Category: A Tramp’s Travelog

I live in a van. I traipse around the country. Where & when? Weary traveler, read on…

The Previous Tenants (Feb 25 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero interacts with one separate yet equally important group…  Dun dun…

At 8:32am, my doorbell rings three times in quick succession. I groggily roll over and tell Partner I got it. I walk to the door and flick the peephole to open. “POLICE!” says the voice on the other side. The peephole is dark as though covered by something. The something moves. I now see 3 bodies.
“One sec.” I reply. The voice on the other side grunts something noncommittal.
Naked, I go to the bathroom and pee for what feels like a very long time.
I then toss on yesterday’s shirt and pants. I tell Partner, “What do we tell cops?”
She replies something like, “The truth?”
“Nothing,” I reply. “We tell cops nothing.”
On the way to the door, I grab my hat. Just before opening the door, I turn on voice memo mode on my phone. 

I open the door. It’s a man in front, two women standing one on either side behind him. The following is a direct transcript. 

Me: Hey, good morning. 

Cop: Good morning, how are you doing? My name is Austin, from the New York City Police Department. Sorry to bother you.

Me: No worries. 

Cop: What’s your name? 

Me: Julian. 

Cop: Julian, are you the only one that lives here?

Me: Yeah.

Cop: You just moved in here? 

Me: Yeah. 

Cop: How long ago? 

Me: End of January. 

Cop: End of January. Do you know who used to live here before you? 

Me: No. 

Cop: Oh, okay. Do you get any, is it just you that lives here? 

Me: My partner is here at the moment, but I’m the only one who lives here.

Cop: Who’s your partner then? 

Me: Nikki. 

Cop: Nikki. Do you get any mail, or used to, for this name?

[He holds out a piece of paper. It’s a mug shot with statistics.] 

Me: [Mispronunciation of the mug shot person’s name]? 

Cop: Yes. 

Me: I’m not familiar with that person. 

Cop: No mail? 

Me: No.

Cop: She look familiar to you? 

Me: No. 

Cop: No. 

Me: I received, maybe like two weeks ago, a letter or two in the mailbox that was not addressed to me, and clearly wasn’t for me, and so what people usually do is they put it on the thing next to it, and then when the guy comes by to deliver the mail, he’ll take it back.
[I promise English is my first language.] 

Cop: Do you know if it was for her? 

Me: I don’t remember.

Cop: Don’t remember, yeah. Okay. All right. I’m sorry about everything. 

Me: No worries.

Cop: All right. 

Me: Cheers.

I close the door and return to Partner. She says in a deep voice, “NYPD, open up!”. We laugh about how cops are only mildly inconvenient in their normal duties (ringing aggressively at 8:30am, the way a child would ding-dong three times), but when they really want to get you, they’re incredibly inconvenient (like busting down your door at 5am). 

Here’s what I’ve heard about the previous owner: 

  • A mother lived here with her son. The mother owned the apartment. She died. The son didn’t make the maintenance fee payments. He kept sneaking into the apartment: breaking through the front door or climbing up the fire escape to break in. This explains the one-inch diameter deadbolt on the fire escape. 
  • Last time the management company stopped by, the previous tenants had a big pool table in the middle of the living room. Compared to that previous state, our current state of disheveled (Amazon boxes strewn about) is what the management company describes as “very clean”. 
  • The previous owner was foreclosed on. The court case took ~3 years. 

Since this morning, here’s what I’ve since learned about [correct pronunciation of the mug shot person’s name]: 

  • She was born in the Bronx, had a hard childhood, suffered from medical and mental health issues, was arrested multiple times for misdemeanors, and then was charged with felony robbery.
  • She participated in “Alternative to Incarceration” court with the Fortune Society, which provided her with therapy and an arts program. She had an art exhibition in 2022 and graduated from the program in fall of 2023.
  • In February 2024, she shared her success story at the State of the Judiciary program in Albany and has been featured in multiple materials since. She was proud to hold a job, have her own apartment, and was expecting her first child that spring.
  • She had an eviction filed against her in March of 2025 for not-my-address and is due in court next week.
  • It’s not clear to me why NYPD was looking for her.

I stopped by the bank earlier today. The banker talked for twenty minutes about the cruise she wants to go on. I told her the story of my morning, being awaken by NYPD. She began singing the Taylor Swift Song: 

“Welcome to New York.” 

Less to Share (Feb 22 2026) 

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In which Our… 

If my previous life was breadth, my now life is depth. 

