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Indeed, verily, e’ery post e’er made.

The Community of my Community is my Community 

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Tonight I helped a friend of a friend think through his work plans. He lent me a book from his shelf that I enjoyed leafing through. 

I like this group of friends that this this friend has. I’m three for three on liking them (I’ve liked him and two of his friends). My normal hit rate on befriending people is probably in the single digit percentages. 

They’re 25 years old. I’ve got 8 years on them. Not necessarily 8 years wiser; just 8 years. 

The conversation started when he complained that the company he wants to work for re-posted the job he applied for. They didn’t reply to his resume and cover letter two weeks ago: just re-posted the job opening online. I suggested he walk into their office tomorrow. Dress nicely, bring a copy of your resume and cover letter, find a way to talk to the would-be-boss. Tell them “I like what you’re doing and would love to help.” Know some info about the guy. It’s an assistant role: be ready for that particular guy. It’s a big city: you gotta stand out. 

He liked my advice. He plans to execute it. Even if it fails, he’ll have Done The Thing. Doing The Thing increases your ability to do. If you walk into 400 theater companies in nyc, one of them will hire you. Or at least you’ll get some exercise. 

I wonder whether I like helping this group of guys because it’s the same generation as the youth group I used to advise. Similar friendly banter. Same camaraderie. Same desire for impact and intellect. Same idealism. 

I like being helpful. I like where life is. 

He lent me a book. How to Survive the Modern World. I would like to do that. I would like to Survive. 

I like exchanging gifts. That’s how you make friends. 

Games Played 

“You’re forgiven for making me leave the house.” -Partner, after I brought her delicious fried chicken (delicious fried chicken in Harlem? What a surprise!)

Me: “When is the delivery driver expected to arrive?” 

Delivery company dispatcher: “He’s on Broadway.” 

Me: “Broadway is a reasonably large street. Do you have a cross street?” 

(This is an instance of “Tell me you don’t live in New York without telling me you don’t live in New York.”) 

How did the Chelsea Hotel become the Chelsea Hotel? 

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I saw a one-man show today. The star, Ned Van Zandt, did heroin with Sid Vicious in the Chelsea Hotel shortly before Sid’s overdose. He drank and drugged with the creative types of the time. They all stayed at the Chelsea Hotel. 

Part strikes me as a coordination game. A Schelling point. Artists want to be with artists. Chelsea and Greenwich Village had been artistic hubs. Artists need a place to stay. This particular hotel might have some happenstance trait that makes it The Place. Once it’s The Place, it shall remain so. 

In these scenes, there is always A Place. The Algonquin Round Table was a similar structure: influential, passionate artists who enjoyed associating with each other. They started at the Algonquin Hotel, but then evolved into a more portable group. A Movable Feast is this same structure, I’ve heard, but haven’t read. 

When you create a context that attracts great people, they want to bring their friends. These places can be created. They’re worth creating. 

Firing the wrong person

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Someone conscripted me for a project. 

I wasn’t super interested. 

I didn’t know the team, didn’t care about the topic, and the scope was out-of-wheelhouse. 

Still, they wanted to take on the topic, and the money was fine. 

The structure: a two-week work trial. We produce one article, after which the company may extend our contract. 

Someone & I worked on it for a week. Someone put in ~80% of the hours; I structured the content. We sent The Boss an outline. 

The Boss was livid. “Unacceptable”, he said, along with other epithets. He didn’t like the appearance, completely ignoring key traits and lacking in curiosity. I said to Someone, “If he replies like this, the price of the actual work just went up.” 

We hopped on a call. I spoke most on my team’s behalf: Someone prefers I do the talking because Someone wants me to own the relationship going forward. 

Afterwards, The Boss called Someone for a one-on-one. The Boss wants to drop me from the team. The irony? It wasn’t my work! I was just the point of contact! 

