—lush, gothic, and confidently made—and follow it to a focused look at Springsteen’s Nebraska, where raw demos beat studio polish. That sparks a bigger question: what makes something worth the theater trip, the subscription, or the rewatch loop? From splitting holiday drops to Broadway-bound prequels, Stranger Things shows how to turn streaming into an event, while Fargo reminds us that star power can’t always save a sagging arc—though John Hamm and Juno Temple make a strong case to keep going.

Acting gets its own spotlight. We celebrate the quiet force of Philip Seymour Hoffman, the electricity of De Niro and Pacino in Heat, and the eerie continuity of IT’s young and adult cast. Dexter Resurrection lands a stacked lineup—Uma Thurman, Neil Patrick Harris, Krysten Ritter, Peter Dinklage—while Vince Gilligan’s new series earns blind faith on name alone. On the galaxy far, far away side, Obi-Wan Kenobi reframes Hayden Christensen with weight and grace, stitching emotional logic between Revenge of the Sith and A New Hope without leaning on empty nostalgia.

Then the music talk turns personal and loud. Nevermind as the generational reset. Led Zeppelin as the benchmark—Kashmir as a line in the sand. Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here as twin pillars. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, AC/DC’s Back in Black, Clapton’s Nothing But The Blues—albums that smell like a year and feel like a room. We connect those memories to the MTV era of true “mega albums,” where a single performance could tilt the world. The tech and business of streaming changed, but the hunger for capital-M Moments hasn’t.

If you love sharp takes, deep cuts, and a few belly laughs about cable bills and “brestaurants,” you’re home. Hit play, share your all-time start-to-finish album, and tell a friend who still argues for their GOAT. Subscribe, rate, and drop a review so more people can join the debate.

The receipt said ninety dollars for two beers, and somehow that became the perfect starting point: the cost of being a fan, the value of a great night, and the way sports can still make us feel like kids. We break down UT–Duke from the seats, and it didn’t play like an exhibition. Duke’s second-half pulse felt inevitable, the crowd was all-in, and we came home with takes on rotations, the Boozer impact, and why Scheyer’s recruiting plus the Brotherhood might be the most durable asset in college hoops.

The conversation keeps moving because life does. Duke football’s whiplash weeks, a controversial call that flipped a result, and the reality that defense and composure decide November. Then it’s concert season—Toto, Rod Stewart, Journey, Joe Jackson—and the truth that one show turns into five when nostalgia starts talking. We swap venue lore, admit our irrational loyalties, and argue the merits of Thompson-Boling by any name.

Off the court, work stays loud: insurance transitions, triple-net leases, failing AC units, x-ray cables, and a year of fixes that refuse to line up. We talk about running a practice like a team—triage first, patience next, receipts everywhere. The holidays crash the calendar, but the tree goes up early for a reason. Music rituals, a Chris Squire winter spin, and a short list of gifts that actually hit help steady the pace.

And yes, we rant. Gym campers who live on machines with their phones. Track walkers clogging the inside lane. Merger roulette on the highway. We laugh because it’s absurd, but we’re serious about it too: small courtesies are not optional. They’re the grease that keeps a city, a gym, and a game night running. We close with a nod to auditions, a pour of Woodford vs a Speyside scotch, and a simple rule that still works: be decent.

If you’re here for honest sports chatter, life in the trenches, and a few laughs that bite, you’re in the right place. Listen, subscribe, share with a friend who loves a good second-half surge, and tell us your own arena shock story in a review.

A ticket scramble, a barbershop beer, and a fourth‑down heartbreak walk into a podcast. We kick off with the electric tension of a possible Duke–Tennessee meetup and the shifting vibe of Cameron, where the chants used to sting and the walls felt alive. That opens the door to a larger truth: how fandom changes as we do. The wins still matter, but so do the rituals—who you sit with, what you toast after, and the stories that survive the final whistle.

Local love gets its due as we rave about Tune Up’s hot towels, easy conversation, and the “they know your name” hospitality that makes a week feel lighter. Somewhere between a haircut and a halftime show comes a wildly practical tip: a CPAP machine can neuter a hangover, especially with a humidifier. From there we’re off—Tennessee’s momentum swings, the sickening certainty after a missed kick, ACC parity, and the delicate art of wearing rival colors without becoming a villain. We swap favorite football movies, from Remember the Titans to The Replacements, because sometimes a scene says what a season can’t.

Travel and serendipity add oxygen. A trip to Cooperstown includes an unexpected morning ballgame with players spanning decades, heckling with joy under their breath in the cold. Northern Italy’s calm invites slower days, two bottles of wine, and mornings that don’t punish you for savoring the night before. We talk concerts and cost—when to splurge for a 50th‑anniversary tour, why intimacy beats spectacle, and how the best memories care more about who stood beside you than where your seats were. Discipline threads through it all: push‑ups and sit‑ups, service habits that turn into resilience, and the quiet pride of showing up.

