Tag: Frameworks

Five Chicken Paprikash

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In only 2 days.

At the end of Budapest day 4, Partner & I have eaten 5 orders of chicken paprikash. We didn’t even have any until day 3. Tomorrow’s plan: more chicken paprikash.

Budapest is now my favorite food city. Good Budapest restaurants all hover between 4.5 and 5 stars. You might think the high ratings come from rating inflation. They do not. The food is actually that good.

I like good food. I want to experience local dishes. After only two days of exploring, I did not expect to start to exploit. 

Explore Phase

Friday lunch: goose “bacon” and shakshouka at a well-regarded local jewish eatery.

Friday dinner: beef tartare, goulash in a basement whose walls might date back to the 1800s.

Saturday lunch: duck pate with rabbit tenderloin, and monkfish at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Saturday dinner: beef tartare in a stunning courtyard.

Sunday afternoon: beef tartare, along with our first chicken paprikash, at some basic, non-descript restaurant. 

Now I’m Hooked

Sunday dinner: 1 more beef tartare, and 1 more chicken paprikash. But we’re still hungry, and Partner wants cake that is mostly chocolate buttercream, so we head to a local cafe for dobos torte and another chicken paprikash. 

Monday lunch: beef tartare & chicken paprikash from a place recommended on reddit. 

Monday dinner (tonight): chicken paprikash and a disappointing goulash soup. 

Explore within the Exploit

Trying every chicken paprikash is an exploration. 

Partner and I fly to Paris on Thursday. That gives us 2 more full food days. 

We might have beef tartare and chicken paprikash at 6 more meals. We would love this. Imagine the variation within the form! The different specificity! The hyper-specific options! 

When the chicken was roasted separately, it lacks a depth of cohesive flavor (i.e. the chicken is separate from the sauce, not one with the sauce). When the sour cream sits atop the noodles, you must mix it in or perish. The “dumpling” variation is vast: each chicken paprikash comes with a “dumpling”, but they range from crêpe to cube to spaetzle. (And frankly I think it’s nonsense to refer to any of them as a dumpling anyway.) 

Deep exploitation is exploration, just on a finer grain. 

Partner is excited to learn to cook it, and what better way to make it well than to try all the variations and learn what you enjoy?

[Partner says, “I want your fanbase to comment other Hungarian food for us to try. They won’t.” Prove her wrong?]

Two Service Industries

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The waiter has two jobs. So does everyone in the service industry.

A waiter who doesn’t bring your food has failed. A waiter who brings your food but ruins your experience has also failed, just in a different way. We refer to both of these elements with the same word: “service”.

Two completely different failure modes, one job title. The waiter sells a result (correct order arrives, hot) and an experience (the welcome, the rhythm of the table, the small talk, the upsells that don’t feel pushy).

Most service jobs are like this. A masseuse sometimes sells a result (your glutes stop screaming) and sometimes sells an experience (60 minutes of affectionate touch from a fellow primate). A hotel sells a result (somewhere safe to sleep, proximity to the places you want to be, a gym, food without leaving the building) and an experience (the pleasantness of all of it).

The word “service” hides two different products. Once you notice this, every purchase decision gets easier, because you stop accidentally paying for the one you don’t want.

(People miscategorize their purchases all the time. Doctors, for instance, are in the service industry. Personally, I only value “bedside manner” insofar as it impacts my medical results, generally through team cohesion.) 

The Hotel Switch

This idea showed up today while I switched hotels in Budapest.

Hotel 1 was the Kimpton BEM. $340 per night. Sauna, gym, restaurant, bar, room service, a quick walk to the Danube. A small room. No refrigerator. Paid laundry. Beautiful experience, modest result.

Hotel 2 is an aparthotel. $61 per night. A one-bedroom apartment (separate bedroom and living room). A kitchen with stove, oven, microwave, dishes, refrigerator. A laundry machine. One block from the biggest ruin bar in Budapest.

