Tag: Books

“Everything is hard in New York City” (Feb 5 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero prompts anger and ridicule. 

I’ve heard this said many times. Probably 3 times in the last 2 weeks, and many times before. And I… like… don’t believe it? 

Two days ago, my partner wanted to schedule a doctor’s appointment. She called the specific practice she desired, best in the country for the thing she cares about. They booked her for Thursday (9 days out). Then, she asked if they had a cancellation list she could be on to get anything sooner. The scheduler offered her the following day (yesterday) at 10am. She attended the appointment with great success. That doesn’t sound hard to me. AND, this is a medical function that NYC residents most say can be hard to get into. 

What do I think is actually happening? Options: 

  1. There is so much to do. The City is an endless treasure trove of possibilities. In a normal city, you might want to do 3 things aside from work on a given day. In New York, you might want to do 8. 
  2. Some things *do* take much longer. Yesterday, I moved a couch from a third-floor walkup. A third-floor walkup is not something that even exists in many parts of the country! Transporting the couch to my truck took ~50 minutes. Compare that to the ~15 minutes it took me to transport a much-heavier bedframe to that same truck. But the bedframe was in an elevator building. (Driving, too, can take forever. But most of the time, you won’t drive. And the subway is very speedy. (And most Americans are used to driving forever anyway.))
    1. Waiting in line can take forever. If you want to attend a specific show, you might have to get in line for tickets 3+ hours before the ticket purchase opens. 
  3. The people feel squeezed and stressed, so the difficulty of doing things becomes much more. When you work an intense 9-5 that really works you from 8-6:30 (or in some cases 7am – 8pm), you have brief evenings and weekends for both errands and all the life you want to squeeze out of New York. 
  4. Rent *is* really fucking expensive. Therefore, you are much more likely to feel squeezed. But that doesn’t make things themselves harder. It just makes you uniquely susceptible to 1) feeling like you can’t give up that 7am-8pm job, and 2) feeling like everything in your life is intense. 

Over the last week, these are things my partner or I have done with less than 12 hours from conception to completion: 

  1. Bought 4 slices of 4.5-star New York pizza for $5.99
  2. Scheduled and picked up for ~1/3rd of retail cost:
    1. A like-new minifridge 
    2. A robot vacuum & mop
  3. Scheduled and picked up for free:
    1. Bedframe with sidetable and drawers 
    2. Coffee table
    3. Desk
    4. Peloton shoes of exactly my partner’s size 
    5. Wheeled dolly 
    6. Vacuum
    7. Plates/cups/mugs/silverware
    8. Blender
    9. Microwave
    10. 2 large-size instantpots
    11. 3 plush chairs
    12. 1 plush comfy chair 
    13. 1 large L-shaped couch
    14. 1 desk chair
    15. 1 gaming chair

That doesn’t sound like it’s difficult to do things. That sounds like some things are difficult to do. (Getting into one of the elite public schools? Fuggaddabouttit!) And when the line at grocery checkout is 50 people long (as it sometimes is), you might think it’s hard to go grocery shopping. But there are 25 open checkout stations, so that line is really equivalent to only 2 people in front of you. 

So far, New York has been kind and hospitable. Yes, there was a threatening person in front of my building who followed me inside 2 days ago. But hey, isn’t that culture? 

Jennifer and the Fridge (Feb 2 2026)

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In which community helps carry the weight. 

The last time Nikki rode in the trunk of a car, we were hitchhiking through central Germany. This time, it’s to keep the fridge upright. 

We found Jennifer through facebook marketplace. She posted a mini fridge for $55. When we arrive, she explains: “I originally posted it for $90,” she says, “and there was a bidding war.” 

She says this as though it clarifies how we got here when in reality it only muddles my understanding. 

Jennifer asks for help carrying her trunk downstairs. Nikki obliges; I carry the fridge. When we get to the bottom, Jennifer offers to drive us to the subway instead. We heartily agree. 

Forty-five minutes later we’re stuck in traffic behind school buses with Hebrew letters on the side, all doing their daily rounds despite it being Sunday. Jennifer tells us about her life and dreams: 

  • She always wanted to live in a loft apartment that doubles as an arts space. Today she moves her stuff out of someone else’s arts loft. She’s not making much art these days. 
  • She lived for a while in rural northern California, managing a “farm” and “driving hash around”. 
  • She raised her son by herself. He’s sixteen now and “I homeschooled him myself” for five years. When I ask for details, she says “More like unschooled. But hanging around me is a whole lot of learning”. 

