Tag: Life

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.”) 

Firing the wrong person

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Someone conscripted me for a project. 

I wasn’t super interested. 

I didn’t know the team, didn’t care about the topic, and the scope was out-of-wheelhouse. 

Still, they wanted to take on the topic, and the money was fine. 

The structure: a two-week work trial. We produce one article, after which the company may extend our contract. 

Someone & I worked on it for a week. Someone put in ~80% of the hours; I structured the content. We sent The Boss an outline. 

The Boss was livid. “Unacceptable”, he said, along with other epithets. He didn’t like the appearance, completely ignoring key traits and lacking in curiosity. I said to Someone, “If he replies like this, the price of the actual work just went up.” 

We hopped on a call. I spoke most on my team’s behalf: Someone prefers I do the talking because Someone wants me to own the relationship going forward. 

Afterwards, The Boss called Someone for a one-on-one. The Boss wants to drop me from the team. The irony? It wasn’t my work! I was just the point of contact! 

Someone told him they don’t have bandwidth to shoulder this whole load themselves. I’ll still send him a finished draft, because that’s what we agreed. Then maybe he’ll seek to only hire Someone for the bigger project, despite a misread of the situation. 

There’s irony for ya. 

If I cared, I’d care. But I don’t; I just find it funny. 

In the “Do good work, turn it in on time, and have people like you” world of freelancing, with this particular gig, I’ve nailed the first two. The third one? Fortunately, it’s a “choose any two”. 

Games Played

“I was going to ask you what the Jewish creation myth is. I then laughed at myself when I thought of the question.” — Partner, who was raised catholic.

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. 

Clown school works

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Today I missed ~8 serves in a row. This fact became comic fodder for my then-opponent and later-teammate Rocky. The rest of my game was good. My team lost 4-11, a respectable score for only having one server. It equates, approximately, to 8-11 if both teammates could serve. It probably equates to slightly higher, since my missing every serve hurts my team’s momentum. Somehow, through the whole experience, I laughed. The other players – despite being annoyed that my serve was failing – clearly enjoyed the experience more than they otherwise would. (Rocky made jokes; my partner Daphne kindly suggested adjustments; my opponent-whose-name-escapes-me offered suggestions after the game.) 

I wonder if today’s missing serves comes from today being a particularly heavy gym day.  Or the fact that today I didn’t eat much between the gym and pickleball. Or the caffeine-esque concoction I had today (I don’t usually have caffeine; today was an exception). 

There’s something nice about feeling incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, yet feeling a calm sense of humor underneath. At no point was my inability to serve frustrating. Sure, it was bad. Yes, my teammate and the opponents assumed I lacked skill. (One guy called out that a serve that hits the kitchen line is short. I replied that I knew it was short: my confusion was whether the ball had hit that line or the side line. My teammate also took a bunch of middle shots with her backhand, a bad team strategy that’s clearly compensation for expecting a bad teammate.) Amusingly, the rest of my game was excellent: I just couldn’t do the simple bit! 

When you can’t do the most important part of the game properly, people assume you can’t do the other parts of the game well. 

After game 3, my serve came back. My shoulder felt loosened up. I bet it’s the gym. I rose from the ~sixth-best player on the courts (still true despite my bad serve, lol) to the second or third. 

All the while, I enjoyed. 

Nice! 

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. 

Unambitious and okay

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Partner asked me today if I wanted to do a one-person show. We had just watched a beautiful one-person show about ghosts and loss and intergenerational lessons. Partner asked me over a Georgian cheese boat: “Does seeing that show make you want to do a one-person show?” I told her: “No. Right now, I’m very unambitious. I’m building an apartment. I want to have a family. I’m enjoying working for [client x], [client y], and I’m interested in working with [client z]. I’ve even written a one-person show. And I like it – it’s pretty good. But not really.”

Recently, my life has been fairly boring, and that’s okay. I’ve enjoyed watching the Starcraft Brood War ASL Season 11 World Championships. I’ve enjoyed going to the gym.

If 17-year-old me could see 33-year-old me, I wonder what he’d say. In some ways he’d be disappointed: I wrote a 10-year-from-today day-in-the-life back in 2017. Now, it’s about to be 2027. I haven’t achieved most of the things on that list. I don’t really care.

A friend contacted me last week about publishing my book. I don’t feel motivated to do so. I’m fine not feeling motivated to do so. 

I remember reading Tim Kreider’s Lazy: A Manifesto. On my deathbed, I won’t regret failing to close a client. 

Today, Partner and I took two hours getting ready to leave the apartment. We ate sausage and peppers, inventoried lights for our apartment, lifted heavy, voyaged to a meal she had been wanting for weeks, watched a play, and then ate a cheese boat. That’s enough for today.

(Partner thinks ambition is an instrumental good: it makes one do good things. I used to have a lot of ambition. I used to do good things. Today I have less ambition. I still do good things.) 

