Nashville, Tennessee · running since February 2026
I'm Mike Faith. I founded Headsets.com in 1997 and still run it. Smarty is the AI assistant I built for myself: it texts me a briefing before I'm out of bed, merges four wearables into one honest health picture, picks up when I call it from the car, and rewrites its own schedule when I land in a different time zone. It lives on one Mac mini in Nashville. I have never opened a terminal on it.
About the numbers on this page. The system, the routines and the architecture are real and running today. The health figures in the dashboard are illustrative sample data — I'm not publishing my actual labs and sleep records on the open internet.
06:30 · every morning
Every morning Smarty assembles one message: how I slept, what's on the calendar and which of those meetings actually needs prep, who has a birthday, what's sitting unanswered in my inbox, the weather where I am today — not where I live — and one nudge tied to a goal I set months ago. Then it gets out of the way.
sample briefing · illustrative data
Every number is scored against my own 7- and 30-day baselines, not a population average. "87" means nothing on its own. "Best night this week" is the useful part.
Four meetings go in, one comes out flagged. Routine internal huddles get skipped; anything unusual gets a prep brief with the attendee history and the last email thread.
When a sensor goes quiet, it says so instead of quietly reusing yesterday's reading. That one rule is why I trust the rest of it.
"Too long." "Drop the stock line." "Put weather first." The format spec is a file Smarty edits on my message — no one touches the server to reformat my morning.
The health pipeline
An Apple Watch, an Eight Sleep pod, an Oura ring and a continuous glucose sensor. Four apps, four accounts, four different ideas of what a good night looks like. Every morning Smarty pulls all four, reconciles them, scores them against my own history, and writes one paragraph a human would actually act on.
Your wrist and your mattress disagree on Tuesday and Wednesday, and the mattress is right — both nights you were up before the ring stopped scoring you as asleep. I'm using Eight Sleep as the source of truth for those two and flagging Oura as partial.
The pattern that's holding across 30 nights: every night you finish eating before 7pm, deep sleep lands over an hour and HRV clears 40. Four of your last five late dinners cost you both. That's the lever, not the supplement stack.
One thing I can't tell you: the glucose sensor has been silent since Wednesday morning. I'd rather say that than average the gap.
Voice
Smarty has a phone number. I dial it on the way to the office and talk to it like a chief of staff — no app, no screen, no wake word. It has the same brain and the same tools it has in text: my calendar, my inbox, my health data, my memory. It can look things up mid-sentence and hand work to my assistant before I've parked.
Morning. You're moving — want the short version?
Yeah. What's the two o'clock?
Acquisition bi-weekly with Rick, two till three. Last time you left it with him mapping the current close process before anyone picks a platform. Nothing new in the thread since Friday.
Did Chris ever come back on the ads thing?
He replied Monday and it's still sitting on you — he's asking whether you've seen search bars inside Google ads, and floating a dedicated AI page on the site. Eleven days old. Want me to draft the reply?
Draft it, don't send it. And get Jonathan on the Q3 warehouse numbers before that two o'clock.
Draft's in your Telegram to approve. Jonathan's been asked for the Q3 warehouse numbers with a noon deadline — I'll text you when he answers. Anything else before you pull in?
Remind me to call my son on Sunday.
Set. Sunday morning, wherever you are.
Illustrative transcript. Phone calls keep no recording and no transcript — Smarty writes back only the facts it was told to remember. The browser version keeps the full thread.
Eighteen tools are wired into the call: calendar, mail, memory, health, tasks, reminders, web. When it says "let me check", it is actually checking.
A fresh context pack is built every morning and handed to the call as it connects — so a call at 4pm knows what the 9:15 health report said, and what I promised someone at noon.
"Get Jonathan on the numbers" dispatches a task to a background agent that texts me the result later. The call ends; the work doesn't.
The same assistant runs as a private web voice app for when I'm at a desk or on hotel Wi-Fi abroad — full transcripts saved to memory.
A day, unattended
This is a normal Thursday. Nothing here is triggered by me — each one runs on its own schedule, and most of them only speak up when there's something worth saying.
Disk, memory pressure, expiring API tokens, whether the voice patch survived last night's update. Silent unless something needs me.
Sleep, calendar, meeting triage, birthdays, inbox, weather where I actually am, and one coaching nudge.
Weekdays. Skips the routine internal huddles; briefs the ones that matter with attendee history and the live email thread.