For the same money, I’d take the aparthotel every time: twice the space, a real kitchen, a better location, an in-unit laundry machine. The Kimpton costs roughly 5.5x as much. At that price, you’re buying 1) The experience of being attended to, and 2) Reliability (of room, food, and experience: Kimpton is a reputable brand.

The Preference

I’m probably odd in that I almost always want the result.

I prefer my infrastructure solves specific needs. If it solves the need, the work is done; the pleasure of the experience is secondary to the solving of the problem.

The key exception: play. I don’t play golf to get the ball in the hole. I play golf to play golf. Play is the rare context where the experience IS the product, and I’m clear on that going in.

Perhaps some people see visiting a hotel as play. I see it as infrastructure. 

The Cost

The aparthotel model isn’t free. You have to learn it. Photos lie. Hosts ghost. There’s no front desk at this residence: if you fail their check-in process, their automated system won’t email you the login code.

The variance is real: I once caught a nasty cough from a booking.com stay due to mold on the walls.

The result-first approach trades reliability for upside on the days nothing goes wrong. Most days, nothing goes wrong. And my skill at spotting good residences has improved. But I improved… by making mistakes.

The Result

As I write this I’m on the couch in our new living room, and Partner is squishing my feet. My feet hurt because the Kimpton was a 45-minute walk from the lively downtown area (from which Partner and I walked back to the Kimpton at 2am last night).

I’m enjoying the experience of a feet-squish from someone I love. Still, I’d rather we jumped to the result where my feet stopped hurting.

Budapest: Scams and Porn

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How porn, scams, and power fantasies feed each other

[Day 2 in Budapest. Written from a downtown bar.] 

In Budapest, there’s a classic tourist scam. The kind of scam that’s so common you learn about it from Rick Steves. A beautiful woman approaches you on the street, flirts, suggests a drink at a bar she knows. You go. The menu has no prices. You order a round. The bill comes: $500 for two glasses of champagne. A very large man near the door makes clear: this is not negotiable.

The scam works because the mark doesn’t expect it. He thinks he’s lucky. 

And the reason he thinks he’s lucky traces back through Soviet history.  

Here’s the loop, roughly:

1. Post-communist economic disparity creates a visible gap between local women and Western tourists with money.

2. Sex tourism follows: Guys pay for sex.

3. Some of them film it. A whole genre emerges — the “meet a girl on the street in Eastern Europe” category. The premise: “this just happens! You walk around Prague or Budapest, and beautiful woman will come home with you.”[1] 

4. Enough men absorb this trope from porn as a realistic model of how Eastern Europe works. They arrive pre-loaded with the belief that beautiful women approach foreign men on the street.

5. Scam operators notice this. They don’t even need to be aware of the porn. They just notice this story works. A woman approaches, flirts, leads the guy to the scam bar. He doesn’t question it because it matches the script he’s already running.

The porn normalized the scenario. The scam monetized the same scenario from another direction.

I like comedy, so let’s look at this from a recursive, self-parody perspective: 

Once enough guys get scammed and tell the story online (forums, Reddit, travel warnings, the Rick Steves travel guide) the scam itself becomes a known thing. It enters the cultural awareness. And what does entertainment do with any known phenomenon?

It digests it back into fantasy.

My predicted next genre: porn where the guy gets taken to the clip joint, sees what’s happening, fights the bouncer, and the girl is so impressed she actually sleeps with him. The humiliation gets rewritten as a test. The mark becomes the hero. The audience gets to engage with the anxiety of being scammed abroad, but instead of worry it gets transmuted into a power fantasy.

Reality creates the fantasy. The fantasy creates the vulnerability. The vulnerability creates the scam. The scam gets folded back into the fantasy. Someday maybe people will want to be scammed by the beautiful woman as they’ve gotten off on it so many times. 

