Tag: Fiction

Sidewalk Self-Sacrifice

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“If you’re walking on a sidewalk with a man, and you’re standing here [the left side, beside the cars], and he’s standing here [on the right side, farthest from the cars], get rid of him. Because he cares more about himself than he cares about you.” —a Reno mother teaching her Reno daughter.

This may come as a surprise to my readers, but I mostly agree with the mother. Not on the substance of the matter, nor on the mode of teaching, nor on the values being instilled. But on the fact that you should pass down to your children values that you believe to be important, and apparently this one is important to the mother.

The main thing I find missing from the mother’s description: learning. If the guy is unaware that this particular specific brand of physical comfort is significant to you, have you considered calling it out? I, for one, have learned that some women whom I like to date enjoy when I put my hands over their ears like little makeshift earmuffs whenever an ambulance drives by. I have also learned that some other women dislike this. I do *not* believe that it is an innate, values-correlated thing. I think it’s a choice that I can do, and that I could sufficiently increase my doing-of-this or not-doing-of-this to satisfy either the woman who likes it or the woman who does not.

The number of guys who are taught that sort of physical protection these days is low. The frequency with which a guy *starts out* protecting the woman that way is also low. Often, it builds over time. This mother is going to teach her daughter to select only high-machismo, high-protector men. That may be too much. The right level of protector is more likely to be someone who is decent-protector but still needs to learn the ways that you want or need protection.

It’s shit like this that is pushing back dating and marriage and slowing down natalism.

Apparently, I don’t agree with the mother.

Partner thinks my analysis of this whole experience is wrong. Partner thinks this mother-daughter dynamic is more of a teaching-one’s-daughter-to-pick-a-partner-who-is-a-member-of-a-specific-ingroup than it is teaching one’s daughter a specific set of values to find in a mate. She may be right.

She also mixes up her rights and her lefts.

If so, I *certainly* don’t agree with the mother.

Your analysis?

The Pleasant Walkthrough

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Wednesday at 4pm is my favorite part of the week. My contractor, designer, and carpenter meet me at the apartment. We walk through the building, pointing out errors and making new decisions. We confirm what’s happened over the last week, and I agree to pay them. This structure is fun. A few key points:

  1. I enjoy paying them. I pay for work immediately after it’s performed. They invoice me with clear line items. This structure means I enjoy paying them. I look at a new wall on the invoice, verify it against the real, in-vivo new wall, and pleasingly transfer them their money. I don’t hound them for work; I confirm that the work has been performed.
  2. I create clear sources of truth. I’ve only signed a few documents. Those documents control. I like this structure. It avoids the standard sort of mistake: someone operating from the wrong set of plans.
  3. I indicate mistakes, quickly. With a subcontractor structure, minor mistakes will inevitably happen. They clearly have these mistakes built into their timeline.
  4. I don’t sweat the small stuff. One time, I walked into the apartment to find my designer working with the A/C on and the window open. Yes, someone should correct him. But the cost to me in goodwill for flagging it would be way too much.
  5. Bring food. When Partner is around, she bakes cookies or brownies. When she’s away, I bring dried mango. Today, my contractor brought some mango too. Sharing food creates friendship.

Today, I gushed about the apartment. I often do this, saying things like “What a beautiful space! This is stunning”. I mean it. I love the work that they’re doing and the team I’ve hired. After I mentioned this, my carpenter said, “Your friend said the same thing.”

“My friend?” I replied.

“Yes, the one you sent by with his girlfriend. The one with no hair. He said you used to work together. He came here, then he went to 1F. He also loved the exposed beams.”

I thought for a moment, then I said, “I don’t know that person. I bet he just wanted to see the apartment!”

We laughed, and my lead contractor said, “That’s New York for ya”.

On Creeping

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Walking along the beach in Palermo, Italy, I spotted a couple sucking face. Not merely kissing nor making out: they were devouring each other. I had never seen two people so intensely impassioned, let alone in public for all to see. Dumbfounded, I paused my walk, fascinated. How had I been living my life so passionless? What is it about Italians that this is an acceptable cultural behavior? Where do I get some? 

After around thirty seconds, I grew self-conscious. What if they look over and see me staring? I don’t want to disturb them or prompt them to stop something they’re so clearly enjoying, but they have selected a very public place… 

A set of hip-height bushes lay between me and the couple. I thought, “I could crouch behind these bushes and keep watching”. Then I laughed because I had just derived how someone becomes a peeping tom. 