Someone told him they don’t have bandwidth to shoulder this whole load themselves. I’ll still send him a finished draft, because that’s what we agreed. Then maybe he’ll seek to only hire Someone for the bigger project, despite a misread of the situation. 

There’s irony for ya. 

If I cared, I’d care. But I don’t; I just find it funny. 

In the “Do good work, turn it in on time, and have people like you” world of freelancing, with this particular gig, I’ve nailed the first two. The third one? Fortunately, it’s a “choose any two”. 

Games Played

“I was going to ask you what the Jewish creation myth is. I then laughed at myself when I thought of the question.” — Partner, who was raised catholic.

How much of employment is emotional soothing? 

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Actually: how much? 

I recently read a Reddit post by a multi-exited CEO. She mentioned that most of her job is informational framing. It’s the same facts, framed precisely for the target. 

I’ve coached a number of CEOs. I’ve ghostwritten for even more. The uber-successful ones are universally kind, curious, and generous. The medium-successful are jumpy and reactive. 

I wonder if emotional soothing is such a big deal for humans that it’s the key piece to be solved before all others. (“You’re not you when you’re cranky”, and the like.) 

If that’s true, then solving this main need opens up a lot of doors. Logical thinking becomes much easier. Reliable behavior, too. 

People like people they can rely on. People bet on people they can rely on. 

Perhaps it’s those middle-successful who need the emotional soothing, 

while the best of the best just take care of themselves.

Don’t gussy up poor-person food and tell me it’s rich. 

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I’ve been to Indonesia. I’ve eaten nasi goreng. I liked it. That’s why I can’t eat it anywhere else. 

Nasi goreng is poor-person food. For under $5, you can get a heaping plate of eggs, rice, vegetables, meat, and spices. In the US, you can get the same (or more often, a worse version of the same) dish for $20. That doesn’t make it better! 

I’m in Dublin. Today, I ate a boxty. It’s potato dumplings plus cream sauce. It’s clearly poor-person food. I followed it up with fish & chips, also poor-person food. The first was 27euros. The second 21euros. Both were bland and uninteresting. Both would have been passable at 7euros. These were the best places in Dublin! The highest-rated for their respective dishes! Featured on best-of lists! 

I’m perfectly satisfied by 6-dumplings-for-$5.50 from a basement store with a bathroom toilet more disgusting than any at Woodstock. What I don’t like is putting a bow on that set of dumplings and selling them for $20. 

So far, Partner and I have eaten 6 meals in Ireland. We are 2/5 on passability: the late-night kebab upon arrival was delicious, as was the full Irish breakfast this morning. The beef-and-guinness stew, the fish & chips, and the boxtys are to be avoided. 

Tomorrow, we try the lamb. At least a $23 lamb shank seems appropriately priced. Let’s hope it’s also appropriately tasty.  

I <3 Ireland

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I landed in Dublin three hours ago. Three of my first five experiences: 

  1. Outside the airport, I ask a fellow whether we can tap-to-pay on the bus. He says we need euros in cash or a local transit card. We tell him we don’t have either. He initially pulls out a 5 euro note to give it to us, then realizes he can just tap us on instead, so he does. What a generous bloke! 
  2. Immediately after exiting the bus, Partner & I ask a bouncer at the local pub if they’re still serving food. He says no, but goes out of his way to suggest other options. This is not typical bouncer behavior. 
  3. A short walk later, a college-looking kid tells a homeless-looking man, “I’ll get ya tomorrow.”

I’m going to like Ireland.

Oh, Spain! 