This structure isn’t unique to Budapest. Casting couch porn followed the same loop. The real casting couch was an open Hollywood secret (producers leveraging access for sex). Exploitative, coercive, career-ending for the women who refused. Then the genre emerged: the “audition” scenario, repackaged as the fantasy itself. The power imbalance turned from a social bug into the pornographic product.

The pattern repeats because it works. A real dynamic involving real exploitation gets turned into content, and fed back to an audience that is now one step further from seeing the thing clearly. Nobody plans the full loop. Each actor in the chain is just optimizing locally — the pornographer for clicks, the scammer for cash, the next pornographer for a fresher scenario. The loop runs itself.

The economic loop feels no different from the gentrification loop seen in Brooklyn, Berlin, and Budapest: down-trodden area → cheap real estate for bars or clubs → yuppies who want to be near artists → cafes → expensive real estate 

It’s an economic loop. You’re living inside thousands every day. Try not to get fucked by them. [1] Budapest actually produces a lot of porn, and this “meet a strange woman and bring her home” is a common genre, featuring the beautiful city architecture

Top-Secret Games: Airport Edition 

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Serious places make the silliest games

Airports pretend they’re fancier than bus stations. Some games to remind them of their silliness: 

Packing

  • Try “one–bagging”: no matter how long the trip, pack everything in a personal-item-sized backpack. Partner and I traveled through Europe for 4 months with one 20L backpack each. Benefits include: 
  1. Less to lug
  2. Recognize how little you actually need. 
  3. Save $50+ per budget airline flight (which charge for carry-ons). That $50 (or $75!) could go toward a new shirt or hat or socks or whatever-you-neglected-due-to-your-limited-space-and-probably-won’t-need-anyway. 

Checking in

  • Snap a picture of the airplane seatmap. This may come in handy. 

TSA Checkpoints

Which line?

Most people choose by line length. But length is often less important than throughput speed. At a fork, neither line is likely to be 25% longer. But one TSA agent often is 25% slower. 

Free Awkward Massage

When you’ve arrived to the airport with ample time to spare, tell the TSA agent, “I’d like to opt out of the body scanner”. 

They’ll summon an agent who aligns with their perception of your gender appearance (androgynous people: I have no idea). 

That person will blandly-and-with-dead-eyes presage the next two minutes of your future. Their articulation will be simultaneously formal (“I will first pat down your upper body, then your lower body…”) and ridiculous (“When I get to your sensitive areas, such as the waistband, I will use only the back of my hands”). 

The experience feels like a procedural drama crossed with a lazy streetwalker naming service prices. You know it’s pointless and dumb. They know it’s pointless and dumb. And now they’re obligated to touch you. 

For an added joy, leave something innocuous in your pocket: your passport or a few coins or a used dental flosser. 

While they’re performing this intimate massage, try not to laugh. 

Or guffaw at their pointlessness. 

Or lean on them while they’re bending over to pat you. 

On a societal level: there’s no winning. It isn’t a game. It’s a farce.

In the Lounge

0. Play credit card games to acquire lounge access. (These games are pre-preparation.) 

  1. Before leaving the lounge, choose between Future Fueling Level 1 (stuffing your backpack with canned drinks to go), and Future Fueling Level 2 (squirreling food into the ziplocs you brought). I play level 1; Partner Level 2. 

At the Gate

  1. If it’s your birthday, tell the counter check-in people it’s your birthday. (Most of their work is dealing with annoyed travelers, so they really love this refreshing opportunity!) 
  2. If it’s not your birthday, ponder the ethics of telling them it’s your honeymoon. (Decide against it as your partner doesn’t have a ring and you really don’t want them to ask, plus lying to win games is cheating.)
  3. Ask the gate agent whether the airplane is full. If it’s not, ask them if they could move you to better seats. Do not pay for the change: that’s how the terrorists win. 

When lining up for budget airlines with your Onebag®, do the following:

0. Have a bag that, if need be, is small enough to fit in the sizer if you put on all your layers and jam your pockets full. (The first step to winning is choosing a game you can win.) 