As Jennifer drives us down [name] street in Bushwick, she points out all the Hassidic jews nearby. “That hat probably costs $3000,” she says, and “Don’t do business with people who say ‘more or less…’” 

“Good for you,” Jennifer says upon learning I’ve bought my own apartment. “Do ya mind if I ask what you do for work?” 

I pass this question to Nikki. 

“He’s a clown school dropout,” Nikki says. “And I am a bioweapons expert.” 

“Modern day hippies.” 

— 

We only end up carrying the fridge down two flights of stairs, up two flights of stairs, and down one avenue block (those are the long ones). We stop five times. Had Jennifer not driven us, the carrying itself would have taken us an hour. Instead, we received a tour of Bushwick. 

On the final stretch, Nikki pauses a few times for grip strength issues. Her strength itself is just fine: it’s a problem of her finger strength giving out. (Fun fact: grip strength is the most sexually dimorphic trait.) Two high school boys walk past us. They look for a bit too long, clearly demonstrating curiosity. After they pass, Nikki says “I’m thinking about asking someone for help carrying this to the light.” 

Six months ago, Nikki was lifting weights at a gym in Reno when she realized she couldn’t re-rack her weights (due not to a strength issue but their height). She flagged down some men in the gym, only realizing after asking that they were standing around chatting because they were firemen called in for something job-related. They ribbed each other about who was going to help her, then clearly enjoyed being useful. 

So far, we’ve lived in New York for 4 days. I look forward to the day when Nikki asks the passing teens immediately. I look forward to the day when I do too. Because we helped carry Jennifer’s trunk downstairs. That’s what New Yorkers do. 

Jennifer has always wanted to live in a loft apartment. And today she is moving out of her arts space. 

We found her through facebook marketplace. She posted a mini fridge for $55. When I messaged her, she said “First person to confirm they can pick it up at 3:30pm gets it!” I immediately texted back “Confirmed: I can do 3:30. Where is it?” 

En route, I tell her we’d love for the fridge to be at the ground floor. “You mentioned you could bring it down the stairs. I’d appreciate that.” She replied: “No. I mentioned i am strong enough to.  You will need to carry it down.” 

When we arrive, feelings are slightly tense, presumably because of the recent request-rejection. 

My partner wonders aloud whether people who feel compelled ot make art do so because they have something they need to communicate that can’t be easily communicated with language. 

I do think many of them feel unheard. 

Going Whole Hog (Jan 20 2026)

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In which less risk it leads to less biscuit 

This upcoming Monday is the first day of spring term for clown school.

One student is going into immense debt for tuition.
Another student spent their inheritance to be here.
This school really must be something. 

I won’t be there. 

I’m not sure I committed to the school whole hog.
I committed with great intensity, sure. But underneath the intensity was an underlying “This isn’t my life. I’m not an actor/performer/clown. I’m here to learn the skills for myself, not for the purpose they’re teaching them.” 

This structure meant that some underlying part of me felt misfit.
The one course I was most intent on – Bouffon – drew me.
The foundational course Le Jeu also attracted.
The other courses I cared less for. 

Perhaps this disinterest led to a shallower relationship.
Pushing myself to achieve rather than it coming from an internal alignment. 

If my interests are aligned to my tastes and preferences,
Then my disinterest in some areas may not merely be cosmetic
But a substantive “go here and not there…” 

I’m most drawn to Bouffon for the outcast and grotesque.
First as a matter of my relationship to gender.
Later as a matter of my relationship to all. 

Greek tragedy: not so much. Melodrama, minorly. Vaudeville: sure. Mask play and clown: perhaps not. 

I don’t need to take everything or nothing.
I needn’t even take all the classes this year (as opposed to some the next).
That’s not the sort of whole hog I aim to be. 

Since all we ever have is now,
perhaps I align that way.

In the spirit of learning what kind of hog I am/I appear to others, I created an anonymous feedback form. If anything comes to mind, tell me!

Clown School Break Day 51: Dumb, Dumb, Duh-dumb Dumb Dumb…  

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In which Our Hero, um, … um … um … 

I’ve been feeling dumber lately. Having trouble finding the right word. Finding myself thinking slower. What’s up with this?