Rest days, work days, and the Sabbath

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Weeks don’t end, they loop.

I prefer working on weekends. 

Perhaps it’s the contrarian in me. I enjoy having free time on weekdays and working on Saturday. It’s certainly not respecting the sabbath. But today I ran through a bunch of necessary items for my apartment renovation. Lighting, mainly. Also contemplating a particular business situation. 

This gym session, I missed my bench press again. I’ve now missed it 4x in a row. After 3x, it suggests I deload. I did not deload. I should have deloaded. 

It turns out that the body decreases strength gains when it is too intensely stimulated. If you’re not increasing gains, you might benefit from another rest day, not another gym day. This is tough for me. So a program where I can still go to the gym, just at a lower level of intensity, is good. Better. Preferable. 

I’m learning about my body. Learning about intensity and how not to injure myself. Learning the value of pushing myself, but also the value of relaxing and resting. 

I like this style. I like this growth. I like this muscle. 

I can currently bench press 185lbs for 3 reps. When I can bench press my bodyweight, I will benchpress Partner. I might only be 12 weeks away. How nice it is to have a long-term goal. 

Humans experience beautiful variation. I like working on Saturdays and Sundays, and prefer taking some weekday afternoons off to compensate. Plenty of people (most, even) prefer the typical workweek. Maturity is a process of learning yourself. Plus I can get a pickleball court without waiting for 45 minutes. And weekday lunch specials / theater tickets are delish!

Then again, one friend of mine stays up until ~5am, then sleeps til the afternoon. He thinks it’s healthy. In his case, I disagree. 

The Bounty Hunter

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On Tuesday, a friend told me they wanted to fire their therapist and felt uncomfortable about it. I asked how much they pays the therapist, and they said $350 a week. I offered them a deal: you give me a hundred dollars and I’ll send an email that fires your therapist. They laughed, then I said, “And the best part: then I’ll give you a hundred dollars back. So you get to have no therapist, and a hundred dollars!”

They said that they would go home and fire the therapist and that they wouldn’t come back to the office (we share a coworking space) until they fired him. 

For two days, I didn’t see her, which surprised me. 

Then on Friday, they text me saying:

  • “Okay, I have like 90% succeeded at firing my therapist, I am going to count that as enough success to return to the office today. I technically need to send a follow up email on Sunday confirming that today will have been my final session as we agreed I would think about it over the weekend but the groundwork is clear.“

I had thought she was joking! 

I find this very funny. Not only due to the amusing structure of someone wanting to fire their therapist but feeling unable to because they don’t want to hurt their therapist’s feelings (which is already funny). Not only due to the amusing financial machinations (paying for another session this week – at $350 – when I’m pretty damn sure the whole point of that session was to cancel), which is itself the sort of thing that a therapist should help someone upskill but apparently this therapist does not (lol at therapy financial incentives). But also due to the self-inflicted rule that was clearly some sort of self-enforced punishment to mandate a behavior, but which was quite possibly not good for anyone as it prevented them from working from their ideal location despite no meaningful connection between working from my living room and firing their therapist. 

Games played

I realized today what my job is: I’m a bounty hunter! I establish bounty-based contracts with people for achieving specific ends (often paired with a small retainer). I’ve now signed one agreement to this effect, with a ~70% chance of another coming in the next week. So far, I have happy clients. Now, ‘tis time for me to deliver. 

If only that friend had paid me the $100: she’d’ve saved $250 ($350 if she wanted the $100 back), and we’d both be better off. 

It’s hard to play the right amount of pickleball. 

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It’s hard to play the right amount of pickleball. 

I think it’s the addict in me who seeks the previous high. And yesterday was a high! Even the first two games today were exciting and nurturing. I played well; I enjoyed the hits. But then my body just crumbled. I couldn’t control my muscles; my shoulder hurt; I cared less about winning and more about being done. 

But I played two more games.[1]

Who was I playing these for? Not for myself, for I would prefer a bath and a foot rub and an early bedtime. Not for my partners, for I’m not contributing my best to our team. Nor to my opponents, for my vibe isn’t ideal. 

I have a rule in New York City: when you need to use the toilet and a toilet is available, use it. Too many times have I wanted a toilet but not had one present that I established a rule. (NYC, unlike Seoul, is shoddy on public toilets.) 

I should establish a further rule about pickleball: If your muscles are no longer supporting high-quality shots and you’re not in a tournament, go home. 

Once, during warm-up for the last game, I thought, “This is not going to be a fun one. I could bail now, set them up with a different player instead.” But today I had friends willing to play with me. I didn’t grow up with many of those. I overvalue them now. 

“Something… something… therapy…” 

[P.S. I also set a personal record today for the incline bench press. Come on, Julian! Be intelligent, not just bull-headed!]

[1] Is it even fair to call these “played”? Nay: I suffered through two more games. I slogged. I trudged.