  1. Seek the person who is least interested in doing their job correctly. 
  2. Position your body to hide your bags. 
  3. Upon approaching the desk, ask them a question that distracts them without increasing their engagement, something like “Have you been to [destination city]? It’s my first time.” Be kind and friendly and light. You’ll know you’ve succeeded when their dead eyes shift energyless to the person behind you. 

Boarding the Plane

  1. If the plane has open seating, board earliest. See the “final note” (below) for methods to keep your neighboring seat empty. 
  2. Board last. If the agents ask, tell them it’s because “Boarding last is lucky!” And it is! The last person on the plane gets to see what seats are available before taking theirs.
    1. This approach enables the harnessing of what million milers call “poor man’s first class” (an open row).

Final Note 

  • Throughout this experience, if you ever want to repel someone’s attention (maybe your bag is slightly too big; maybe the plane is open-seating and you want the open seat beside you to remain), make a grotesque face and pick your nose. (Only pull this trick if you want to distract their attention and don’t have to interact with them. If the interaction is mandatory, this move can be dangerous.) Really get into it. Remind yourself, “No one expects a nose-picker to be strategic. Some people actually look like this or pick their nose like this. I wouldn’t want to interact with them, either!” 

“Yes, And” in The City.

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To find your people, yes-and. To yes-and, be the offer.

Humans sense intention.

In college, the art student I was dating saw scribbles on a whiteboard in my dorm room. They connected the lines into a picture. They saw the noise as marks of humanity. They recognized this humanity and added their own.

Improvisational theater dubs this move “yes, and.” When someone makes an offer (a line, an emotion, a mimed hat), you accept it (“yes”) and add (“and”). 

The game feels deeply respectful: honoring others’ contributions while adding your own. You can’t yes-and into a vacuum. Someone has to move first, even if only The First Mover. 

When you yes-and readily, the world yes-ands you back. 

Yesterday, the world yes-and-ed me four times.

Business Advice

Two people texted me yesterday asking for business advice. 

Partner’s friend asked about negotiating a role with a CEO I used to advise. He didn’t know I knew the CEO. He generically knew me as a CEO whisperer and good at creatively evaluating contracts.

Another friend asked for advice negotiating his boyfriend’s equity compensation package. I shot back 13 points of commentary. He replied: “Julian, babe, wow!!!! Thank you SO much for this!!!”

My initial offer in these exchanges was a reputation built over years. My friends’ yes-es were recognizing the mark. Their and-s were the specific questions.

Small World

My former college roommate brought a friend to play cards til midnight. When the new guy mentioned he was a debater, I ballparked his age and asked if he had known my brother-in-law.

He said: “Oh yeah, he was a legend. Is he still very stoic?”

My offer: hosting an invented cooperative poker game.

His “yes”: joining. His “and”: sharing about himself.

My “yes”: piecing together the traits. My “and”: asking the precise follow-up.

His “yes”: acknowledgement. His “and”: mentioning my brother-in-law’s reputation.

We snapped a selfie to send to brother-in-law. After this connection, our poker-game riffing increased. 

On the Train

A woman in her mid-fifties boarded the 6 train at 42nd Street Grand Central. She commented on my fun hat and asked what I was reading. 

My initial offer: being legible, plus an emotional openness to interaction that I learned at clown school.

Shortly after studying in France, I noticed myriad people wanting to interact with me. Turns out: you can teach charisma.

The exchange:

“It’s called The Grasshopper.”

“Is it about grasshoppers?”

“It’s about philosophy of games.”

“Are you a philosophy major?”

“I was a philosophy major.”

“Do you still work in philosophy?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She smiled. “What do you write about?”

“I run a publication where I write about games, and I ghostwrite for tech people.”

“I’ve been looking for a ghostwriter.”

We exchanged information. We’re scheduled to talk Monday.

My offer: the book and the hat. Her “yes”: the engagement. Her “and”: the question chain.

