Fast, Delayed (Mar 13 2026)

In which Our Hero chills the fuck out. 

Three days ago I wanted to fast.
I’ve done long fasts before. When I need to clear my head.
Partner says I’m less sharp when I fast.
At one point I mused that I may be 80% as effective, but focus for 200% as long. 

My emotions are duller. Chiller. Easier.
It’s like the old food bank advertisement: “Nothing else matters when you’re hungry.” 

I like being hungry.
It fills me with emptiness.
The sort of emptiness that allows for replenishment. 

At least one close relative is made uncomfortable by my fasting.
They think – and commented – and rightfully so – that it sounds like something I can control when I feel out of control.
Okay.
Sure.
I guess that’s somewhat disordered? 

I’m not sure whether the damage of this sort of behavior is the magnitude or frequency.
Alcohol or cannabis or opiates have a similar sitch.
Why are you doing it? What are the effects? How stable are you and why and wherefore? How much does it hurt you or those around you? 

On Tuesday I wanted to fast. I missed the equipment. (I like to take ketones on the first day of a fast.) I wasn’t stressed, per se, but I could feel myself getting there.
When making a big decision or undergoing a life change.
I acquired the items through the online internet. 

On Thursday, they arrived.
Today, I fast. 

I wish I had fasted earlier. Had acquired the items in person (New York has everything!) or performed a less-perfect version of accessing ketosis sans ketones.
Last night, I stayed awake until 4, very much not wanting to.
I couldn’t sleep. My mind spun and crashed out. 

Today, I might have arrived at a bathroom solution.
And my most-likely contractor sent an acceptable quote.

What are other options? I don’t like drinking or drugs.
I used to run long distance, a similar effect. 

Sometimes I fast. I like it. It works. 

It’s nice to have a clearer mind during times of intensity.
And today I ran 5 miles, the farthest since breaking my foot. 

Tomorrow, I may eat.
How glorious that will be. 

On Math/Physics, and People (Mar 12 2026)

In which Our Hero butts up against the stupidest. 

Our world contains two types of problems: 

  1. Problems of physics/math
  2. Problems of people 

The first type is insurmountable. No amount of bargaining, negotiating, coercing, or bribing will affect these Truths. 

The second type is negotiable. Fudgable. Affectable. Mushy. With enough charisma or know-how, you can cajole and sneak your way through. 

Much debate occurs at their interface. Science itself is the experimental method of sorting observations into one category or the other. 

Today, I drew a picture. A beautiful picture. Water running in pipes through a wall. The human harnessing of physics to achieve hygiene through handwashing and safety through sewage: perhaps the greatest lifesaving invention of the last millennium. 

And now some goddamn housing code tells me I can’t. Not because the physics fails. Not for any harm to others. Not even for any harm to myself. But simply because some bureaucrat wrote some rule that says I need additional space in front of my toilet. 

This code is not reasonable.
This code is not logical.
This code is not practical.
This code should not apply to what I do in my own house. 

Yet now I have to visit the Department of Buildings office hours yet again on Tuesday to see if I can formulate new drawings that can pass this ridiculous code. Not for the reason that the code matters. Simply because that’s what it is. 

I. Despise. This. Code. 

Everybody’s a Creative… (Mar 11 2026)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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.