Retourner à France (Mar 19 2026)

France, je t’aime. 

Je t’aime that the best eye surgeon performing the best eye surgery for my particular eye condition costs only 4700euros.
And that this surgery should get me glasses-free perfect vision until I get cataracts at age 70. (I may also need reading glasses; the surgery has no effect on that.) 

Je t’aime the delight of walking through Paris. Of selecting between a 32 minute subway ride or a 48 minute walk and choosing the walk… twice. 

Je t’aime that the pastry was not super good, but still was better than any pastries I get in The States. 

Je t’aime the sensation of going to a place that Is Mine. It’s My Apartment. I love that experience. It makes me want to acquire more real estate. 

(This apartment is not ownership but a furnished rental. Still, the concept stands: the freezer contains food I want; the bedroom is organized the way I left it; the smell when I enter is precisely the way I recall it.) 

Je t’aime traveling with my father. We both defer to the other’s judgment a bit too much when an improved answer would be expressing more preference, but that’s 1) minimal and 2) completely within my control to improve.

Je t’aime aussi que ma langue n’est pas parfait, mais j’ai parlé successfulment avec le chururgien et je vais demain fixer un date de chirurgie! 

It’s nice when exhausted travel days (I slept only 1.5hrs last night, all in an uncomfortable seat on an airplane) are still absolute delights 🙂 

Talking to Strangers (Mar 18 2026) 

In which Our Hero makes a new friend

“Is this your pillow?” The well-groomed man from Galveston Texas holds out my pillow in offering. 

“Yes,” I say and take it. He sits down beside me, to my right, and immediately plugs his charger into our shared outlet. 

Three minutes later, I ask my father, “is that your light that’s pointing down at me?” 

My father says no. I illuminate my screen. The screen shows an advertisement, then another. The clock in the corner counts down from nearly 3 minutes. 

“Three minutes worth of ads?” I say to no one in particular. 

The light switches off. “It was my light,” says the well-groomed man from Galveston Texas. 

 “You heading to Paris for business or vacation?” I ask. 

“Neither. My wife’s father died.” 

“Recently?” 

“Today.” 

“Was it sudden?” 

“Very sudden. Heart attack.” 

You ever talk to someone and it’s especially smooth, like the caramel inside of a Lindt chocolate truffle oozing slowly out of its shell. If I liked men and he weren’t married and I weren’t engaged… 

Harrison is an interior designer. Not an architect (that’s the requirement to be a floor plan submitter in New York), but he works with a lot of architects. He draws the plans for them to submit. 

I check the specifics. “If I showed you a bathroom and said ‘is that a prototype?’, you’d be able to spot it in your sleep?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Feel free to say no. Can I ask you a couple questions?” 

He agrees. I pull up my floorplan. “I got these three bathrooms. This left one is accessible. And the right ones: one of the doorways is 28 inches, the other 24 inches, and one of them opens up off the kitchen.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Harrison says. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

“But bathrooms need to have doorways 32 inches clear.” 

“It’ll probably get through. You have the accessible one over there.” 

“That’s not code.” 

“I know. But they’re [the examiners are] reasonable. And the bathroom off the kitchen: I’ve never seen it enforced.” 

“That’s one thing I’ve loved about New York City: the rules are only rules if you’re also bothering other people. If you aren’t affecting anyone, people generally let you alone.” 

Harrison laughs. “And even if they don’t, you can always draw 32 inch doors and then just install smaller ones. We’ve been working for five years with a building that requires 34 inch doors. We’ve never installed a single one.” 

Thank you, Harrison. 

Yes, that is my pillow. 

Thank you for helping me sleep easier.

The Focus of Necessity (Mar 18 2026)

Big situations make big people. 

After stretching myself
By purchasing an asset that is ~16x the price of
the second most expensive asset I’ve ever purchased
and then planning to invest an additional 40% into that asset,
I find myself much more interested and driven to work than I have previously. 