Our conversation yes-and-ed back and forth.

Independently, Marketing discovered this move: make deliberate choices that legibly convey the desired information.

Yes-and has the same rule.

“No, But…” 

Partner and I visited a bathroom showroom.

For our two bathtubs, the “bathroom expert” recommended a 15.5″ deep bathtub for the larger space. We had told him we wanted that one to be maximally deep. (I found a 17.5″ deep bathtub after five minutes of searching. In a brand he represents.)

His response rejected our initial offer.

I told him we were unlikely to support his other recommendation either. We had asked for a bathtub. His recommendation was only 8” deep. (Partner’s comment to me, after the fact: “That’s not a bathtub. That’s a sink.”)

The salesman: “But it’s good for washing children.”

He didn’t ask why we disliked the depth. He didn’t interrogate enough to understand our preferences.

This was a “but.”

When someone “no”s or “but”s you, you question if they’re values-aligned.

This “no” will prompt me to check all his other work.

New York

New York is a city of infinite possibilities.

My rate of random encounters has skyrocketed over the last 4 months.

  • Met new friends at an alumni gathering. We’ve since played board games four times.
  • Met a ghostwriting client at a tech-incubator brunch.

The hard part has always been noticing the games. Yesterday I noticed four.

Moving to New York was a “yes.” When I’m living in alignment with my preferences, the city hollers back “yes” every day.

And its millions of people add a booming “AND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

People can sense agency. The more you enact change on the world, the more you attract people to you. 

You yes-and the world; the world becomes more yes-and-able for you. 

Take it from a better clown than me: Life has been created for you to enjoy, but you won’t enjoy it unless you pay for it with some good, hard work. 

Massaging the Frame

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To win, play your game. To play your game, reframe theirs.

Last night, Partner and I were awake until 3:43am packing up our entire apartment and moving things to our basement storage locker. We awoke at 4:18am for our 7am flight.

On the airplane, Partner attempted to recline her seat. The woman behind her pushed on the seat, preventing reclining. Partner continued attempting, reasoning, “Either she will give up or I will give up, and either is fine.”

Once the woman-behind gave up, Partner reclined her seat. The woman-behind banged upon the seat, first at the level of the head, then at the back. Partner reasoned: “I can reframe it into a massage. It’s not a problem now. If it becomes one, I can call the flight attendant.” (Partner’s later comment: “To be honest, it felt kind of nice. It wasn’t work to reframe it, I just chose to appreciate the positive part and ignore the negative part.”] 

When the flight landed, the woman-behind and her husband stood up immediately, announcing: “We have a tight connection and no bags!”

People let them pass. Partner commented that she had seen the couple be forced to gate-check bags, so getting off early didn’t advantage them. They had also gate-checked their bags to their final destination: Nashville. Where we had just landed. They didn’t have a connection. They felt the need to justify their actions with a lie. The passenger who shared the couple’s row said, “They were wild. Wonder what other shenanigans they’re getting up to.”

People play games differently.

Pets, Colleagues, Livestock

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The creature is the same, the category is the frame, the frame is the game.

Is your cat a pet or a colleague?

Our categories, often arbitrary, shape our relationships.

Snickers

My parents’ cat died yesterday. She was a comfort animal, treated like a member of the family — albeit one who would literally bite the hand that feeds her. Upon receiving scritches, Snickers would drool, then grow overwhelmed by the pleasure and bite you. Her teeth were quite sharp, prompting the end of the scritching and Snickers’ confusion.

Dubbed The Belle of Amherst, Snickers hermited upstairs, leaving her room only once or twice per year. A working cat? She hadn’t caught a mouse in her life. Snickers would meow so my mother would lift her up to the food bowl on the windowsill. My mother laughed about Snickers forgetting the location of her food. I laughed because Snickers had learned to take the elevator instead of the stairs.

Snickers was a family member. We will miss her.