We end where we live: with neighborly advice in a noisy world. Leave a review. Subscribe. Support indie voices so the conversations you love can keep showing up in your feed. Most of all, keep the rituals that make your season—sports, music, friends, and a place that remembers your order. If you smiled, argued, or added a movie to your queue, share the episode with a friend and tell us your best sports life hack.

The mics are back on and the air smells like woodsmoke and accountability. We start with real life: a son racing toward solo flights, another finishing school abroad, and the strange relief of the last tuition check. Jeff steps from stage lights to headlines, unpacking a run in Neil Simon’s Laughter on the 23rd Floor that echoed today’s media battles in uncomfortable—and oddly funny—ways. In between, there’s Piedmont fog, Barolo mornings, and the kind of travel that slows your pulse just enough to notice who you’ve become.

Then we go where most friendships falter: the churn of outrage culture and the hollowness of viral pile-ons. A ballpark tantrum turns into a larger question about public shaming. A public shooting becomes a stress test for empathy, and we call the game straight—no cheering for harm, no sanctifying violence. We pick apart late-night monologues, corporate mergers, and the convenient elasticity of “free speech” when shareholders and regulators hover. Not to score points, but to ask who benefits when the national conversation moves faster than facts.

Health myths and vaccine fears get a careful pass—more nuance than noise—because trust is earned in how we talk, not just what we say. From there, we push both parties: stop talking down to voters, retire calcified gatekeepers, and start listening to what people actually need. If your ideas don’t touch the grocery bill, the pharmacy counter, and the insurance premium, they won’t land. Through it all, we come back to the friendship at the table: a Democrat and a center‑right skeptic arguing hard, laughing harder, and refusing to dehumanize each other. That’s the quiet thesis here. Conversation won’t fix everything, but nothing gets fixed without it.

If this resonated, share it with someone who disagrees with you, hit follow, and leave a review with one practical fix you want leaders to tackle next. Your ideas shape the next round.

Grief transforms us in ways we never expect. In this deeply moving episode, Jeff and David welcome their friend Jimmy for a raw, unfiltered conversation about navigating the landscape of loss. Each man brings a different perspective to the table—Jeff lost his father three years ago, David his mother last year, and Jimmy his son in a tragic car accident earlier this year.

The conversation begins lightheartedly as the friends catch up on recent events, from Sydney Sweeney controversies to theatrical endeavors. But as they transition into discussing their grief journeys, the mood shifts to something profoundly human and universal. Jimmy's courage in sharing his experience losing his son Charlie is particularly striking. Rather than letting devastation consume him, he's established a foundation that feeds the homeless in Charlie's memory and created a scholarship fund to honor his legacy.

What emerges throughout their conversation is how differently each person processes grief. For some, it's the immediate crash; for others, the reality takes hours or even days to sink in. They discuss the dreaded "firsts"—first birthdays, holidays, and anniversaries without their loved ones—and how time doesn't heal wounds so much as teach us to carry them differently.

Perhaps most powerful is their discussion of signs from beyond. Jimmy shares a remarkable story about his son's LED lights mysteriously flashing after praying for a sign, while Jeff mentions his father's voice still on his mother's answering machine. These moments of connection across the veil provide comfort amid overwhelming loss.

As parents, they reflect on how grief has changed their approach to parenting surviving children—becoming more protective, more intentional about creating memories, and more aware of life's fragility. The episode closes with a simple yet profound message: be kind to everyone you meet because everyone is fighting battles you know nothing about.

Join us for this heartfelt exploration of grief, resilience, and the ongoing journey of living with loss while finding ways to move forward with purpose.

We're back for episode 42 - the meaning of life according to Douglas Adams - tackling everything from the state of American politics to skyrocketing housing costs and summer adventures.

After catching up on family gatherings and beach trips, we dive into what we're calling "the big beautiful bill" and its implications for governance. The conversation takes a candid turn as we examine whether democracy itself feels fragile, and how Americans across the political spectrum are grappling with policies that seem increasingly disconnected from traditional governance norms. Have we crossed a line, or is this just another chapter in America's resilient story?

The economic discussion hits close to home when we share our mutual shock at today's financial landscape. With car loans at 10% interest and modest homes doubling in value over just six years, we're asking the question on everyone's mind: how are regular people supposed to afford basic necessities? This financial squeeze shapes our perspective on what's happening nationally.

Not all is doom and gloom, however. Our review of James Gunn's Superman film celebrates how it brilliantly skips the tired origin story, delivering what feels like "watching a comic book come to life." These cultural touchpoints provide necessary respite while demonstrating entertainment's power to unite us even in divided times.

Throughout it all, we maintain that personal connections matter most. "I'm just loving the person that's in front of me every time... no matter who they are," one of us reflects, offering a simple but powerful antidote to the divisiveness that defines our era.

Join us for this thought-provoking conversation about finding balance in chaos. Have you discovered your own ways to stay engaged without becoming overwhelmed? We'd love to hear your thoughts.