This is a common experience of mine:
I work most effectively, most focusedly, when I work out of necessity.
I bite off a huge amount
And then find ways to chew it. 

I’m grateful for the people in my life
Who keep me grounded.
Not only by pointing out key elements in my attack plans
(or improvisations)
that I may have missed
but also by helping me understand
Whether the
often extremely
unusual maneuvers I’m making
are in-sane

or hyper sane. 

For the next ~6 months
(or whenever this resolves),
‘tis crunch time. 
Time to chew this big bite into submission.
Yum, yum, yum.

Sneaky Share Cake (Mar 15 2026)

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)

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???! 

An Arbitrary Quest (Mar 7 2026)

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. 

A Love/Hate Relationship (Mar 3 2026)

In which Our Hero Oscillates

A note I jotted yesterday: 

One reason I like New York: 

  • Tomorrow I plan to swing by the Manhattan Department of Buildings for their walk-in office hours. They’re open from 4-7pm at 280 Broadway. I will ask them about ADA accessibility and exceptions. 
  • There exist only two induction cooktops with knobs and downdrafts. One is massive and ugly and only ships to the EU. The other has three showrooms in New York City, one of which is at… 280 Broadway! 

Not only did a question occur to me today, and tomorrow I get it answered. But a second question occurred to me (“what’s the cooktop like?”) and I get to answer that, too! At the same address

Today’s follow-up: 

Goddamnit, why won’t you let me make my own bathroom the way I want?
Don’t tell me that I want an ADA-compliant bathroom.
Don’t tell me that one day I might want one.
Don’t paternalize me about my own preferences of how I want to organize my own fucking home.
This isn’t about wet over dry.
This has no impact on anyone else’s safety. 

Even if I had a child who ended up in a wheelchair, I wouldn’t want an ADA-compliant bathroom. ADA compliance requires 32” doors. A child-size wheelchair is 22.5in wide. Adult wheelchairs max out at 26” wide. I want to build one bathroom with a 28”-wide door. If I need grab handles, I will install them later. This is not a commercial establishment. This is my own home. If I want a 7’ long by 3’ wide bathtub, you should let me do that in my own goddamn space, not force me to have a 5’ long tub in order to allow for wheelchair rotation clearance. The bathroom is only 40 square feet, and you want to dedicate 10% of it to some theoretical future person who can’t even fit in my front door? 

“What’s that,” you ask? “Why won’t they be entering the front door?” 

My concrete-surrounded front door is only 27” wide. (29” with the door removed). Last I checked, 27” is narrower than 32”. It’s even narrower than 29”, and that’s assuming you want the handicapped visitor to remove the door and reattach it every time they enter. Why would you want to do that to them? Talk about inaccessible! 

This is why people vote small government. 

Banana Diplomacy (Feb 27 2026)

One of the worst lessons of the past hundred years is the advice, “Don’t talk to strangers.” 

A friend once told me a story. A young woman at a bar in Texas spotted a guy she found attractive. She positioned herself near him. He didn’t approach. His friends left the bar. He left with them. She gathered her friends. Her friends followed his friends to the next bar.
At the next bar, he didn’t approach her. Eventually, his friends left that bar for a third. She and her friends followed.
At this third bar, he approached her. The pair went home together. Happily ever after. 

The woman from Mexico City likes very green bananas. Her husband, also 5’3”, also in his mid 60s, likes talking to strangers. She takes the stairs; he takes the elevator. They live in 5C. They’re moving tomorrow. Back to Mexico City, for retirement. 

“5C?” I ask him. “Did you guys do renovations?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“I’m also on the 5 line. 5F. I heard about yours.” (In my building, 5 refers to the vertical line while F refers to the floor. All the 5s have the same basic floor structure.) 

“You wanna see?” 

Raúl walks me around his apartment. The place smells faintly of cat urine. I don’t notice. I grew up with cat urine.
Raúl’s two cats skitter. Raúl says they are confused and afraid, considering the move. I think they can’t get purchase on the hardwood floor. 