Hypotheses: 

  1. Clowning makes one less intellectual
  2. The work that I’ve been doing has been effective, but not intellectually stimulating
  3. Something else

The first seems likely true. Does clowning make one less intellectual? Yes. Less intelligent? No. However, among the many types of intelligence, it does not contribute to improving one’s smartness. In fact, it teaches one to focus on pleasure and emotion to the detriment of smartness. Sacrifices must be made at the altar of pleasure! 

The second: also likely. I’ve recently been doing a lot of important and procedural, but not intellectual, work. (Among them: buying and renovating an apartment; writing articles that are squarely in my wheelhouse.)

The third: maybe it’s hormonal? The speed of my verbal fluency was stronger on œstrogen. ‘Twas notably stronger. And now, I have much more general go-go-go (whether that’s testosterone itself or simply my familiarity with the hormone, I’m not sure), but less verbal speed. I make fewer moves but each move is stronger.

Another option for the third: a life transition that requires adjustment. Selling my previous home. Buying a new one. Moving internationally. Building a relationship. All of these can wear you down. 

A final option for the third: lack of exercise. Since I broke my foot I have been a complete lazypants. The brain thrives on exercise. Perhaps it will return when the activity returns. This one seems very likely to be influential :!D

It’s an odd experience to feel myself being duller than I previously was. And the people around me aren’t noticing… or at least aren’t noticing enough to say anything.

Then again, would they notice? And if noticed, would they say? 👀

Clown School Break Day 46: Trivia ain’t Trivial 

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In which Our Hero leads a team to victory! 

My team won at trivia. Thirty percent of trivia is assembling the right team. Thirty percent of trivia is knowing the right answers. Thirty percent of trivia is accurately knowing your knowledge. And the last thirty percent is knowing how to give 120%. 

In the team-assembling category, my team excels at movies, science, games, literature, and mythology. We are weak at sports. This week, there was only one sports question rather than an entire sports section. That’s lucky.  

In knowing the right answers, we performed strong. We missed only 6 of the 22 questions. While that might sound like a lot (it’s almost a third!), our big advantage is in the next point… 

We know what we know. When one of my teammates says “I know this one”, we bet hard. Today’s trivia involves a point-wagering system: for each round of three questions, you assign one a small number of points, one a medium number, and one a large number. You submit your point wager when you submit the question, before you know what all the questions in the round are. So a team that gets only one third of the answers right can equal a team that gets two thirds of the answers right, so long as the first team assigns points correctly and the second does not. 

And then there’s knowing how to give 120%. When we know the answer is “Mississippi mud [something]” and my team is waffling between Mississippi mudslide and Mississippi mud pie, Your Humble Narrator (in his acting role as Team Captain) submits the answer as “Mississippi mud (pie)”. Ergo, when the answer is revealed to be Mississippi mud *cake*, Our Hero’s team receives the point. (Deservedly? That’s not mine to judge; I’m just here to get points.) This gamesmanship also manifested in Your Hero’s tracking of the points (so as to note that we were shorted 2 points in the theme round, and then get those reinstated). 

And I guess one final part: uniting people to a purpose. Trivia is not important. We’re fighting for a $30 giftcard when our table is spending twice that. This doesn’t matter. 

But it’s fun to try. 

Clown School Break Day 31: To Universal Acclaim

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In which Our Hero smiles at the received positivity. 

A friend of my father’s recommended a game today. She reads my daily blog and, since she knows my love for poker and my interest in cooperative games, she linked over a cooperative poker game. Today my family played it. We had a blast. A new favorite. One for the ages. Such glee.

We sent her a video indicating our excitement. She’s glad we’re glad. We’re glad she’s glad. She’s glad that we’re glad that she’s glad. Etc.

I’m glad my daily blog is having such positive impact. With dozens of daily readers, I’m clearly having a positive impact. And the fact that I’ve received recently a bunch of unexpected positive feedback suggests I’m doing something right. I’m also glad that I have people around me who would tell me honestly if they thought something negative about it. But they don’t, so everyone must like it.

—

It’s a game about accurately ranking your poker hands compared to the other players’ hands. You win or lose as a team: either your whole ranking is accurate or it’s not. Play is simple: you rank preflop, then on the flop, turn, and river. Only the river rankings matter: if they’re correct, you all win. If they’re not, you all lose.

A few lessons:

  1. It’s hard to navigate small discrepancies. 8,7 vs 8,6 is nearly impossible to distinguish if no 7 or 6 comes on the board.
  2. Personal proclivities abound. One person’s confident grab of the top rank preflop means only pocket tens or better, while another’s may be Ace-9.
  3. Have fun. This means A) When a conflict arises, diagnose it accurately (was the problem really on the river, or did this stem from preflop?); and B) when you feel uncomfortable, say “I feel uncomfortable”. It’s shocking how well people respond when you simply say “I feel uncomfortable”.

