Tag: Comedy

Sneaky Share Cake (Mar 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: 

  1. 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. 
  2. 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.
  3. 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). 
  4. A European man who rejects it by saying, “A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” 
  5. 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.”. 
  6. 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.
  7. 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! 

Childishness (Mar 14 2026)

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In which <blows raspberry!!!> 

Partner sometimes implies I’m childish. 

She does this through cryptic statements like, “You’re very childish.”
I parry these attacks with elegant ripostes, like, “I KNOW YOU ARE BUT WHAT AM I??” 

Today, we took the train from 96th Street to visit a friend.
Partner asked me, “What’s our destination?”
I said, “191st Street”.
Partner said, “THAT NUMBER IS TOO HIGH.” 

I shrugged. 

She therefore began singing, in the appropriate tune: “One hundred ninety-one stops to go; one hundred ninety-one stops! Take one down, pass it around; one hundred ninety stops to go!” 

And then she continued.
And continued. 

When the train arrived at 145th Street, the song arrived at 146. She gleefully accelerated through 146 so she could intersect the station with the song. She was very pleased with herself.

When we disembarked at 191st Street, she had already arrived to 66 in the song.
En route back, she started at 191 and attempted to time the song with the train speed.
For our next trip up to see this friend, she has set the goal of singing all the way from 191 down to zero. 

WHO’S CHILDISH NOW???! 

To Live Outside the Law You Must Be Honest (Mar 9 2026)

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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 🙂

An Arbitrary Quest (Mar 7 2026)

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In which our activities arrive us. 

At 1pm, Partner and I set out on the road. She had returned from the gym; I from a Peloton workout. Onwards we went, to Flushing, Queens in search of dumplings. 

As we left, Partner mentioned I would enjoy spending more time outside. The sun is nice; brightness a boost; the last few days I have spent poring over floorplans and calling contractors. 

Flushing offers world-renowned dumplings. So off we went. 

One block away, the sun felt so nice. “What if instead…” I offered. We arrived at the subway but did not enter. 45 minutes on a train seemed not the move. 

Instead, we took that left turn at Albuquerque. 

Two blocks down, a mid-40s black woman emerged from a bodega. She saw Partner and me, walking holding hands. She burst out into song: “I wanna hold your ha-aa-aand”. We joined in. For fifteen glorious seconds, the Beatles were performing a free concert in New York City. She laughed and we laughed; we continued onward up north. 

Three blocks later, we entered the Malcolm Shabazz market. The first stand sold African textiles. The second, African textiles. “Perhaps we could find mitmita,” Partner said.  “They might only sell textiles,” I replied. I then saw a new offering: shea butter. “I guess they do have food,” I mused, then realized shea butter is for haircare. 

Onwards we walked. Right on 125th St. We noted the incoming 2nd Avenue train. In we walked to a rare soda shop. Or at least we would have, had they not been closed. Then to a two-story grocery store offering free samples of Dominican sausage. We used the bathroom. I checked my phone for bad news from one contractor. 

Onwards east til we found the river. Then over the river to Randall’s Island. On Randall’s Island, dirtbikers doing wheelies. We watched for a minute or two. Nikki told me in D.C. the ATVs do wheelies down the street. They can’t see where they’re going while wheelie-ing. One hit a pedestrian. The pedestrian died. 

On Randall’s Island, we reconsidered the work we’ll do on the apartment. What do we actually want? How much is worth doing? At what expense? We returned to our goals: 1) sufficiently functional; 2) live in community. 

5 bedrooms, 3 bath. Open kitchen with island. Flatten the floors. Raise the ceiling in our bedroom and the little nook. Everything else is optional. 

I’d like to raise the ceiling in the kitchen & living room too. I’d like to raise it in every room. I’d like to shuffle the radiators around. And run new electrical to the apartment. 

But the difference between everything and enough is the difference between financially comfortable and fearful. 

A renovation can always cost more. You can always add more gold-plated toilets. 

We want it to be good enough. 

I live in New York City.
I live here because life is lived outside.
Right now, it’s cold. Even still, we walked to Queens.
Home needs to be a refuge. A solid base. Sufficient. 

It doesn’t need 12-foot ceilings everywhere.
Only where we’ll use them. 

