You’ve probably noticed something about my posts.

I’m constantly name-dropping. Not celebrities. Not influencers. Cousins. Colleagues. Random friends. That guy Steve Hoechester who said one thing at lunch that hijacked my brain for a week.

Here’s why: I genuinely believe that credit is a form of currency, and I like to be rich in the stuff that actually matters.

Yes, I can come up with ideas on my own. Hell, I’m good at it. (Like, "could monetize it in my sleep" good.) But the truth is, something special happens when you let other people into the process. A conversation. A book. A line in a podcast. It’s not just inspiration, it’s ignition. These interactions don’t just give me ideas. They accelerate them. Sharpen them. Sometimes they slap me in the face and say, "Hey dummy, go this way."

Every once in a while, someone drops a sentence so simple, so unpolished, so delightfully obvious that it hits you straight in the soul like a folding chair in a WWE match.

For me, it happened last week.

I was talking with my cousin. She’s cool. She’s fun. She’s wildly successful in that effortless “Oh, I didn’t realize you were on that board” kind of way. We were bouncing around ideas about travel and food and all the things that make life feel like more than just a to-do list.

Then she said this.

“Do you know why they call things better? Because better is better. That’s why they call it better.”

I swear to you, time froze for a second.

Every once in a while, someone drops a sentence so simple, so unpolished, so delightfully obvious that it hits you straight in the soul like a folding chair in a WWE match.

For me, it happened last week.

I’m uninspired.

Not creatively blocked. Not out of ideas. Not “searching for my muse.” I’m just worn down. Pneumonia has been riding me like a rented mule, and on top of that, someone I love, a family member, is reaching the end of his life. It’s a double-header you don’t train for. And yes, I know I’m the guy known for having energy that borders on cartoon physics… but even Wile E. Coyote hits the canyon floor sometimes.

And when life starts to wobble like this, my mind does what it always does. It goes straight to my dad.

Let’s just say it: Most digital marketing metrics are bullshit.

Impressions? Clicks? Views? Cute.

They look great in a deck and make everyone feel productive, but when it comes to answering the only question that actually matters, "Did this move the needle?" those metrics are basically confetti in a hurricane.

Enter the hero we don’t talk about enough: Incrementality.

When I founded The Idea Integration Co., it was just me, a lot of cream soda, and a healthy appetite for McDonald's. I started this thing with nothing but the confidence that I could eat like a raccoon out of garbage bins if I had to, and I’ve done it more than once. Because when you’re building something from scratch, survival is part of the budget.

And yeah, I took massive risks. The kind of risks that make people either whisper "that guy’s unhinged" or ask for my card. Like when I bought a billboard that said, "Need a Traci Lords Idea?"

Let’s get this out of the way: the phrase "executive branding" feels gross. It sounds like something your niece does on TikTok. Something with ring lights and hashtags. But here’s the truth, and it took me two decades online to realize it: Posting a lot and kinda sharing a lot of stuff isn’t about ego. It’s about access.

In the last month, I’ve written two full-blown marketing plans for clients and I’m diving into a third one this weekend for a very hands on project. Both were very different projects. Opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to target customers, budgets, and expectations. But here’s the funny part: both plans, unique as they were, netted out at exactly 45 pages each.

That wasn’t by design. I didn’t have a template I was plugging things into. It happened because that’s how much it takes to capture the real meat of a marketing plan when you’re not padding it with fluff.

Most people don’t refer you or things in general (like my book) because they forget. The rest don’t refer you because they’re not sure you’re worth the risk.

That’s the uncomfortable truth.

But what do most brands do? They ask, “Would you refer us?” and take the answer, “Of course!”, as gospel.

No follow-up. No action. No accountability. Just a warm feeling and a slowly dying business.

My two biggest business influences have been the same since day one: my Dad and Bill Gaines, the founder of MAD Magazine. This post is the first in what may be an ongoing series, “Business Lessons from My Idols,” and this one is very personal one for me. If you grew up reading MAD you probably remember the goofy Alfred E. Neuman and the magazine’s parodies, but you might not know the man behind the magazine. Bill Gaines was MAD’s longtime publisher (over 40 years) and the architect of a work culture so unique and fun, it arguably set the template for the modern “creative office.”

There’s something I need to say, and I hope it reaches the right people.

It’s OK to come back. Really. No guilt. No shame. No awkward silences required.

Earlier this year, my company lost three projects to “AI.” That’s not code for another agency, it’s literal. The clients decided they could do what we do in-house using AI tools instead of a team of human creatives.

I run an agency. Not a pretend one. A real one. With full-time staff. Payroll. Clients on three continents. Alumni from Mad Magazine and The Simpsons on the creative team. We do big, loud, sometimes legally-questionable-but-always-effective marketing work.

But here’s the part most people don’t realize:

Even with a team, I’m still a solopreneur.

I have been on this internet a long time...like 4800 and 9600 baud modems speeds long time. I have seen every evolution of content and blogging and it wasnt too long ago when something like a Super Bowl halftime show or Elon Musk doing Elon Musk things would instantly trigger blog posts with the titles...5 things I learned from The Super Bowl etc.

I have a confession: I hate selling and I don't even know if I'm particularly good at it.

But here’s the paradox if I can get a meeting, our close rate is incredibly high. The challenge is getting the meeting in the first place. Our cold emails? They’re strange and direct because I want people to know exactly what to expect from us from the jump. No fluff, no pleasantries just straight talk about what we do and how we can help.

I’m writing this from a hospital room while my dad is dying. It sucks. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years—after spending 50+ days in this situation when I lost my mom five years ago and after being on a breathing machine for 17 days three years ago when I got Covid, and now several weeks with my dad in and out of hospitals for months—it’s that life doesn’t pause, and neither does business.

Some people use work as a distraction from life. Sometimes, life is the distraction from work. And sometimes, like right now, the two overlap in a very weird, emotional, and deeply exhausting Venn diagram.

I’ve been watching The West Wing a lot lately. I watched it when it first aired, but aside from the occasional YouTube clip, this is my first full rewatch. And let me tell you, I'm appreciating it in a whole new way.

Back then, I enjoyed it, sure, but I didn’t fully grasp the brilliance of Aaron Sorkin’s writing like I do now. The dialogue, the pacing, the depth, it’s next-level. The way Sorkin crafts conversations that are both razor-sharp and deeply human is something I completely overlooked the first time around. Maybe I just wasn’t in the right headspace back then, or maybe I’ve evolved, who knows.

I have been doing 1:1 personal branding coaching with people, and one of the exercises I ask them to do is write their obituary. Pretend it is 25 years in the future and write about what they accomplished. It is part aspiration (looking forward) and part self-reflection (looking backward) so people can list accomplishments that are earned and desired.

I recently finished reading Peter Levitan's new book "How To Build A Kick-Ass Advertising Agency". I enjoyed the book, and highly recommend it; only a little of it was new to me because I have seen or heard most things in the almost 15 years I have been running my agency, but one thing I did take to heart was his chapter on having a one-page business plan.