Tag: Humor

Everybody’s a Creative… (Mar 11 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero seeks not to hire others’ creativity, for he has enough of his own. 

The NYC Department of Buildings only accepts renovation plans submitted with an architect’s signature.
Architects therefore sell signatures. 

An architect’s signature on plans pledges that the drawings are accurate.
Architects therefore sell signatures and drawings. 

Drawings require measurements.
Architects therefore sell signatures, drawings, and measurements. 

While an architect could feasibly sell less than those three, that’s the minimum I’ve found.
It’s not glamorous work (measure a building; draw the client’s desired floorplan; sign the submission). 

It’s also standardized, functioning a bit like a commodity. 

So what do New York City architects do? 

They sell other services, including: 

  1. Design services to decide on my floorplan
  2. Expediting service to get my plans through the DoB faster
  3. Self-certification that the drawing follows NYC housing code (which skips the DoB review process entirely)
  4. Contracting services to build my space
  5. Interior design services to fill my space 
  6. Special inspections to certify that the construction was built exactly as the drawings suggest 

In addition to the commoditized part, I only want numbers 3 and 6.
And amusingly, I have not found any architects who sell exactly 3 and 6.
Most are wary to sell #3 (as self-certifying prompts future headache if they’re audited). And some lack the license to complete #6. 

I want to buy procedural functions (skip the line; complete the inspections). Most architects want to sell something creative (floorplan help; interior design). 

The fundamentals of NYC architecture work are procedural. Architects are the followers of code, the performers of measurers, the drawers of drawings, the providers of signature, and the submitters of their official stamp. But 1) That stamp is therefore not particularly valuable (it’s a saturated market); and 2) Most people who became architects did so out of some desire to be creative. 

However…  

“I don’t want your creativity. I respect your creativity; I just don’t want to buy it. I actually want to bypass your functions as quickly as possible.” 

… has thusfar not been a successful pitch. Not even when paired with “I will pay you an increased rate for it.” 

Where are the architects who got into this business because they like to measure spaces and reproduce them accurately on giant sheets of paper?
I want to meet those architects…
and pay them very little. 

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. 

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.” 

In the Spirit (Feb 23 2026)

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In which? IN THE SPIRIT! 

In the spirit of my yesterday writing, here are relatively trivial items I’m happy with: 

  1. Frolicking in the snow with Partner at 10pm yesterday in Central Park.
    1. I acquired a stick. A great stick. A passerby said, “That’s a great stick, man.” Some sticks are great. 
    2. Partner and I scaled the steps atop the ice rink. We passed two late-20s men who smelled like weed and soap. “Stay safe,” one of them told us. “Make sure you get out.”
      1. Partner & I both remarked how similar New York City is to Burning Man. 
    3. At the ice rink, a worker used a snowblower to shift snow from atop the ice to another place atop the ice. Then he used the snowblower to shift the snow back to its original location. I’m still not sure what he’s trying to accomplish. I suspect he either is failing or paid hourly. 
  2. I awoke at 6:30am thinking about all the quotidian aspects I’ve been enjoying.
    1. The review of 8 contracts for home renovators. 
    2. The simple pleasure of being able to host. 
    3. The comedy of being awoken by a THUNK-THUNK-THUNK at 6:30am and immediately fearing it’s someone banging on the door of your van, then recalling you haven’t lived in a van for almost a year.
      1. It’s still not clear what caused the THUNK-THUNK-THUNK. Snow falling? Radiators clanging? Someone actually knocking on our door? My hypothesis: GREMLINS!
    4. The sadness + regret for leaving your bedding with the man who bought your van, him promising to deliver it to you in New York when you closed on the house. He delivered it well enough. But he also washed one of the blankets, a dry-clean-only item that had been a gift from dear friends in Texas, and which will now never be as soft as it once was.
      1. The memory of accidentally doing a similar thing to another friend’s blanket. I borrowed it for a picnic; it acquired burrs, and I began picking them out by hand. Wanting to avoid me the trouble of picking them all out, he washed it and it developed piles. I don’t really blame yourself for the actual ruining of it: I would have picked it back to pristine. But the spirit is similar. 😔
  3. Partner: “Can you squish…” and points downward. I start squeezing her right foot. She laughs. “Can you squish the ottoman toward me? I like the default to the footrub, though. I do usually request that as, ‘Could you squish my feet?’” 
  4. In Central Park, Partner said, “What’s that?” And pointed at the ground. I inspected. She clarified: “No, that!”. I looked closer. She grabbed a hunk of snow with her arms and shoveled it in my face. 
  5. On 105th street, between Columbus and Amsterdam, Partner & I walked by some strangers. They had been throwing snowballs at each other. One of them asked, “Snowball fight?” as he walked past. Partner & I kept walking. Then three steps later, I wheeled around and whipped a snowball at him. We attacked back and forth for a while, until a man approached our makeshift war and said, “please don’t hit me with one of those.” We paused the thirty seconds for him to pass, then threw more snowballs at each other.
    1. An hour later, Partner happened upon these same strangers while walking down the street. One of them yelled “That’s our enemy!” and the fight reprised. 

Ahh. Are these not the joys of life? 

(I also completed 4 financial administrative tasks of necessity: opening a credit card; moving a bank account; creating an LLC; closing an LLC. But those, dear reader, are the mere mechanics that allow life’s joys to whir.) 

Less to Share (Feb 22 2026) 

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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.

]