Books – Julian Wise

Sneaky Share Cake (Mar 15 2026)

March 15, 2026 JulianLeave a comment

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:

Six teenage boys with fishing poles. Five of them want cake. One comments how fortuitous it is that we stumble upon teenage boys when we have extra cake. Another teaches Partner that a fishing license is $25 but no one checks if you have one.
Two stoner early-twenties girls on the east side. If teenage boys are one’s most fitting cake-wanters, stoners are a close second. They were two of only three cake requesters after they overheard us offer a couple nearby.
The third was a homeless man emerging from the bathroom, saying “I love cake!”, receiving a slice, and then returning to the bathroom (presumably because it’s warm there).
A European man who rejects it by saying, “A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.”
A fisherman who first asks his son if he wants a slice, rejecting one for himself because “It’s not my cheat day”. Then, when offered one to save save for tomorrow, says, “Alright, I’ll take one.” and, as we walk away, follows up with, “I’m not saving this for tomorrow.”.
A group of three who comment, “That’s so generous!” to the idea of people giving out cake. The kid doesn’t want a slice, but the two adult do. The kid’s mom ends up grabbing a second slice for herself after the kid changes his mind.
Learning that if you say, “Do you want some cake?”, many people will scoff. But If you say, “It’s my birthday” before they say “No”, those same people will not scoff. Once they say “No”, there’s no coming back.

This is our second year of giving cake in this manner. Last year we were featured on Reno After Dark.

Happy Birthday, Partner!

Parties & Penises (Mar 1 2026)

March 1, 2026 JulianLeave a comment

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:

I’m afraid. Fearful. Terrified. Of becoming house poor. It makes sense to me. I see how people do it.
My community is diverse. This morning’s pot luck was 100% tech or tech-adjacent. My favorite people were a couple of churchgoing presbyterian boarding-school grads. Then, everybody at the party tonight was either trans, jewish, or both (or the plus-one of someone trans or jewish). It’s no coincidence that the host is trans and jewish.
For years I’ve asked, “Who are my people?” At least I’ve found those people self-select. Autistic, definitely. Intellectual, yes. But aside from those traits, I don’t think it’s as clear as it would be for my trans & Jewish friend.

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.

The Previous Tenants (Feb 25 2026)

February 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.”

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

February 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:

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.
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.
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.
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:

Bought 4 slices of 4.5-star New York pizza for $5.99
Scheduled and picked up for ~1/3rd of retail cost:
1. A like-new minifridge
2. A robot vacuum & mop
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)

February 2, 2026February 2, 2026 JulianLeave a comment

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)

January 20, 2026 JulianLeave a comment

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…

January 12, 2026 JulianLeave a comment

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:

Clowning makes one less intellectual
The work that I’ve been doing has been effective, but not intellectually stimulating
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

January 6, 2026 JulianLeave a comment

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

December 22, 2025 JulianLeave a comment

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:

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.
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.
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

December 17, 2025 JulianLeave a comment

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.

🤡