Smidgen

After ending a relationship in 2018, a best-friend-sized hole throbbed in my heart. Since dog is man’s best friend, I considered adopting.

Unsure for how long I would want a dog, I reasoned: I would delightfully care for a dog for the next few years. After that period, I wasn’t so sure.

Most people in this circumstance wouldn’t adopt a dog, at least in cultures where dog is family-member. I understand that dogs feel emotional attachments. It does seem cruel to adopt and abandon.

However: 

  1. “Abandoning” is meaningfully different from what I planned to do (I wouldn’t simply leave it on the street)
  2. In that world, one more dog sits at a shelter and I wallow without a dog.

Many shelters are over-crowded, especially with chihuahuas, and often kill the animals they can’t care for. Even if somebody took a dog for a year, then returned it and the dog was immediately put to death, didn’t that dog get an extra year of life? By caring for a dog, even temporarily, don’t you improve the dog-shelter ecosystem? It’s hard to say that some amount of dog separation pain overrides the value of a happy year of a dog’s life.

I concluded the “dog-as-commitment” perspective didn’t fit my values, so I adopted a dog with the plan to rehome her if my preference changed. When I called the shelter to put Smidgen on hold, the receptionist laughed, saying she had been at the shelter for months: no one would swoop in to steal her from me.

Smidgen and I traveled together for around three years. More than anything in the world, she loved lap-sitting. She’d sit on my lap while I drove across the country. She’d sit on my lap while I read a book. Sometimes we’d go to dog parks so she could sit on my lap and watch the other dogs.

Six months into our relationship, I mentioned the uncertainty I had about keeping her. Consistently, people responded with comments like, “Well, you’ve made a commitment.”

Where does this social pressure — that a dog is a family member — come from? It might be the social shaming of abandoning or abusing dogs (which is categorically different from re-homing them). It might be the strong vocality of people who grow incredibly attached to their dogs.

In my uncertainty, I only found one write-up about a family that adopted a dog, had it for six months, and decided it wasn’t for them. The write-up lamented the absence of shared experiences like this.

Partner

Partner grew up surrounded by animals: cows, chickens, sheep, ducks, geese, guinea pigs, parakeets, a rabbit, and dogs.

Two weeks ago, our general contractor brought over some eggs and mentioned he has a sick chicken. His wife has spent about $2,000 trying to revive this chicken. Partner noted afterwards that she had newly realized she didn’t grow up with pets: she grew up with farm animals. One cow was named T-Bone after its future. When raccoons raided their coop, the family shrugged and replaced the chickens. (As Partner puts it, “Chickens are like 3 for $10.”)

I don’t think there’s clear superiority to the pet perspective over the farm animal relationship. The relationship seems more driven by one’s background and emotional experiences than logic.

I’m reminded of the Supreme Court case National Pork Producers Council v. Ross. In oral arguments, the Humane Society argued for the ethics of pigs in kinder conditions. Pork producers rebutted with the ethics of affordable pork. A plurality of the Supreme Court ruled the ethics “incommensurable” – impossible for courts to compare.

Mother

My mother grew up with a large extended family, all in their forties or older when she was born. By the nature of aging, they began to pass away when my mother was quite young.

My mother sees each pet as a family member.

I grew up without an extended family. My four-person nuclear family has always been healthy. I don’t have that particular pain that causes me to strongly desire more family. (But I did adopt Smidgen from a best-friend-sized hole.)

When my time with Smidgen had neared its end, I asked my mother: “If I rehomed her, would you want her?” My mother said yes.

She relates to what she sees as a family member. I relate to what I see as a dog.

What’s it like to be a pet? 

Smidgen and Snickers shared the same bed for about four years. Snickers hissed whenever Smidgen got too close. I wonder whether they considered each other family.

Will Smidgen be sad that Snickers is gone?

Reply to tell me: what’s your relationship with the animals in your life? And if you’ve ever rehomed a dog: did anyone in your circle understand?