I didn’t hide behind the bushes. I continued my walk, filing this experience away in my memory as an archetype of passion and an understanding of how slight escalations can rapidly grow out of hand. 

—

Tonight, my ex is hosting a comedy show. I have always liked their art. I want to attend their show. 

I have no ill feelings toward them. Our relationship ended amicably. Since then, they have increased the amount of animosity expressed toward me. Still, I want to attend their show. 

Tonight, at the show, I don’t want to disturb them. If I could attend invisibly, I would. But the venue is probably small – 20 seats or so. What if I attend in a hat and an N95 mask? I’ll sit in the back. Maybe they won’t see me. 

I discovered this show’s existence because a friend was watching TikTok. A voice came on that I recognized. “That’s my ex!” I said. I watched a few of their YouTube videos, found their newsletter, and signed up. I didn’t want to make it awkward, however, so I signed up using a pen name. Then today, when buying the ticket, I used the same pen name.

I’m now walking to my ex’s comedy show, where I’ll sit in the back, alone, wearing a false name and a mask. 

Somehow, every step seemed reasonable. 

— 

At the show: 

They’re literally arms-length away from me. Talking over me to the person beside me. This is exhilarating. 

They pass out pens and paper before the show. The paper has a prompt. It’s about social anxiety. What’s a social interaction that you would handle differently? 

How apt. 

— 

Games played: 

While taking a shower this evening, my two-year-old nephew summoned me. 

Our games began with the red alligator. I used it to bite different items in the bath. He laughed. 

The game escalated, somehow, to him holding a plastic shovel in his mouth while I held a plastic rake in my mouth. He dropped his, prompting me to drop mine. He laughs. We repeat. 

He then handed me the alligator, wanting me to drop it from my mouth instead. We execute. He laughs. 

One time, after I dropped it, the alligator landed just in front of his body. He laughed hard enough that he peed a little. 

This led to our final game of bath time: him trying to put the alligator in my mouth while I refused. 

Next time, I’ll tell him why the game has changed. That way he can learn! 

—

Meta: 

I feel disheartened. Speaking into the void with minimal feedback that my near-daily Substack is appreciated or enjoyed makes me sad. Do you enjoy this? Read it daily? Once in a while? What do you like about it? What do you want more? Comment on it or reply to this email. I’m not trawling for engagement; I’m seeking connection. 

The Community of my Community is my Community 

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Tonight I helped a friend of a friend think through his work plans. He lent me a book from his shelf that I enjoyed leafing through. 

I like this group of friends that this this friend has. I’m three for three on liking them (I’ve liked him and two of his friends). My normal hit rate on befriending people is probably in the single digit percentages. 

They’re 25 years old. I’ve got 8 years on them. Not necessarily 8 years wiser; just 8 years. 

The conversation started when he complained that the company he wants to work for re-posted the job he applied for. They didn’t reply to his resume and cover letter two weeks ago: just re-posted the job opening online. I suggested he walk into their office tomorrow. Dress nicely, bring a copy of your resume and cover letter, find a way to talk to the would-be-boss. Tell them “I like what you’re doing and would love to help.” Know some info about the guy. It’s an assistant role: be ready for that particular guy. It’s a big city: you gotta stand out. 

He liked my advice. He plans to execute it. Even if it fails, he’ll have Done The Thing. Doing The Thing increases your ability to do. If you walk into 400 theater companies in nyc, one of them will hire you. Or at least you’ll get some exercise. 

I wonder whether I like helping this group of guys because it’s the same generation as the youth group I used to advise. Similar friendly banter. Same camaraderie. Same desire for impact and intellect. Same idealism. 

I like being helpful. I like where life is. 

He lent me a book. How to Survive the Modern World. I would like to do that. I would like to Survive. 

I like exchanging gifts. That’s how you make friends. 

Games Played 

“You’re forgiven for making me leave the house.” -Partner, after I brought her delicious fried chicken (delicious fried chicken in Harlem? What a surprise!)

Me: “When is the delivery driver expected to arrive?” 

Delivery company dispatcher: “He’s on Broadway.” 

Me: “Broadway is a reasonably large street. Do you have a cross street?” 

(This is an instance of “Tell me you don’t live in New York without telling me you don’t live in New York.”) 

Error-filled poker is best poker

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Tonight I played in a poker game. $50 buy-in tournament, unlimited rebuys, and you pay an additional $10 in cash to the person who knocks you out each time you’re knocked out. 