Raúl’s ceilings are high. Very high. Like 12 feet.
Mine could be high too, Raúl says. I could expose the oak beams, only because I’m on the top floor. Otherwise the exposure breaks fire code. 

I text my partner, “Come to 5C immediately”. She doesn’t answer. I call. She’s in the shower. Four minutes later, she joins the tour. 

Raúl renovated the apartment around 20 years ago. The pair sold their apartment in Brooklyn 5 days before the housing bubble popped. They moved into this place a day later. Renovations were cheap since all the construction workers were out of work. 

Raúl likes his windows and AC unit. He spent $35,000 on new windows 8 years ago.
He hates his floor-to-ceiling doors. $2,700 per door.
He likes the bold colors and exposed brick.
He hates the darkness. He says I’ll have much better light since I’m on the top floor.
He says that the co-op board is easy: they’ll approve anything that’s up to code. “The guy on 5D put a bathroom above our kitchen! Can you imagine that?” 

They expect to visit New York; they have family here. They’ll let me know, stop by for dinner. 

“Take your time on the renovations,” Raúl advises. “Be sure you eat well.”
“Julian doesn’t eat enough vegetables,” Partner tells him.
“During this next year, you should.” 

Ten minutes later, I open my door to head to a show to find Raúl in front of it with another man. “This is my guy Jaime. He does floors, he does windows; anything you need”.
I shake Jaime’s hand. Raúl texts me Jaime’s number. 

— 

Three hours later, Partner and I leave a very green banana outside 5C door with a note: “Thank you for the tour. Have an excellent retirement!” 

Shortly before we part ways, Raúl tells me his wife spotted me back in the lobby due to the bunch of very green bananas I was carrying. That’s the way she likes to eat them. Very green bananas can be hard to find. He jokes that she wants to buy one off of me. I offer one but she declines. 

In retrospect, I wonder who befriended whom. 

— 

Three hours later, Partner and I leave a very green banana outside 5C door with a note: “Thank you for the tour. Have an excellent retirement!” 

Pity they’re leaving. But if they weren’t, would we even have met? 
Tomorrow, I will knock on 5D. I want to learn more about this bathroom. 

Haggling in la Niebla de Guerra (Feb 24 2026)

In which our hero brings a negotiation to a key fight. 

After trying and failing to close my bank account at Wells Fargo, I strutted into the hardware store ready for a fight. 

“Three of the big keys; four of the small. How much?”
The older of the two cashiers replies, “Thees wun ees twenny. Thees wun ees fore.”
$20 is standard, but I know I can get the small for $3.50.
“I’ll give you $70 for all of them.”
“Huh?” The older man asks his younger compatriot.
The younger one says to me, “Set prices, no negotiating”.
“Ok, then just three big ones.”
They discuss my request in Spanish. They assume I don’t speak Spanish. They’re correct. But I do know my numbers. 

The younger fellow cuts the three big keys. When he’s done, the older fellow says, “Udder wun?”
I show him the small key. (I have 8 keys currently on my ring.) He takes it. I say, “I don’t know the price.” He ignores me. I think to myself: “After they’re cut, I have the leverage anyway” and look around the cash register ot see if there’s a fee for credit card. 

The older fellow finishes the small keys and rings it up: $68.99 for the seven keys.
I pull out my phone to pay with tap.
“Ahhh, card?” The older man says.
I suspected he would respond this way. But there’s no sign up-charging me for card usage. 

I pay and he gives me the receipt. I feel like a winner.
Then I look.
$15 each for the big ones.
$4 each for the small. 

Did I school him, saving $7.01 over retail price?
Or did he hoodwink me into thinking the $15 keys are $20 each? 

At home, I tried all three of the big keys. Success.
And then all five of the small keys. Also success.
Wait.
Five?
Did they copy me five keys instead of three?
Ha.

[Note: Last time Partner visited this store, they charged her $30 for a copy of the big key. 

New York City: where everything is made up… but the points definitely matter.] 

Less to Share (Feb 22 2026) 

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.

]