—

I’ve been writing a daily blog about clown school. I suspect (but don’t know) that plenty of my peers read this blog. As yet, no one has said “I feel uncomfortable”. That’s nice. Guess I’ll continue 🙂 

Clown School Break Day 26: Clowning as Emotional Oddity

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In which Our Hero ends on an unusual question. 

Clowning is an odd emotional experience.
Clown school is an odd emotional context.

Where else is one assigned the task: be emotionally open, vulnerable, generous, light, and kind?
Where else is one given an explicit assignment to manipulate their own emotional state in service of others?

One place that comes to mind is politics.

I recently happened upon a (¿state?) senator. I was coming from a friend’s birthday, and the senator commented on the hat I’d given my friend. The senator exhibited genuine-seeming curiosity about what it meant, then delight in the silly inside joke it represented.

And,
like,
he wasn’t being inauthentic.

But,
like,
that is his job.

I don’t believe he was deeply interested in the game itself. I doubt he’d want to watch it or play it unless it came packaged with votes or fundraising. And yet: the delight was real.

I suppose clowns are the same way.

It isn’t inauthentic to change your emotional state and then share that state with others.
But it is contrived.

It’s not inauthentic to manipulate someone at a poker table either.
But it is manipulative.

So what’s the point?

Is this the core function of most people-leadership roles? From CEO to politician to parent to clown: are they all versions of the same act?

If behavior flows from emotion, is a leader’s primary job internal emotional manipulation, followed by broadcasting the result?

I’m reminded of LBJ amping himself up – working himself into a righteous frenzy – before speeches and political events, especially if it felt like he was behaving in ways antithetical to his values. He told himself he was doing it for people he cared about. That the moral sacrifices were worth it.

And then he sent those people to die in Vietnam.

I’ve known a CEO who practiced a similar kind of self-amping. His former employees now, at a remarkable rate, despise him.

So what’s my point? The connection to clowning?

Is it bad to manipulate your own emotional state? Obviously not. But when does it become bad? Under what conditions? In service of what ends?

What’s my point?

I don’t know. I’m musing.

That’s what this blog is. Thinking out loud. Marking where my thinking currently sits and letting it evolve. I don’t endorse everything I’ve ever written. That’s part of being a writer.

But today I’m reminded of how strange an emotional experience clowning is.
And how much people hate politicians.
And I find myself wondering whether – or more precisely, to what degree and in what ways – they should also hate clowns.

🤡

Clown School Break Day 24: Clowning is for Babies

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In which Our Hero shares a lack of pain.

My sister’s sixteen-month-old child has not yet learned that life is more pleasant when one defecates intentionally in prescribed locations. Instead, he saves time and effort (and I admire his efficiency) by pooping wherever and whenever inspiration strikes.

After completing this task, he begins to smell.
It is not a pleasant smell.
It gives one the impression that all disgust responses originate here.

To rectify (pun!) the situation, one generally places him on his back and swaps out his undergarments for fresh ones, with some cleansing wiping in the middle (pun!).

He does not enjoy being on his back.

Would you enjoy being held on your back by beings eight-plus times your size?

In response to this dissatisfaction, I’ve learned to change his undergarments while he’s standing. This satisfies the basic needs. But sometimes the environment is not conducive.

Such was the case this afternoon at the park.

We – my father and I – flopped the nugget onto his back.

His face screwed itself into a pre-wail.

I noticed something in myself: calm. Comfortable ease. I found it, then sent it his way. His pre-wail ceased. He looked at my face.

I knelt above the boy-child’s head, my face upside-down over his. He gazed at my scruffy visage; I gazed down at his soft, pudgy one. It didn’t take effort. Just a gentle internal returning-to-the-calm.

He did not find this enchanting. (For roughly four seconds during the change, he looked away.) But it was sufficient.

I am not, perhaps, more entertaining than a stubbed toe is painful.
But I can be more engaging than a sudden flop onto one’s back.

—

At clown school, the second-years play a warm-up game with a baby.

They appear on stage one by one. They make a face or a sound or some small action. The teacher plays either a baby crying or a baby laughing. They continue. The question is simple:

How long can you keep the baby laughing?

