I build the tools my own week needs. Then I help teams build theirs.

Helps you find roles worth applying to, remembers where you left off, and nudges you when you've gone quiet (or the role has). No spreadsheet. Forward a recruiter email and it becomes a one-tap confirmation in your week. It celebrates your submissions, because in this economy any forward movement is a win. It's free, and your data stays yours: a workforce case manager or training provider sees your progress only if you accept their invite, and you can stop sharing at any time. A work-search log covers every state's unemployment requirement.

You applied for three jobs on Tuesday. By Sunday night, when New York State's WS 5 form is due, the details are gone. Receipts logs each application the moment it happens and fills the official PDF for you at the end of the week. The stakes aren't abstract: claimants have lost four weeks of benefits over a form they couldn't reconstruct.

Every Sunday at 6pm, a 15–20 minute episode of my own work week lands in Apple Music: what changed on each client's renewal, the decisions and who made them, what I owe and what's owed to me, and what to prepare for next week. I can catch up by listening instead of rereading a week of Slack.

The in-person analog to my Zoom recap workflow. When the conversation happens at a coffee shop or in a hallway, I record it on my phone (with permission, always). This lets Claude read those voice notes the same way it reads Zoom transcripts — so the recap, action items, and follow-ups land in the same place whether the meeting was on video or across a table.

If you're a consultant, you've done this: it's 6pm, you're trying to remember what you worked on between the 11am call and lunch, and you guess low. Affinity Live puts that gap at 10–20% of billable hours. Billable watches what's actually on my screen every 30 seconds, matches it to a project, and posts the hours to my timesheet at the end of the day. I stop guessing.

Focus help that stays calm. The same screen samples that bill my time also watch for the patterns that quietly cost me a day: drifting onto a time-sink site, three hours heads-down with no break, 1pm with no lunch, a wall of back-to-back meetings and no recovery. When one shows up I get a single quiet macOS banner — not a stream of alerts. The distraction nudge names a real priority for today, pulled from that morning's brief, so it names the actual project instead of saying "get back to work."

People book me from my work calendar, which can't see my personal ones. This copies free/busy from three personal calendars onto it as plain "Busy" blocks, so the time is protected without putting my family's event titles in an employer-owned account. If I delete a block, the script remembers and leaves that time free.

One pass at 6pm closes out the day: the hours I worked, the emails still waiting on me, the junk in Downloads, and the loose ends I'd otherwise carry into tomorrow. It ends with a swipe deck of photos and screenshots from this day in past years, left to toss and right to keep, so the camera roll gets cleaned a day at a time.

I had coffee with someone on Tuesday. Walking back to the office, I dictated twenty seconds into my watch — what we talked about, what they're working on, what I said I'd send them. By the time I sat down, it was logged against their contact card and the action item was waiting. It also reads my messages, my LinkedIn, and my calendar, so the threads I'd otherwise lose stay attached to the people they belong to. So I can remember — be a better friend, a better colleague, whatever the moment calls for.

A reseller with hundreds of Etsy listings rarely has time to post each one to Instagram. Shopcast does it for them: eight pieces on one theme per carousel, a caption in the seller's own voice, every six hours, quiet overnight, with Pinterest pins alongside. The seller never touches an API key, because it runs off the shop's public feed.

At an estate sale a reseller has seconds to decide whether a tag is a deal before someone else picks the item up. Snap a photo and the phone says what it's worth to the person holding it. Pricing follows where they sell: an eBay reseller gets sold medians and a "pay up to" ceiling, and an Etsy seller gets their own past sales plus current asking prices, with a BUY / DON'T BUY / YOUR CALL verdict against the tag.

Anyone who handles personal data hits the same wall: the spreadsheet AI could help with is the one full of names, account numbers and free-text notes they can't hand over. Two Excel macros make a de-identified copy. You review a plan of what to keep, code or remove, and the clean copy comes out ready for Copilot or any other assistant. Names become consistent codes, so the analysis still works.

A short-term-rental owner with three properties, one checking account, one card and one Airbnb account for all of it has no clean way to see what each property earned. Keyring sorts every transaction to the right property (or to personal), keeps a running P&L per property, and at the end of each quarter renders the spreadsheet the owner's CPA asks for. It's built to replace paying for bookkeeping software plus a bookkeeper.

Before a builder signs a subcontractor's bid, someone has to go sheet by sheet through the architect's drawings to find what the bid doesn't cover. Bid Check reads the drawing set and the bid side by side and lists what the drawings call for that the bid leaves out, with the sheet each item comes from. When it can't back up a number, it leaves the line blank and says why.

Turns the Reels and TikToks I save from a passive graveyard into things I can actually act on. It surfaces what I'd otherwise forget — the craft I bookmarked for Saturday with the kids, the recipe I meant to try this week. Brick-and-mortar saves will eventually nudge me when I'm nearby that coffee shop or store.

I say "print this" and the job goes to my Bambu Lab X2D on the filament slot I picked, and nothing reports success until the printer has actually started. New filament gets logged from its receipt and set up in the slicer, so the spool sheet and the printer agree.

Tracks only the promises a named human is actually waiting on — not a task list, not a status board. Each one scores on_time, renegotiated, or slipped_silent, and moving a deadline privately still counts as a silent slip. That rule is the whole design: it measures what the other person experienced, not what I intended.

I work across several AI assistants, and each kept its own notes about my work, going stale at different speeds. Now they share one context layer: a few files on who I am and how I work, and a fact store where every fact carries a date and a confidence level, so "what's true now" and "what was true in August" both have answers.

Most of what I change in an AI draft is the same handful of fixes. When I correct a draft, this captures the before and after, works out the rule behind the edit, and adds it to one voice file that every assistant I use loads. It sorts accuracy repairs (an invented detail, a guessed number, a garbled name) from matters of taste, because most of my edits turn out to be repairs.

Instead of one assistant doing everything, I work with nine named agents, each with one job and a clear line on what it hands off: Sam researches, Kai builds data pipelines, Lena builds front ends, Rhea builds full-stack apps, Marco plans, Nova writes speeches, Vex reviews security, Theo hires a new agent when a gap shows up, and Ren keeps built things from going quietly dead.

Stops me copy-pasting between AI windows when two of them are working on the same project. The desktop client — Claude, Kimi, Hermes, whatever's in front — talks to the CLI session through MCP. The work keeps running in the background on my private server while I close the laptop.

I generate ideas faster than I ship them: 57 tracked, 48 still queued. The scoreboard turns that pile into a game. Every idea is worth points by effort, shipping earns them, and a level bar shows how close the next level is. Quick wins surface at the top, so the next thing to build is one click away instead of buried.