When friends call, I have less to share. Not because I’m doing less, but because my focus is more tailored. 

I’m not flâning around Paris, happening upon big brass bands. 
I’m not traipsing around Rome eating lasagna. 
I’m not hand-over-handing chains to the top of Angels Landing. 

But I am doing things I like to do: 

  • Selecting the location of each light switch in my new home. 
  • Optimizing the width and swing of each door. 
  • Completing a daily Peloton workout. 
  • Spending time with my partner, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. 
  • Studying and playing poker. 

It’s just… 

The depth of these doesn’t lend itself to sharing. 

(My partner disagrees. She thinks I just don’t have practice in sharing it. I agree with her, not with me.)

My poker friend and I talk poker. 
But most others don’t have enough context to follow. 
And my poker skill doesn’t even go that deep! 

What did I accomplish recently? 
I selected a cooktop, hood, two dishwashers, and oven. 
Did I enjoy it? 
Sure. 
Not earth-shattering, but sure. 

How much of this change is the lowered intensity of my more-flat-than-one-year-ago hormonal state? 
How much is a decreased verbal fluency that seems to have come with the switch back to testosterone? 
How much is being in the moment more, rather than reflecting less? 
I’m not sure. 
I don’t know. 

One of my dearest friends, when he had kids, shifted his entire focus to them. 
This is typical. I get it. 
Now, sometimes he calls me with nothing to say. 
He’ll hum or say “dum-dah-dum-dum…” 
I think he enjoys being with me, even if that’s all it is right now. 

Outside my window, the wind swirls snowflakes. 
This particular alcove tends to send them upwards. 
My partner enjoys watching. “Snowflakes don’t go up!”, she says. 

Yet here
they do. 

[Says Partner about these last two paragraphs: 

I think this is touching and banal and worth sharing in a way you should find more about your day-to-day life. 

Today you woke up to some of your favorite people at your front door.

You helped make a delicious dish you’d never made before that everyone raved about.

You wandered through the snow too far through the park because it was beautiful.

You scooted gleefully through Morningside Heights.

You snuggled and played NYT word games until you helped someone vent about their in-laws and recognized your role in soothing their worries.

All of these you could paint beautiful pictures of.

I used to do photography (*cough* also award-winning in a Ukiah competition *cough cough*) and one thing that inspired me about Ansel Adams’ work (other than the fact that they’re beautiful) is that he could see the beauty in the world and capture it to share. He didn’t photograph “interesting” things. They’re just random landscapes that tons of people could see, but he was able to recognize and capture that beauty in a stunning way.

]

Elbows and Existence (Feb 20 2026)

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An infinite array of options; I’ll be aye. 

My elbow tenses.

At 32 years old, my first repetitive stress injury. 

Second, after a pickleball shoulder. 

But this elbow is also a pickleball injury. 

Squeezing paddle, sure. 

But also the orientation of my elbow as I laid on my back, my computer on my chest for too many hours: the hunched-over curl of a crone despite my then-13 years old. 

I hunched today as I did then. 

Now I pay. 

It’s odd to grow old. To scrape off one’s vigor and exchange passion for comfort. To realize my mind may be and continue to be heading farther away from me, not nearer. 

To replace exuberance with action. 

Having finished most of the big explore, to replace it with exploit. 

Enjoying everyday enough to select it among the infinite. 

To have experienced enough to know. 

How many have made pilgrimage to Seoul for the finals of your favorite childhood sport? 

Ran shirtless in Indonesia? 

Meditated in Thailand? 

How many have eaten pasta two blocks from the Vatican? 

Kayaked the arctic ocean? 

Swam the Great Barrier Reef?

Negotiated for tee shirts in Mumbai? 

I don’t feel like a life unlived. 

I feel like the foundation; the fundamentals of everyday existence: 

That those thusfar empties are slowly seeping solid. 

I don’t need to see the thousand buddhas again. 

I’ve seen them, snapped selfies with silly smirks, stumbled upon the graveyard, and biked home. 

Share these with a future wife and children, sure. 

Invite my extended family to duck and cheese at my Paris pied-à-terre. 

Learn what makes my new brothers laugh. 

When the door has opened, why keep knocking? 

Step-by-Step Instructions (Feb 15 2026) 

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In which Our Hero reflects on unusual timelines. 

People often ask me how I formed such an excellent relationship. (No one has asked me. But let’s assume.) 