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Oh Spain,

Why do I hate thee? Let me count the why’s…  

  1. Your airport security of pointless inefficiency. Not so bad as France – where one is mandated to snake all the way up and down through every single stanchion – but close. Yes, I think airport security is a waste of time and money (and I shall #neverforget this fact). But I also think that a security officer shouldn’t allow the passenger to rifle through their own bag in search of whatever suspected contraband may be present. Anyone with any sleight-of-hand skill would be able to beat that! 
  2. A lack of maintenance or respect for quality. You can smell that they peaked in the 1500s and have performed no maintenance since. 
  3. People touching you in lines and on the bus. When standing beside the busdriver, a woman physically moved my hand in order to speak to the bus driver. Where I live, you get slapped for that shit. That’s not even accounting for the fact that she was talking to the bus driver while the bus was in motion, immediately below the sign that said do not talk to the bus driver while the bus is in motion. 
  4. They think their food is good. The cheese is good (but not as good as French or Italian cheese). The bread is fine (but not as good as French bread). The jamon is out of this world incredible. Bien hecho, no quiero nada mas. 
  5. The language is dumb and inconsistent. France has a whole department dedicated to the quality of their language. Spain has multiple languages. 
  6. The restaurants are closed from 4-7pm. That’s when I want to eat! 

Thank god I’m going to Ireland in two days. 

Green-Haired, Harem-Having Druids 

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How many people do you know who go by “Druid” who have green hair and a harem? 

I know two. 

The first I met ~6 years ago. The second I met tonight. No, I don’t think they’re the same person. I conjured a memory of the first-Druid‘s face. It’s distinct. 

You might think the world of people who go by Druid with green hair and a harem is small. But in the Burning Man community, the name Druid is a reasonably common name. Burners frequently dye their hair. A Druid is one in touch with nature, so the obvious color is green. Further, many Burners date in polyamorous relationships. Basically, if you grabbed a random guy out of a bag of 1000 Burners, you shouldn’t be particularly shocked by a green-haired, Druid-named harem-haver. 

I’m reminded of an AI matchmaker whose blog I used to write. One client said to the CEO something like “I’m looking for a six-foot tall half-Asian CEO with blue eyes.” The CEO scoffed, saying “there are probably like two of those in the country.” The client said “I’ve dated three.” 

If you exist in the subculture — whatever the subculture is — you’ll see a lot of them. And people in subcultures agglomerate. 

Put another way: a friend of mine swung down from New England to visit New York for a week. He said to me, “I don’t know how to ask this question, and I mean no offense by it: why are there so many gay people here?” 

I told him, “Because there are so many gay people here.” 

The ease of AI

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Today, Partner and I planned a trip. Three days ago, we weren’t planning on going to Europe. Yesterday night, we had booked and scheduled nothing. Today, we have an entire itinerary, including flights to and from, housing, five restaurants (one reserved), two tours, one museum, and four theater show tickets.

Previously, this trip would have taken me ~3 days to plan. Now, I do it in five hours. Thank you, Claude.

Where does the extra time go?

I’ve heard that work-time-savings leads to people working more hours. For me, I don’t know if that’s true. We’re all on the hedonic treadmill to some degree. But the hour I spend at the gym is a glorious hour, and it’s not improved by more expensive equipment. The Chinatown basement dumplings are exquisite, and they’re $5.50 to eat while strolling across the bridge to Brooklyn. When Partner and I visited Budapest, we stayed in a five-star hotel for 2 nights, followed by a $60/night aparthotel (an apartment converted into a hotel). We dramatically preferred the aparthotel, and not just for fundamentals like location. We like having our own fridge and stove.

Much happiness comes from the removal of friction. When drudgery goes away, the system shines brighter. I could be aging; my values changing, but I don’t feel the need to spend the extra time grinding. What would be the point? Where would we go? If you grind, grind, grind, eventually: you disappear.

Error-filled poker is best poker

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Tonight I played in a poker game. $50 buy-in tournament, unlimited rebuys, and you pay an additional $10 in cash to the person who knocks you out each time you’re knocked out. 