We didn’t make it to Flushing.
Waylaid in Astoria by a friend and some Thai food. 

I lived for three months in Thailand and Laos.
Khao Soi is one of my comfort foods.
This one brought me back to those $4 lunches.
A bit under-spicy, but they probably clocked me as white. 

My first night in Thailand, I paid for the $6 hotel room.
A single power outlet jutted out beside the lightswitch.
I perched my phone on the lightswitch while charging. 

A broke college student, I hadn’t paid for the air conditioning room.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
The next day, I switched rooms. 

It’s hard to predict what’s key and what’s choice.
Induction cooktop avoids asthma vs gas-powered ones.
5 bedrooms: 2 bathrooms or three? 

A lot of the time, it’s “If we’re doing that, we might as well…”
And yes, I agree it’d be nice to have a light in the hall closet.
But also, we don’t now. And it’s fine.
We can raise each ceiling as we want to. Roommates won’t care; and raising them doesn’t require a permit. 

I wish I could do everything I want right now.
I may still. But what we want keeps growing. 

It’s hard to nail down the right choice in such a situation. Every dollar is a tradeoff. I’m excited to elevate. 

We set off to Flushing for world-class dumplings.
We arrived in Astoria for khao soi with a friend.
I’m glad to have gone through the “everything I’d ever want” exercise.
Now, take that left turn, rest your legs, and wake up. 

Honesty, Constructed (Mar 5 2026)

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In which Our Hero navigates three possible suitors. 

My most-likely general contractor is honest. That’s good.
An honest general contractor will not screw you. They will state the prices and execute what they said. They will pay their subcontractors well. They are hardworking. They follow building code. 

My most-likely general contractor is honest. That’s bad.
An honest general contractor will assume his subcontractors are also honest and therefore not negotiate with them. He will not push their team to complete the work quickly. He will not skirt around building code when the code is nonsensical. 

I’m down to three potential contractors. One of them came in at an absurdly low price. So low I don’t believe him. 

The honest one is the most expensive. Not hugely more expensive than the middle guy. But with him, I feel confident about his quality. He gives a 7-year warranty. Most give 5 years or 3 years. I believe in his quality. 

The third one is a weird dark horse candidate. I originally spoke with them back in September. They quoted me a number that I then thought was super high. But after future revisions, I realized they’re including much more in scope than others were. So now they’re middle of the pack. Also potentially honest. And maybe hungry. And maybe don’t charge me $2100 for each shower niche. 

At least the honest guy, when I mentioned, “$2100 for a shower niche seems high”, replied, “You’re right. Let me check on that.” 

So he’s honest. But sometimes honest people assume others are honest.
Like his plumber, who came in at 3x market rate. 

At this point, it’s anyone’s game. 

A Wide Range of Non-Options (Mar 4 2026)

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Attempting to induce. 

Induction cooktop or range.
Knobs.
Downdraft. 

That’s what I want.
I care not what brand.
I care not what expense.
Hit me. 

At the first store, they sent me to two other stores. One of those failed on knobs: touchscreen only. The other has a weird, custom, modular setup that could work. 

I now believe it to be the only cooktop in New York with these traits.
It’s pricey.
So pricey they don’t tell you how much it is.
It turns out I do care what expense. 

Leaving Fischer Paykill, my fifth stop in New York’s Architecture & Design building, one must use a touchscreen to call the elevator. I pressed “lobby” four times before giving up and walking over to the other touchscreen. 

This is why I want knobs. 

Magic comes to those who contribute

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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. 

Parties & Penises (Mar 1 2026)

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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: 

  1. I’m afraid. Fearful. Terrified. Of becoming house poor. It makes sense to me. I see how people do it. 
  2. 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. 
  3. 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. 

Treadmills (Feb 28 2026) 

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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. 

  • Is it cheeky self-aware appreciation of the lineage of treadmill performance art (“That’s the best we can do with treadmills. And here’s the second best…”? 
  • Is it self-effacing (“We know when you return to work on Monday you’ll need some way to tell your colleagues what you saw. You’ll say, “Four people performing on treadmills.” They’ll say, “Oh, like the OKGO music video?” And you’ll say “Yes, exactly like that.” [Cue dance])? 

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] 

The Previous Tenants (Feb 25 2026)

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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.”