Here’s my process, in case it helps: 

  1. Date her friend 
  2. Have a threesome with her and another one of her friends (not the one you were dating) 
  3. Let 10+ years pass 
  4. An AI matchmaker pairs you
  5. Schedule a 3-day-long camping trip as your first date 
  6. Extend date to 10 days long, ending only when one of you comes down with Covid 
  7. Wait 2 weeks <cough, cough> 
  8. As a second date, she moves into your van, and the two of you drive across the country together
  9. Attempt to purchase a house together in Puerto Rico within the first 6 months
  10. Backpack though Europe together
  11. Break up 
  12. Attend clown school together in France
  13. Get back together 
  14. Put down a deposit to buy an apartment 
  15. Buy life insurance on each other 
  16. Within one month:
    • Make embryos
    • Get engaged 
    • Buy apartment 

We’ve got all the right steps, just not in the normal timeline. Maybe next we have kids before getting pregnant. 

To Each Their Own (Valentine’s Day Poem) (Feb 14 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero & Partner pen a poem. 

She is to fear as I am excitement. 

Our poor calibration; our tragic flaws. 

Whether biology or culture, 

faith or fate, 

such is, we agree, a soulmate. 

Is this framework unique to us,

or is it self-evident? 

Dislike of other comes from framework projection. 

Sometimes mine’s better,

sometimes yours. 

Neither own all, 

nor control wrongly; 

Calibration is key. 

Before you try to hyperoptimize a process, 

be sure you’re optimizing for what you actually want 

and not a correlate. 

Free fridge: frustration not included. (Feb 13 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero <grumblegrumblegrumble> 

Two days ago I acquired a free fridge. My partner and I wheeled it home: 6 short blocks and 1 long block. Arriving home, we spent 1.5 hours removing fridge doors and apartment doors just to learn it’s slightly too large. 

No bother: another person in the Facebook free group can take it. We text yesterday and she offers to pick it up today between 2 and 3pm. I confirm. 

Today I tell her 2:45pm is ideal. 

She says fine. 

At 2:30pm, I say I’m around and ready. She says she’s delayed: would 3pm work? 

I say that timing is worse for me, but we could do it if it’s exactly that time. 

At 3, she tells me 3:30. She gives me the phone number of “her uncle”, who is coming to pick it up. I call. He says he’s 15 minutes away. 

They finally arrive at 4:15. It’s not her uncle: it’s a moving company that she paid $350 to move the fridge for her. 

This entire time I’m pissed. Sure, I’m doing work from home that I would just be doing across town with my partner. It’s not the impact on my productivity: it’s the disrespect. I’m giving you a free fridge. 

I glance at her Facebook page. She is a single mother of two. 

It’s a hard spot: on the one hand, I’d like to help someone in need. On the other, she made my day worse. 

And, like, never even said thank you. 

What did I learn? 

  1. Especially when being kind/helpful/generous, establish what I can do and when. Let others fit it. 
  2. Use the time better. The angry/annoyed time could have been better spent. 

I’m considering messaging her to say “Hey, just an FYI: your misestimating of timing by 1.5hrs made my day much worse. If you had given a more accurate window, or even told me it was a wide window, I would have been able to plan better.” 

Would I feel better? Yeah. Would she do better? Unlikely to do worse! 

There is probably no justice to be had here. We’re talking about a free fridge handoff, after all. 

But even without justice, perhaps we can inject some humanity. 

Stuck in the Mud (Feb 12 2026)

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In which Our Hero <schlorp schlorp schlorp>.

On our long third date, my partner and I got stuck in the mud. 

We were rock hounding after snowmelt, down a dirt road off another dirt road in the middle of nowhere without cell service, and my two-wheel-drive van got stuck. 

I was driving; clearly my fault. 

We discussed our options: 1) get unstuck; 2) sleep here and walk the 5-7 miles to town in the morning to get cell service to call for a tow. 

2 hours later, after around 10 overly optimistic “that’s it! We’ve got it!”s, both the van and I were covered with mud, and our gentle rocking (putting some rocks just behind the wheels and move back; putting rocks in front of the front wheels and move forward; repeat without rinsing) had us back on solid ground. 

—

Yesterday, I made a mistake. 

A reasonable mistake. 

A mistake that… 

Because, like, how can a refrigerator exist that doesn’t fit through a normal width doorway? 

A fair question. 

But it turns out my doorway is 1.5” short of normal width. 