A list of the errors that the host made: 

  1. Not moving the blinds properly when someone is knocked out. (The correct action: the big blind moves to its proper position. The small blind follows the big blind. If this process would lead to someone being small blind twice in a row, there is no small blind.)
  2. When coloring-up chips, arbitrarily rounding up. (“Coloring up” is the process of removing small-denomination chips when they’re no longer useful. If someone has eight $10 chips and the small blind is now $100 and the big blind $200, you might as well turn all the $10 chips into $50 chips. There is a designated process for coloring up. It’s called a “chip race”. Our host instead just rounded people up… sometimes. Like, if you had three $100 chips, she just gave you a $500. But somebody received three $1000 chips in exchange for a trove of $50 chips. And there’s NO WAY he had 60 of those $50s. I think it far more likely that she mis-mathed.) 
  3. Miscounting stacks. At one point, one guy busted another. Only they miscounted how much money the two guys had, so they left the loser with a few chips when they shouldn’t have. I noticed that they miscounted. But I had only been present at this game for ~30 minutes when the miscount occurred, in a room where I was the plus one to someone I’d never actually hung out with. I didn’t want to intervene if someone else might catch it, and didn’t want to overstep my role. Nobody likes a newbie know-it-all who can eyeball a miscount from the other side of the table. 
  4. When a card is exposed, they offer the would-be owner of the exposed card the option to call a misdeal. Again, this is a circumstance with clearly defined process. Follow the process. (Certainly don’t give the would-be owner the option to call a misdeal after that person has looked at their replacement card. I was the beneficiary of this option in one circumstance, and being new to the game, let it slide. They exposed my ace, replaced it with a three, and I called a misdeal.) 
  5. If one of the players is outside for a smoke break, we fold his hand. But if the host’s boyfriend is away from the table, we wait for him. (Of the above issues, this is probably the main circumstance I find chicanerous. I’ll chalk it up to the cost of her hosting.) 

Don’t interpret these as complaints. I had an absolute blast. 

I didn’t only take advantage of the spots where it was good for me. In this game, I was along for the ride. There were ~3 spots where the mis-done blinds were meaningfully negative for me. There were also ~2 spots where the incorrectly-done blinds were positive for me. I didn’t care. I was there to have fun and meet people and bring them joy and be invited back. 

I probably will be. The host likes that I keep the game moving. 

At ~11:30pm, when a player busted, dropping us from four players to three, I ran to the bathroom for a quick pee break. While I was in the bathroom, the other two players agreed to designate first, second, and third place by chip count if I accepted. The guy with the fewest chips agreed to taking third place (20% of the pot; $100). I would receive second place (30% of the pot; $150). The chip leader would receive first place (50% of the pot; $250). 

This division is unfair. It’s most unfair to the third-place guy, as it’s acting like he’s busted. It’s second-most unfair to me because I’m way better at poker than these guys (and the upside from second place to first is big). But I want to be invited back. 

So the host’s boyfriend got to win first. He was excited. The host is happy too. So am I. I had a great night. 

It was so fun. I spoke deeply and intimately with a treasure trove of people: 

  • The Long Island-born car mechanic who now owns his own dealership of refrigerated trucks and works 6am-6pm Monday through Friday. He’s as gruff and masculine as you’d expect. But he also says to his girlfriend, when he hears about this weekend’s storm: “You know what that means? Snuggle time!” 
  • The Frenchman who immediately clocks me as a fellow French-speaker because I can pronounce his name correctly… and who speaks so quickly and with such a thick accent that absolutely no one else understands him. My favorite part: he gets frustrated about folding a hand that would have hit a straight, after seeing another guy show his flush! Why are you upset about folding the hand that would have lost you a bunch of money?! 
  • The oldest man at the table, who has played with the group for years, who still doesn’t know the chip denominations. At one point, he said, “I’ll get it next year.” He’s probably been saying that for years. At one point, he moved to the seat beside me. I helped him by telling him, “The action’s on you. It’s $3000. That’s six reds or three blacks.” Then he’d still toss in the wrong amount, and I’d give him his change. 

I had a blast, brought joy to other people, and won. 

Same time next month.