I’ve wondered for a while whether that’s the goal of clowning: reach some pre-culture, fundamental-to-all-humans level where your pleasure arrives into any audience, underneath their higher-level reasoning. 

I do not yet have the skills to make this baby laugh on command. (Except via the super-secret hack of foot tickles.)

But I do have the ability to Turn On The Calm.

And that

can be

enough.

Clown School Break Day 3: Asked to Leave Clown School (Kind Of)

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In which Our Hero exits and rizz returns. 

Clown School

I was asked to leave clown school.
While true, that’s… misleading.

The teachers said, “Given your foot injury and inability to walk, we recommend you get a refund and do the course later. But it’s your choice.” Then I chose to step away.

Still: it’s funny to have been asked to leave clown school.

What’s also funny is how much easier it is to connect with people now than it was 48 hours ago.

Rizz has returned. The joy is back.

Being playful with your average person—my former orthodontist, the woman at the deli counter—is somehow much easier than being playful on that stage. Why?

  • Because it’s an American cultural context I actually understand?
  • Because the stakes are lower? (No audience, no judges, no clowns.)
  • Because the people I meet day-to-day have normal expectations instead of self-selected charisma-sniper standards?
  • Because in the real world I’m not comparing myself to self-obsessed entertainment-optimizers? 

Either way, I have more rizz. And I enjoy it more. #RizzOut

Orthopedics, Act II

Second orthopedist today. Foot is still fractured. Maybe I could clown. But not with vigor.

No running or jumping for at least six weeks.

Still, relief.

The X-ray technician asked how I hurt it. I said “clown school.”
I said Borat went there.
He likes Borat.
He therefore understood what I mean by “clown”.

The nurse practitioner confirmed: full fracture. No impact activities for weeks. Healing should happen. I can return to clowning soon-ish.

Until then, I seek rest and rejuvenation. And a healed metatarsal. 

However much grow-y that school was… it wasn’t comfortable.

Somehow, a broken foot feels like less pain. 

Performers and Introverts

How many clowns are introverts? How many performers?
People who love to be loved, but aren’t naturally social otherwise.

Eddie Murphy comes to mind. I watched his new Netflix documentary yesterday. He’s a performer; an analyzer of entertainment; but not exactly a social butterfly. Offstage, subdued. Self-contained. Kate McKinnon as well. 

It’s surprising how many wildly successful performers are like that. As if they (we?) get the social nutrition required for survival from adulation, not connection. And then tend to ourselves in private. 

An interesting observation. What would I do with it?
Embrace my inner introvert?
On stage, perform? Off-stage, do bits as protection to avoid the normal boringness of average interaction? 

If that’s my fun, why not follow? 

Clown School Weekend 6.2: The Rules of Clowning

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In which Our Hero attempts to eff the ineffable.

For weeks I’ve been trying to reverse-engineer what we’re actually doing in clown school.

There are moments in class when something works—a laugh, a tiny eruption of joy—and the teacher says, “Yes, that.” And then there are moments when the entire room goes still and we all collectively realize the joy has petered out.

Our teachers keep highlighting the importance of the game. I kept wishing there were actual rules. Not to restrict play—but to name what’s already happening.

So I wrote them.

This document is the clearest articulation I’ve managed so far of how the “game” of clowning works in the Gaulier school of thought: the goal, the metrics, the tactics, the traps, the physics of pleasure, the difference between Major and Minor, how to avoid killing your own play, why dignity matters, why heaviness kills the audience, and the one rule that seems to underlie everything: maximize total pleasure without harming yourself.

If you’re in clown training, or theatre, or comedy, or anything requiring presence and sensitivity, you may find this helpful. Or validating. Or confusing in a way that becomes helpful later. That’s typically how this school works.

Here is the full writeup. Comments are enabled in case you’re curious or want to poke at any element:

The Rules of Clowning

It covers:

  • What the “goal” of clowning actually is
  • What makes someone an attractive player
  • Why the audience’s pleasure outweighs your own
  • How to find a “good game”
  • How to play it without destroying it
  • Tactics for impulse, aura, dignity, lightness
  • The mechanics of Major/Minor
  • How to play beautifully with partners
  • How to avoid hurting yourself—physically, emotionally, professionally

If you’re not a clown and don’t plan to be one, it still might interest you. Clown logic rhymes with life logic more than we admit: be sensitive, be generous, be open, don’t force things, play the game that’s actually happening instead of the one in your head.

And share your pleasure. People open to you when you do.