Win the Hand, Lose the Tournament

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“You already want. Want at the right level.”

Somehow, moving 6,205 lbs in 45 minutes is easier than moving 0 lbs.

My life was forever changed when I encountered this idea in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics: 

  • Virtue is formed through habitual, repeated actions.

In college, I focused on habit formation. Routine is simple – and for me, can be easy: “Every day” is often easier than five days per week. Habit is a valuable default. 

But sometimes, excellence requires non-habit. Sometimes, wanting to win can make you lose.

Know When to Fold ‘Em 

The hunger that makes you a cutthroat poker player can also lose you tournaments. 

In many poker tournament situations, the winning move is to fold. There are plenty of spots where one has the guaranteed best hand yet the proper move is folding! (E.g. pocket aces with a short stack on a tournament bubble when multiple other players are all-in.) 

The fastest way to lose a fortune at poker is over-bluffing. 

Give up on this hand. Find a better spot.

Know When to Walk Away

The strategy that makes you a skilled weightlifter also exacerbates your injuries. 

Ten years ago, I bulged a disc in my spine. 

Three weeks ago, I re-activated the same injury. I paused deadlifts and squats, only returning to them 3 days ago. My sciatica flared up again. I stopped.

In the long term, one day without lifting doesn’t matter. One week wouldn’t matter. A re-injury could bench me for life. 

Wanting to lift weights makes you a good weightlifter. But wanting to lift weights can also make you a permanently-bad weightlifter.

Know When to Run

For the next 6 weeks, any lifts involving my back would be “rolling the dice”. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t like gambling: I like situations where gambling leads to an edge. 

This isn’t one. Today, I’m taking a rest day from the gym.

Count Your Money When the Dealin’s Done

The game isn’t one poker hand. The game is long-term winning. 

The game isn’t today’s weightlifting. The game is long-term health. 

These intellectual reframes – “it’s not about this hand” and “it’s not about lifting today” – can have cascading effects. They relax your mind. They create new patience. 

Today I will take a rest day. And each second when I’m not lifting weights, I will remind myself I’m getting stronger.

Score is the Thief of Commerce

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“To win, score the most. To score the most, stop keeping score.”

Last week, after three days in my metaphorical writing cave, I hollered to Partner, “I know I haven’t been doing dishes. I owe you.” I caught it immediately: “Actually, I think keeping score is bad practice. I take it back.” She laughed and continued on with her day.

I like scores. Keeping score is a clear and straightforward way to understand and compare performance. But sometimes, keeping score can be actively harmful.

Macro scoring enables comparison between multiple options. Micro-scoring corrodes as it leads you to optimize the wrong things. As my family motto goes (it’s intentionally too long for comedic effect), “Before you hyper-optimize a process, be sure you’re optimizing for what you actually want and not a correlate.”

The Bad (Reflexive Scoring)

Should I owe Partner dishes? I was heads-down on work because I spent the previous three weeks coordinating medical appointments for Partner and renovation work for our apartment.

As Middle East history teaches: if you dig back far enough, you can find huge grievances on all sides. Without touching on rightness or wrongness (as I do not have a sufficiently long stick with which to touch), this process does not seem to form stability. And stability is something I would like in my partnership.

Simply: if Partner feels I’m not doing dishes enough, she will say so. If I feel I’m not washing dishes enough, I should wash more dishes.

Score-keeping as a way of digging yourself out of a hole will often lead to resentment of the scorekeeping mechanism (or participants, which is even worse).

The Good (Reflective Scoring)

I once heard a successful startup founder describe his romantic check-ins. He and his wife divide his work into four categories: money earner, father, lover, friend. Rating each on a 1–10 scale, so long as his overall score achieves more than 25 points, he passes. For this partnership, this calculation may solve a real problem: it recognizes a person’s contributions despite changes over time.

This scoring process is a feedback instrument, driven by deliberate weighing of details — not a reflex prompted by momentary discomfort.

