Life & Interests

I believe you can learn more about someone from their favorite films than from their resume. My taste runs toward films that refuse easy answers—stories about people pushing against systems, fighting for something they believe in, or simply trying to survive against impossible odds.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest remains my all-time favorite. McMurphy's rebellion against institutional conformity resonates deeply with anyone who's ever challenged the status quo. In entrepreneurship, you're constantly told "that's not how it's done." The film reminds me that sometimes the cost of true freedom is worth paying.

I'm equally drawn to the Coen Brothers' particular brand of American storytelling. O Brother, Where Art Thou? is a film I've watched countless times—it's funny, mythological, and has one of the greatest soundtracks ever assembled. There's something about that blend of absurdity and heart that captures the American experience perfectly.

The Star Wars saga shaped my childhood imagination and still does. The original trilogy taught me about hope against tyranny; the prequels, for all their flaws, showed the tragedy of good intentions gone wrong. These are stories about legacy, choice, and redemption—themes that matter in business and in life.

Reading is how I decompress and how I grow. I'm drawn to epic fantasy that demands commitment—books that build entire civilizations with their own histories, magic systems, and moral complexities. Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings exemplifies this: over a thousand pages of world-building that makes you feel like you're studying ancient texts from another universe.

But I also love books that make me laugh while making me think. A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole features one of literature's most unforgettable protagonists—Ignatius J. Reilly, a man completely at odds with the modern world. The book's tragic publication history only adds to its poignancy.

In business reading, I gravitate toward biographies and case studies. Understanding how others navigated their challenges provides frameworks for my own decisions. But fiction teaches empathy—the ability to inhabit perspectives radically different from your own. That skill is invaluable in healthcare technology, where understanding patient and provider experiences determines product success.

Music is integral to how I work. Different tasks demand different soundtracks. Deep coding sessions call for ambient electronic or film scores. Strategic planning benefits from jazz or classical. And sometimes you just need The Soggy Bottom Boys to remind you that "man of constant sorrow" has never sounded so good.

The O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack introduced me to old-time American music—bluegrass, gospel, and folk that feels ancient and immediate. There's authenticity in that music that modern production often lacks. It connects you to something deeper.

I believe in the power of music to shift mental states. A carefully curated playlist can transform a frustrating afternoon into a productive one. My Spotify reflects this utilitarian approach—playlists organized by mood, activity, and energy level rather than genre.

Los Angeles is more than my home—it's a daily reminder that ambition and creativity can coexist. This city attracts dreamers and doers from every corner of the world. You can have breakfast with a filmmaker, lunch with a tech founder, and dinner with a healthcare executive. That cross-pollination of ideas is invaluable.

The entertainment industry's presence here has shaped my appreciation for storytelling and production quality. Healthcare technology doesn't have to be boring or clinical. The best products tell stories—they make complex processes feel simple and even delightful. LA teaches you that presentation matters.

There's also something grounding about building a healthcare company here. Amid the glitz, real problems need solving. Real patients need better care. Real providers need better tools. That contrast keeps me focused on what matters.

There's something about the Porsche 997 that transcends typical car enthusiasm. It's not just a vehicle—it's a statement about priorities. The 997 represents the last generation of the 911 before Porsche fully embraced water-cooling and digital interfaces. It sits at the perfect intersection of analog driving feel and modern reliability.

My appreciation for the 997 comes from what it represents: decades of iterative refinement toward a singular purpose. Porsche didn't reinvent the 911 every generation—they perfected it. That philosophy resonates deeply with how I approach building software. Evolution over revolution. Refinement over disruption. Getting the fundamentals right before adding complexity.

The flat-six engine in the 997 is a masterpiece of mechanical engineering. The sound it produces isn't designed by audio engineers—it's a natural consequence of physics, of air and fuel and precisely machined metal working in harmony. There's authenticity in that experience that's increasingly rare in our digital world.

"The best products, whether cars or software, disappear when you use them. You don't think about the interface—you just drive."

Living in Los Angeles, the canyon roads north of the city offer some of the best driving in the country. Mulholland Drive, the Angeles Crest Highway, Pacific Coast Highway—these routes are where you truly appreciate what a well-sorted sports car can do. It's meditation in motion, complete focus on the road ahead.