In which a ghost flits through l’école…
[This article to be published in a few weeks.]
Peripatetic, Writer, Harbinger of Mirth
In which a ghost flits through l’école…
[This article to be published in a few weeks.]
In which Partner uses Birthday as Gift for Others 🤫
On Friday I surreptitiously ran the 3.5 miles round-trip to Costco to order Partner a full-size Costco cake. The chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, with additional frosting inside the cake instead of the normal mousse because it’s Partner’s favorite (the frosting is her favorite part!).
Today, we acquired the cake from Costco. Partner was surprised: We spend almost all of our time together. When did I have time to order it?
Partner ate some frosting and squirreled a few additional pieces for later.
Then, armed with a stack of paper plates and a bag of plastic forks, we started a walk around the Harlem Meer (a pond at the northeastern tip of Central Park).
At the beginning of the loop, we had 2/3rds of a Costco cake.
At the end of the loop, we had none.
Highlights include:
This is our second year of giving cake in this manner. Last year we were featured on Reno After Dark.
Happy Birthday, Partner!
As it is written…
Partner thinks today’s post is “suggestive” and “ethically dubious” and “not that flattering”.
She has suggested I not publish it publicly.
I have therefore personally delivered it to all those who pay to subscribe to my Substack.
And the rest of you shall not receive.
Muahahahaha.
(If you become a paid subscriber now and email me, you can have a copy too 🙂
In which Our Hero aids & assists!
I once attended a Las Vegas magic show headlined by a former college classmate. Afterwards, I wrote down my analysis: each trick, how I thought it was performed, how I would improve the show, etc.
I shared it with the performer. She thanked me, and henceforth no family member of mine has ever paid for show tickets to see her again!
I didn’t do it for the free tickets. I did it to be helpful. But it’s nice to know my work was appreciated 🙂
In similar news:
Pony Cam wrote me back!
They took my advice. Here’s what they said:
Hey mate,
Feedback is great. Really helpful.
We have changed that line to talk about lineage, history and labour. Played it out at today’s matinee. Went really well. Reckon we will keep it.
Thank you for the email. Appreciate the insight.
Warmests,
Pony Cam team.
Sometimes days off are the most exhausting of all.
I feel fear.
Fear about the largesse of what I’m doing.
Not about the wrongness.
Just the largesse.
This morning I awoke excited for a day of poker & bedrot.
But my partner (who is currently in San Francisco) texted me about a potluck in Brooklyn.
The potluck: 11:30am. Her text: 9:45am. So I sprinted through a 20min Peloton ride and hightailed it to Brooklyn.
I enjoyed the party. Two people who I especially enjoyed. One an excellent storyteller and the other a skilled hypeman.
Then, two hours of poker. I dialed up my social shenanigans while dialing in my poker playing. Crushed the game. Save for one situation where I lost a 47% vs 53% scenario for $100, the cards were win-win-win!
Then, at the subway station en route to a friend’s penis party (more on that later), a woman held out her phone with a picture, asking me how to get to Times Square. Her language sounded familiar. I said, “French?” She said, “Creole”.
I tried French to no avail. Must be too distant from her creole (despite it clearly being French-influenced). I successfully got her to the right station. But it was through a series of sounds and gestures (“boop. Boop. Bing!” means “not this station, not that station, but the one after”.) Sometimes all those years of French class are less effective than the communication skills I’ve recently learned from my year-and-a-half-old nephew!
Finally, at the penis party. 5 years, he’s had it. (A phalloplasty, specifically.)
The food? Tacos (heh) and penis-shaped cake (pronounced “cock”).
I liked these folks. Lots of laughs, an Irish catholic lesbian my new favorite among them. Great sense of humor and vibrancy for dark humor in life.
That lesbian is a building examiner. She says if my architect self-certifies, I don’t have a building examiner. That’s nice. Sounds like I’ll pass code!
Walking home from the subway, I’m struck by a few elements:
Sometimes I wonder how much we’re carved by influential experiences that we didn’t select. By how much our scars draw us to others who’ve experienced similar.
Then I walk home. Suddenly, I’m all alone. It’s glorious and sad. Lonely and elevated. Freedom and…
…
…
no. that’s it.
just freedom.
Criticism is best spoken directly to the creators.
Tonight I experienced excellent performance art. Insightful observations, beautifully executed. What follows is my letter to its creators:
My Dearest Pony Cam,
Thank you for a guffaw-provoking show. I enjoyed it from the Chef’s Table this evening. Both my partner (a trick-or-treating ghost) and I (the diner in the blue hat) will speak very highly of your show to our friends and family.
After leaving and discussing the show with another group of patrons (they recognized me as I was passing their dinner table two blocks away), I have one observation/suggestion for you to think about.
I see merit in the show’s ending (the explicit Ok Go reference, alongside the dance performance of that video). I think that the dance would benefit from a clearer host-to-audience emotional framing before it happens.
The dance performance felt like an unframed homage. And, after such a beautifully constructed show, it felt like watching an innovative troupe ending with a cover. (Imagine Pink Floyd just ending a concert with a cover (but not making it clear why)). Even just a “We really want to acknowledge our roots” would change the experience, giving that dance meaning rather than only spectacle and (for some people) nostalgia.
Depending on what you’re trying to achieve with the treadmill section, I could imagine a few different framings. I’d love to chat more about your goal here and brainstorm ideas.
Happy to chat about it more, as well as any other aspects of my experience of the show. (And to misuse the idiom, feel free to tell me to go fuck spiders 🙂 Hope this observation is helpful!
Thanks for a great night!
Julian
[My phone number]
In which? IN THE SPIRIT!
In the spirit of my yesterday writing, here are relatively trivial items I’m happy with:
Ahh. Are these not the joys of life?
(I also completed 4 financial administrative tasks of necessity: opening a credit card; moving a bank account; creating an LLC; closing an LLC. But those, dear reader, are the mere mechanics that allow life’s joys to whir.)
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:
We’ve got all the right steps, just not in the normal timeline. Maybe next we have kids before getting pregnant.
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.
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.