A list of the errors that the host made: 

  1. Not moving the blinds properly when someone is knocked out. (The correct action: the big blind moves to its proper position. The small blind follows the big blind. If this process would lead to someone being small blind twice in a row, there is no small blind.)
  2. When coloring-up chips, arbitrarily rounding up. (“Coloring up” is the process of removing small-denomination chips when they’re no longer useful. If someone has eight $10 chips and the small blind is now $100 and the big blind $200, you might as well turn all the $10 chips into $50 chips. There is a designated process for coloring up. It’s called a “chip race”. Our host instead just rounded people up… sometimes. Like, if you had three $100 chips, she just gave you a $500. But somebody received three $1000 chips in exchange for a trove of $50 chips. And there’s NO WAY he had 60 of those $50s. I think it far more likely that she mis-mathed.) 
  3. Miscounting stacks. At one point, one guy busted another. Only they miscounted how much money the two guys had, so they left the loser with a few chips when they shouldn’t have. I noticed that they miscounted. But I had only been present at this game for ~30 minutes when the miscount occurred, in a room where I was the plus one to someone I’d never actually hung out with. I didn’t want to intervene if someone else might catch it, and didn’t want to overstep my role. Nobody likes a newbie know-it-all who can eyeball a miscount from the other side of the table. 
  4. When a card is exposed, they offer the would-be owner of the exposed card the option to call a misdeal. Again, this is a circumstance with clearly defined process. Follow the process. (Certainly don’t give the would-be owner the option to call a misdeal after that person has looked at their replacement card. I was the beneficiary of this option in one circumstance, and being new to the game, let it slide. They exposed my ace, replaced it with a three, and I called a misdeal.) 
  5. If one of the players is outside for a smoke break, we fold his hand. But if the host’s boyfriend is away from the table, we wait for him. (Of the above issues, this is probably the main circumstance I find chicanerous. I’ll chalk it up to the cost of her hosting.) 

Don’t interpret these as complaints. I had an absolute blast. 

I didn’t only take advantage of the spots where it was good for me. In this game, I was along for the ride. There were ~3 spots where the mis-done blinds were meaningfully negative for me. There were also ~2 spots where the incorrectly-done blinds were positive for me. I didn’t care. I was there to have fun and meet people and bring them joy and be invited back. 

I probably will be. The host likes that I keep the game moving. 

At ~11:30pm, when a player busted, dropping us from four players to three, I ran to the bathroom for a quick pee break. While I was in the bathroom, the other two players agreed to designate first, second, and third place by chip count if I accepted. The guy with the fewest chips agreed to taking third place (20% of the pot; $100). I would receive second place (30% of the pot; $150). The chip leader would receive first place (50% of the pot; $250). 

This division is unfair. It’s most unfair to the third-place guy, as it’s acting like he’s busted. It’s second-most unfair to me because I’m way better at poker than these guys (and the upside from second place to first is big). But I want to be invited back. 

So the host’s boyfriend got to win first. He was excited. The host is happy too. So am I. I had a great night. 

It was so fun. I spoke deeply and intimately with a treasure trove of people: 

  • The Long Island-born car mechanic who now owns his own dealership of refrigerated trucks and works 6am-6pm Monday through Friday. He’s as gruff and masculine as you’d expect. But he also says to his girlfriend, when he hears about this weekend’s storm: “You know what that means? Snuggle time!” 
  • The Frenchman who immediately clocks me as a fellow French-speaker because I can pronounce his name correctly… and who speaks so quickly and with such a thick accent that absolutely no one else understands him. My favorite part: he gets frustrated about folding a hand that would have hit a straight, after seeing another guy show his flush! Why are you upset about folding the hand that would have lost you a bunch of money?! 
  • The oldest man at the table, who has played with the group for years, who still doesn’t know the chip denominations. At one point, he said, “I’ll get it next year.” He’s probably been saying that for years. At one point, he moved to the seat beside me. I helped him by telling him, “The action’s on you. It’s $3000. That’s six reds or three blacks.” Then he’d still toss in the wrong amount, and I’d give him his change. 

I had a blast, brought joy to other people, and won. 

Same time next month. 

Heart > Hard

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At the pickleball courts today, a boy of around 10 years old approached me to play. I asked for a moment to wrap up my phone call, then we began to dink. His paddle: cheap and shoddy. His shoes: poorly gripping. His name: Arturo. 

