Tag: New York

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. 

Economic Opportunity (Mar 10 2026)

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In which Our Hero happens upon happenings 

On Sunday, I attended a brunch. At this brunch, I happened into a former startup founder/CTO who built his company to $50M in annual recurring revenue, at which point he sold and started a new one.
I also walked to a nearby park with a guy who runs a commune/university/think tank. We spent 1.5hrs talking philosophy.
The former has asked if he can hire me to turn his “word salad” into an article. Start with one. Expand from there.
The latter is a bit skittish. I know I could be helpful. He agrees. He would like to slowly dip his toe in. So I’m writing an article for him, gonzo, based on our talk, to see if he likes it. 

For the last few years I have been underemployed.
I’ve freelanced, making fine money each year.
But I’d be lying if I said I worked 40 hours per week…
Or even 20.
(There’s an argument to be made that acquiring an apartment for the purpose of renovating it and then renting out some rooms could be called “work” in a very real sense, but let’s ignore that for now.) 

A few months ago, Partner commented that I lacked occupation. I agreed. I told her, “When we arrive to New York, there’s just so much economic opportunity, I wouldn’t be surprised if I stumble into things.” 

I’ve been here for one month.
I’ve been to two events total. 

Perhaps I was right.
That would be nice. 

I’m excited

to follow

this fun

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. 

A Love/Hate Relationship (Mar 3 2026)

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In which Our Hero Oscillates

A note I jotted yesterday: 

One reason I like New York: 

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

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

—

Today’s follow-up: 

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

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

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

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

This is why people vote small government. 

Banana Diplomacy (Feb 27 2026)

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

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

–

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

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

“How’d you know?” 

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

“You wanna see?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

— 

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

–

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

In retrospect, I wonder who befriended whom. 

— 

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

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

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.” 

Haggling in la Niebla de Guerra (Feb 24 2026)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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