Oof. 

—

At 9am someone posted “free fridge!” In the neighborhood free group. 

Within 40min, I had dibs. 

At 11am, my super lent me his hand cart. 

At 5:45pm, my partner and I walked the 5 short blocks and one long block to pick it up. This walk took 20 minutes, 5 of which was spent buying a ratchet strap for a 15% discount because it lacked a component that wouldn’t affect our use. 

At 7pm, we reached home with the fridge. 

… and realized it was too wide for the building’s front door. 

So I took the fridge doors off while my partner measured our unit door. 

She reported back, “We’re going to need to take the unit door off too, but it should fit”. 

At 7:45pm, I had the fridge doors off and it at the front door to our unit. 

At 8:15pm, we had the unit door off, despite 3 screws being stripped before we got there, and concluded the fridge bulges slightly in the middle

At 8:40, we had just enough screws back in the unit door to close it (if you physically heave up on the knob to seat it properly in the latch), stowed the fridge in the basement, and went for pizza. 

—

What did I learn? 

  1. Excitement and optimism can distract from considering practicalities. 
  2. Doors may be a standard 30” wide. But some doors are not standard. I imagine the same applies to other common items (eg cars). 
  3. Avoiding the sadness and pain during the installation and re-installation will increase the likelihood this sort of event happens again. 

The whole experience was frustrating and grumble-provoking. 

Many parts of me were generally annoyed at the situation. And therefore annoyed at all its contents (me, my partner, the door). 

It’s interesting, however, that this didn’t cause my partner any emotional harm. (I asked.)

Evidently she also felt frustration and dissatisfaction, but the annoyance I felt at her didn’t come through to her. 

Since getting engaged, this appears to be a change. Maybe the fact of having an increasingly-solid foundation means we’re both less worried about some of the minor pokes and scuffles. 

She knows that it’s us against the problem. And the problem is challenging and frustrating and annoying. So even though I’m partially annoyed at her (because I’m annoyed at everything), it’s chill. 

And that’s nice. 

Because sometimes we get stuck in the mud. 

And when we do. 

90% of the time it’s my fault. 

😂 

Hate Mail (Feb 11 2026)

Julian2 Comments

In which it’s nice to be seen 🙂 

My first piece of hate mail arrived in the form of a google document from my partner’s former grad school weightlifting friend. It articulated all the terrible traits that he observed during the long weekend we stayed with him. It included such gems as, “There were multiple occurrences of him saying something to the effect of ‘this happened because of some thing you did Nikki’ or ‘whose fault is this?’ And because he was saying it in a silly way it is expected to be a joke.” 

I read this criticism to a clown school friend of mine, who asked, “Oh, so you were doing bits?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “One was blaming Nikki for absolutely absurd things that were clearly not her fault, like the weather.” 

“That’s a pretty good bit.” 

“I agree.” 

—

Then, two months ago, I received a second piece of hate mail. This one came as a series of text messages from a fellow clown student. She derided my blog, my relating to other humans, and my analytic approach. I hadn’t spoken with her in ~a month (I had broken my foot and stepped away from clown school), and before that, I recall only neutral-to-positive experiences. Apropos of nothing, she sent me this diatribe. 

I have since shared that letter with a few friends. To a person, they describe it as “unhinged” (or various synonyms). 

In her hate mail, she made a few good points. My writing was likely alienating to some clown students. Clown school is a beautiful place and a precious gift. 

She also took some shots. Specifically, she said I “wasn’t funny yet” (the newsletter was called “Am I Funny Yet?”) and she described my blog as “very public and mediocre”. 

After I received that letter from her, I of course didn’t reply. I also of course didn’t alter my writing or publishing schedule. The article I published that day prompted a second screed from her the next day. She – in whatever reality she was experiencing – thought my intervening post had been about her (it had not). 

This second screed brought me great joy. 

“Ah,” I thought. “How wonderful it is that she reads my blog every day!” 

—

I like to live my life in public. I adore New York partly for that reason: meeting strangers and living in an environment where big, bold people are appreciated. I take my shirt off in public. I do so even though I’ve grown breasts. 

I also think it’s funny to call a blog about someone’s daily struggles “mediocre”. It’s not polished. It’s not complete. It’s not intended to be either of those. It’s a documentation of my attempts to do new and challenging things; a collection of my thoughts and observations and learnings and experiences. I’ve never been accused of waiting for perfection (and my partner, at least, thinks my life is better for it). That’s one of the clowning lessons: fail more, and befriend your flops. 