We dinked for five-or-so minutes, then shifted into a singles game. He tracked the score with the vigor of a boy who cares about winning. I won the first game 11-4. We switched sides. He adjusted very little to my play. I won the second game 11-2. We approached the net. I asked what he’d like to do: drill, play another game, etc. He wanted a rematch. I won 11-1. 

We left the court to grab water. The foursome on our neighboring court had just disbanded. One had gone home; the remaining three were looking for a fourth. They asked me to join. I asked if they needed one or two. They needed one. 

We played one game. I ran less than I had with Arturo. I also, tellingly, enjoyed the game less. Arturo’s big heart overshadowed his lacking skill. In this one doubles game, we played maybe one good point. One of the guys hit a lob and was shocked I could run back to return it. I jokingly called it a “senior passing shot”. He didn’t find it funny. 

After the game, I mentioned wanting to grab water. Then, at the benches, I asked Arturo if he wanted to play more singles. He did. 

We played another two games of singles (11-2 and 11-1, or perhaps one of those was 11-0; I don’t recall). Then Arturo asked if we should try to join the other pair practicing down at the end: turn it into a doubles game. 

We did. They agreed. 

This game was fun. Not a good game, but a good time. Arturo wanted to win. Skyler and Nick played their best. But Nick has played fewer than 5 hours of pickleball in his life. He rapidly became the target. 

The game was worse, but the play was still much better. 

We laughed. I called out Skyler for “Unfair surprisery!” when he served a ball that my partner Nick missed. Skyler retorted that Nick had asked him not to go easy. Nick replied that the ball had been too easy: that’s why he missed it. 

I’d rather play with a heartfelt crew than a group that takes it too seriously. 

It’s a game that shares its name with a silly vegetable. Games are fundamentally silly. Be silly. Have fun.

Adverse selection and dental decay

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Adverse selection means the lower-hanging fruit is likely to be worse. If it’s more accessible and others have elected against it, there is usually some reason. Since most people desire similar qualities in their fruit, the remaining low-hanging fruit is likely to be worse. Thus, adverse selection. (It’s also why that shockingly-available parking space is more likely to be a red zone than an actual parking space, and why stock traders accepting deals without knowing why they exist are more likely to lose than win.) 

Today I went to the City College in Brooklyn for a free teeth cleaning. I scheduled the appointment with Daynef yesterday. She told me there’s a $20 facilities fee, but she’s happy to pay that for me. 

Today, after three hours, my teeth are no cleaner than they started. 

At 5:58pm, I arrived to City College. At 6:03pm, Daynef ushered me upstairs. At 6:10pm, I began filling out paperwork. From 6:17pm to ~6:40pm, we waited for a supervisor to review my paperwork. At ~7:17pm, Daynef began examining my face. At ~7:45pm, she began examining the inside of my mouth. At ~8:16pm, Daynef began measuring my periodontal depths. At 8:56pm, Daynef discharged me with a referral. She told me that, if I come back, they can do the actual cleaning and the xrays. 

I will not come back. 

If this were actually what was promised (a free cleaning, the only cost being that it takes 3hrs of my time instead of 1hr), I would be very happy. I downloaded a new audiobook today and haven’t yet established care with a new dentist (I recently moved, and my insurance is likely to change soon). But three hours for no cleaning is an abject failure. 

Yet again, Brooklyn disappoints. 

I enjoy enjoying paying

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Today I had a fun negotiation. My contractor said that he had invoiced me ahead of time for the plumbing because the plumber needs to buy materials. He asked if I could pay this ahead of time. (He usually invoices me at the end of the week for work that was completed that week, as per our contract.) 

I expressed my confusion. I asked a few questions: 

  1. What topics will he want me to pre-pay? 
  2. How does this work, considering I paid a larger-than-normal deposit (30% instead of the normal 20%)? 

He explained the position. 

Then, I said… no! 

It was a kind and friendly no. I was emotionally authentic and effusive. The best line was when I said, “I like paying you. I like looking at the things we’ve completed over the last week and feeling excited about it. This would be a different setup.” 

I also gave him an out. I said, “If it’s an emergency, I’m happy to re-consider this. But right now the process is working well for me, so I’d like it to continue.” 

I debriefed with Partner afterwards. Partner thought my “no” was just that we had a deal structured in a particular way, so continuing that way is good for record-keeping. The real underlying motivation is one of leverage. If I paid my contractor entirely upfront, who knows if they’ll actually show up to do the work? I like to think people take pride in their work and follow-through on their obligations, but good contracts make good working relationships the same way good fences make good neighbors. 