Seven-day rainfall for the Franklin property against a threshold I can change by text, with watering times beside the days that need them.
All four devices pulled and reconciled. If one is late, it retries at noon rather than reporting a half-picture as a whole one.
Watches for drift — a metric sliding for days, a sensor gone quiet, a number outside my own range. Silent unless it flags.
Unanswered mail from people who matter, tomorrow's calendar risks, promises I made and haven't closed. This is the one that saves me most often.
Everything still open, in my inbox, formatted the way I asked for it.
The day gets written into long-term memory as prose, not logs — so next month it can tell me what actually worked.
Progress against the goals I set, and a pass that folds the week's loose notes into the permanent record.
Correlations across everything it has on me — which behaviours actually move which numbers.
Ninety days, summarised. Health, work, relationships, money, and what changed.
What it runs
Every one of these came from the same thing: I noticed something I kept doing by hand, said so in a text message, and it existed by the next morning. None of them required a meeting, a spec, or a developer.
Apple Watch, Eight Sleep, Oura and a glucose sensor pulled daily, reconciled where they disagree, scored against my own baselines. 211 days deep and counting.
Runs every day and says nothing unless a metric has been drifting, a sensor has gone quiet, or something sits outside my normal range.
Monthly: what actually moved the numbers. Not advice from the internet — patterns in my own six months of data.
Reads tomorrow's calendar, decides which meetings are non-routine, and writes a brief for each from attendee history and the live email thread.
Surfaces the two emails out of forty that need me, tracks unanswered mail from people who matter, and sends a formatted open-items email at 4pm.
Every afternoon it looks for what's about to go wrong tomorrow: double-booked slots, missing dial-ins, a promise I made and forgot.
Merges three separate calendars into one list and tells me the age someone is turning, not a date I have to do maths on.
When I land in Bangkok, my briefing arrives at 6:30 there. Nineteen routines follow me; the ones anchored to US business hours deliberately don't.
Seven-day forecast for the property with watering days and durations attached, and an alert when the ground is behind. Thresholds change by text message.
Goals I set once, in my words. A rotating nudge each morning tied to whichever one the data says is slipping, and a review every Sunday.
Six bands I want to see, monitored weekly for Nashville and Atlanta dates. It watches; it never buys.
145 daily logs, 22 topic files, a nightly narrative and a weekly pass that folds loose notes into the permanent record. It knows what we decided in March.
How it holds up
Anyone can demo an AI assistant. Keeping one alive for six months, for a user who will never open a terminal, is a different discipline. Four rules make that possible — and they're the reason this is still running.
Every number I might want to change — how sensitive an alert is, my VO₂ target, the watering threshold, how long an email can sit — lives in a data file the assistant edits when I text it. "Sentinel's too twitchy" is a message, not a ticket.
Every feature is registered with its own undo. "Turn off the nightly narrative" removes the schedule and archives the files in a single step — and puts it back the same way. Eleven features, eleven clean exits. Nothing is ever deleted.
A routine software update once silently wiped the patch that gives phone calls their tools. It went unnoticed for seven weeks. Now a watchdog checks that patch every hour and reapplies it — the failure can happen again; the outage can't.
If a device hasn't synced, the report says so and names the gap. It never fills a hole with yesterday's number. An assistant that quietly guesses is worse than no assistant.
"Mike never touches the server."
— the constraint everything above is built to satisfyUnder the hood
It runs on a Mac mini in Nashville. Data comes in from the devices and services I already use; the assistant reasons over it with a persistent memory, a set of rules and my goals; and it reaches me on whichever channel I'm on.
The people behind it
I'm the user, not the builder. The reason this is still running six months later — and not a demo that broke in week three — is a small team that does infrastructure, finance and technology properly. All three of them take fractional work.
Runs the servers, cloud accounts and security posture — including the machine this assistant lives on. He set the constraint the whole system is built around: the owner never touches the server. Everything on this page had to survive that rule.
Fractional controller work: the close process, the reporting cadence, and the numbers a CEO can actually make decisions on. He maps how a business really runs before anyone starts automating it — which is why the automation sticks.
Runs technology day to day and builds the customer-facing side of AI. If you want what's on this page pointed at your customers rather than your calendar, this is the conversation to have.
Whether that's a personal assistant like Smarty, someone to run your infrastructure and security, or a finance function that finally closes on time — send me one email and I'll point you at whichever of them fits.