A Fedago joint · friends, family, and other suspects
Half-Baked
You know me. You've been chewing on something. Tell me, before someone else does — or before you talk yourself out of it.
Half-Baked is the door for the people who already know me. You don't need a deck. You don't need a one-liner. You don't need to pretend it's bigger than it is.
I run a venture studio (Fedago). I build with my own engine. If your idea has legs, we sit down — actual sitting, actual coffee — and we make it. If it doesn't, I'll tell you why, and we'll talk about something else.
Tell me the thing.
Two sentences. Two minutes. Half-cooked is the whole point. If it's fully baked, you wouldn't be sending it to me.
I'll read it.
Probably the same night, after the kids are down. If you don't hear from me, you'll definitely hear from me.
We make a call.
A real one — voice, not Slack. We sketch what it could be. I tell you what I think; I tell you what's tricky.
We build it.
On the same engine I use for everything else, in one sitting. You watch it happen. You leave with the thing, your name on it.
What you send is held in confidence. If I build it with you, your name stays on it and we settle your stake before any work begins. That's the rule for friends and the rule for strangers; you don't get the friends-and-family discount on integrity.
What I won't pretend: if it overlaps something I've already been working on, I can't grant exclusivity. I keep a dated log of every idea I've explored, and I'll show it to you. The honesty is the point — it's how credit means anything later.
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