I once heard someone in therapy-world describe something like “Boundaries are the lines that enable me to love myself and you”. This setup is similar: these financial boundaries and processes allow me to feel excited when I pay my contractor. They allow me to gush about the work he’s doing, and to feel delighted by it instead of worried. 

We left it at “If it’s a problem, he’ll tell me.” And if it is a problem, I’m open to solving it. But this particular draw-down should be out of his account, not mine. 

So I’ll continue paying after completion, and I’ll continue enjoying paying him. 

Depression: more fun to ridicule than wallow 

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The Real Ivanov, currently on stage in the East Village, is presented as a meditation on depression. I think that’s a mistake. 

There are two ways to approach depression:

  • To look at it as a comic activity; to ridicule it. That was Chekov’s choice.
  • To wallow in it. That is this play’s choice.

Ivanov, in this version, is an empathetic figure. He is someone depressed and unable to shake this difficulty. But objectively, he is a scoundrel: he married a rich woman, then her family disowned her, and all she does is love him, yet he has fallen out of love with her. Is it related to his money problems? He says no. Yet when his wife dies of tuberculosis, immediately he marries the daughter of the richest people in town. The juxtaposition between what he says and what he does is notable. If a man leaves the side of his tuberculosis-ridden wife to prompt a new relationship with a wealthy young woman, is that not a deplorable act worthy of ridicule? Yet this production plays it straight. 

Many of the scenes make no sense when played as a drama: Ivanov (our protagonist) goes to the richest woman in town, to whom he owes money, and begs her for another week to pay. She rejects him. A few scenes later, her husband goes to Ivanov and begs him to pay this man’s wife because she is haranguing him about it. That’s already somewhat of a funny circumstance: a man begging not for payment but for his wife off his back. Now, the husband pulls out a thousand rubles to give to Ivanov to give to the man’s wife, on the condition that Ivanov not tell her it’s from him. What a funny thing to do! Now, on top of that, add the fact that our protagonist rejects the money! What a ridiculous scenario! It’s like watching a circle of Loony Toons chase each other. Yet that scene in this production, much like the rest of them, is played dramatically. 

Throughout this performance, I was the only person in the audience laughing, frequently laughing because the manner I have found to enjoy this play is by imagining I’m reading the script for it while the actors are talking. I’m enjoying the script itself (it’s very well-written) and laughing at the difference between what they are doing and the humor in the script itself. 

This performance is to Chekhov like American Chinese food is to Chinese food. It can be simple and pleasurable if that’s your taste, but it lacks a certain depth of character.

After the play, I explained to my viewing buddy that this play could either be performed as a comedy or as a tragedy, and I thought this tragic choice was lacking. He said, “Are you sure it could be a comedy?” I showed him the poster: their tagline says, “A comedy about despair”. He said, “That was definitely not a comedy.” 

Next time, please make the audience laugh at the depression, not at the production itself. 

C-

Perhaps purpose is passion plus people 

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Today I introduced a friend who makes quantitative trading-teaching games to a friend who owns a chain of toy and game stores. 

We played a hidden role social deduction game for 3.5hrs. Then they discussed game theory late into the night. 

I pitched this buddy on moving to The City. In 2 days he’s met a handful of driven, interesting, intellectual people. He usually lives in a tiny town. He doesn’t get out much. It’s not healthy. 

I wonder if he’ll ever expand his possibilities and his capabilities. Or if he’ll collapse back into the short-term, brief-profit-seeking perspective he always has. 

—

The last few months I’ve focused on renovating an apartment. Hearing people discuss their passions and excitement is both energizing and deflating. I wonder where I’ll go after this renovation. A family, perhaps. Or an opening of activity into work… or both. 

I enjoy playing games. I enjoy bringing people together. I’ll keep playing games. Keep bringing people together. 

Into a dancer you have grown

From a seed somebody else has thrown

Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own

And somewhere between the time you arrive and the time you go

May lie a reason you were alive, but you’ll never know

—

Games played

Just after midnight, as my buddy and I descended the steps into the subway station, a woman in a purple bathing suit followed. She muttered something about “Which way is this train going?” and “Who are you guys?” that we ignored. 

We paid our $3 to pass through the turnstile. She followed. 

We boarded the elevator toward the platform. The woman followed us. I tilted my head at my buddy. The woman lowered her top. 

Later, on the platform, my buddy commented: “She really must have thought we were good marks. Spent $3 and everything. And in the elevator, you see that?” 

I replied, “You know what that was?”

He said, “Advertising.”