The Bridge (Incentive Alignment)

Hourly work misaligns incentives. This structure causes less efficiency and innovation: working faster costs the worker money!

I realized this structure with my $16/hr marketing internship after my sophomore year of college. I automated all my work, and all the other interns’ work. My superior said, “Sit tight and read.” I arrived to work early and left late because they paid me hourly. I was always there to do work if they wanted to give me work. (Now, I would take a slightly different tack: raising this lack-of-work to my boss’s boss. But at the time, I thought arriving early and staying late to maximize my dollars was the standard way to play the game.)

Even if your boss is your best friend, the hourly contract puts you in opposition. The score isn’t a personality conflict; it’s a contract feature. No amount of scorekeeping can account for misalignment.

The Ugly (Anti-Commerce)

Some work should be 90%–10%. In my partnership, Partner captains cooking 90% of the time; I captain travel logistics and social plans 90% of the time. I’m sufficiently capable to create edible food. Partner is sufficiently capable to book flights and schedule with friends. We simply enjoy it less (and are less skilled).

Micro tit-for-tat prevents specializing and trading, which is the fundamental lesson of commerce. So long as we both share the common knowledge that we’re both helping the team, the score is anti-helpful.

When partners are aligned on what they’re moving toward, the allocation can skew without it mattering. Some weeks she does more; some weeks I do. The “oxygen mask before helping others” frame applies: feeding yourself, whether literal food or via nurturing work, isn’t a withdrawal from the partnership — it’s a contribution to it, because your effectiveness is shared.

The reflex inside an aligned partnership imports structural-scoring logic into a relationship that thrives on more flexibility than scoring provides.

The score is the thief of commerce.

The Reckoning (Trust)

Would you rather employ someone values-aligned and unskilled, or skilled but misaligned? For piecework, I think skilled but misaligned. For a teammate, values-aligned. (That said, I am historically incompetent at working with unskilled people.) But I guess that’s still better than someone who will sabotage, even if they do it unknowingly.

Alignment produces trust. A scorecard substitutes for trust, poorly.

Last night, Partner asked me to do the dishes.

There’s a Fine, Fine Line Between Campy & Bad

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Bad + heightened + self-aware = camp. Bad + heightened – self-aware = bad.

Can you discern between campy acting and bad acting?

On Thursday, I watched a play. Half the actors performed camp; the other half were unskilled. Camp is the mimicry and affectionate mockery of bad. There’s a fine, fine line between them: to the untrained observer, camp could appear as bad.

Thus, the performers must train the observers.

What’s in a Play?

A skilled actor who cannot entertain is not a skilled actor. However, in this situation, I do not think the actors are entirely to blame. An actor in an uncurated environment can only do so much.

The director is responsible for show cohesion, just as a coach is responsible for team cohesion. (A football player can reasonably say, “I played my role perfectly; today’s loss is not my fault.”)

Thursday’s show presented individuals but lacked a bigger picture. Every actor played according to their ability. Some of those abilities were poor. The director failed to account for this gap. Again, I think this is a coaching issue. Plenty of highschool sports teams have bench warmers and waterboys. Plenty of highschool plays contain “tree #1”. (And New York City theater likely has far more people auditioning than available roles.)

Just as a comedian must wink at the audience lest we think him a liar, this play needed a wink. The play was a small-theater (but professional) production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, a musical containing archetypes — archetypes that, as over-the-top portrayals, may not be authentic. Inauthentic acting done well may be camp. Done poorly? Amateurish.

When the actors first entered the stage, playing mock-audience members, one could have said, “This is going to be campy.” A director’s note in the printed programs could have said, “We lean into the camp.” Instead, the performances fell into the uncanny valley.

A Holistic Hole

A basketball coach must do more than ensure each teammate performs their role. They must ensure the team gets the ball into the basket. Otherwise, you end up with beautiful acrobatics but complete strategic failure.

Or, in this case, a play that audiences did not want to watch.