To quote my partner: “Being mediocre is the first step towards being kinda sorta good at something”. 

At present, I have 21 Substack subscribers and 168 subscribers. 

I’ve never looked at my stats before. I haven’t cared. I still don’t. But it’s nice to know that her estimate is also true numerically. 

So yeah, with my hundred of fans and my abnormal life, I’m proud to be: 

Very Public & Mediocre. 

But the People are Reasonable (Feb 10 2026)

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In which Our Hero continues acquiring junk.  

Lack of scams… As yet. 

Yesterday, I bought a Peloton. The owner highlighted the three parts of the screen that are slightly buggy. They provided a discount of ~90% off retail, equivalent to ~50% off the going rate for used ones in NYC. 

I’m a big fan of Peloton. I’ve used a friend’s at his home. It’s exactly the sort of exercise I enjoy on an approximately-daily basis. I’ve been tracking the used market for the last few weeks. 

Spotting this one while my truck-having friend was in town: ‘twas a no-brainer. 

At pickup, I rotated the pedals and twisted the resistance knob: a check just in case. 

When I arrived home and plugged it in, the item booted up fine. I left it to go to sleep. 

The next day, it wouldn’t turn on. The power light blinked. Peculiar. 

I used the Peloton website to perform some basic troubleshooting. The results suggested I may require a new power cable. I ordered one (with a 30-day return window) to arrive tomorrow. 

I also messaged the seller with these diagnostics, asking if they had experienced this issue. They said they had not, but they asked me to keep them appraised. The tone of their replies suggest that 1) they want me to have a good experience, and 2) if there is an issue, they’d probably refund me something for it. 

Thusfar, I’ve bought 3 items from New Yorkers. (Admittedly this couple is technically in West New York, a city in… New Jersey!) And all of them have gone above and beyond with support and help. 

New York is perhaps the first place I’ve lived that has actually felt like a community.

Butting Heads to Move Ahead (Feb 6 2026)

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“I have always depended on the incentives of strangers.” 

Three days ago I called my property management company. I said my windows wouldn’t close and my door lacked a knob. They said the same company would service both. And that company would call me. 

Yesterday I emailed my property management company. I said the window/door servicer hadn’t called. They replied that if I didn’t hear by 1pm I should tell them. 

At 1pm I emailed the property management company, “They haven’t called me”. 

At 1:04pm, the window/door servicer called me. He said, “We can come by tomorrow afternoon”.

I said, “Tomorrow at noon is good”. 

“After noon,” he corrected. 

“What time?” 

“After noon”. 

“Can you do at noon?” 

“We can do between noon and four.” 

“Can you do noon?” 

“My team has other jobs they’re doing. We can do tomorrow between noon and four or between two and four”. 

“Can you do between noon and two?” 

<Pause> “Yes, we can do between noon and two”. 

—

An hour later, I called him back. 

“It’s Julian Wise. We scheduled for your team to come tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” 

“Can we reschedule to Monday?” 

“Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow or Saturday to schedule a time.” 

“Thank you.” 

—

This experience feels quintessentially New York to me. Here’s how: 

  1. Someone has a very specific set of constraints they’re not willing to budge from. They’re not un-reasonable, just very specific. 
  2. When you keep poking, they hold their ground. They’re trying to help, just constrained by unseen forces. (Their scheduling software? Their team’s unpredictability? Poor foresight skills that their behavioral systems compensate for?) 
  3. When you find a creative solution, they’re open to it, just within their world. (If he can do between noon and four or between two and four, he might-should be able to do between noon and two. He just didn’t realize it, but is open to it). 
  4. When schedules change, we accept this immediately. Is there anger that we spent 15 back-and-forths only for me to reschedule him? Of course not. 

This particular culture makes sense to me. Perhaps it’s the impact of its brand of economics, but I do well in cultures of high diversity and high commerce. In these environments, culture tends to evolve out of commerce: highly accepting, so long as you figure out the economics. 

And I enjoy economics. 

—

In other news, my super knocked on my door yesterday afternoon. He asked if my sink worked. I said only one of the three does. He offered to swing back to fix it. Is he bored? Does he want another slice of pizza? Is he curious whether another $50 is coming his way if he helps? 

Hard to tell. But today he fixed my kitchen sink and left with a slice of pizza in one hand, a soda in the other, and a smile on his face.