Tag: Personal

Vandals & Volition (Apr 14 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

Why can’t we all want the same things? 

Just outside our apartment, walking to The Park, Partner & I spotted a man kick a trash can. The can fell on its side, languishing in the street. 

Despite having an appointment in 40 minutes and Google Maps informing me the walk would take 38 minutes, I stopped to right the can. I lifted first its outer shell, plopping it back in its rightful place on the sidewalk, then its inner catching chamber, inserting this chamber into the shell. 

Walking away, I felt both smug and nervous. I caught myself sneaking glances at the vandal who had tipped it over. Will he notice? Come after me? Have I regressed the impact of his righteous fury, thereby inspiring it against myself? 

Just as I entered the park, he looked back toward the can, object of his anger. Noticing it was tipped, he crossed back across 7th avenue, re-set himself in the same position, and kicked it over again. 

And I, already too far and with other things to do, continued on with my day. 

Three hours later, I returned to find the can replaced in its proper location, save for the lid slightly open. Some other Good Samaritan must have contributed to the fight against entropy. 

But I’ll always remember the kicker’s determination. How inspiring it must be to have a clear, defined purpose. 

—

I found it: the best article ever written in America. I laughed. I cried. I hungered. I grew. Deeply worth the experience, especially for those of us who care about the journey of food and the food of journeying.

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/2026/05/best-free-restaurant-bread-america/686582/

—

And a quote from April 8th: 

“How come you’re incredibly detail-oriented when reading a contract?” – Partner, fishing out an egg from the pot of eggs I sous vided last night and clearly just missed one when I put them away.

Selections & Sewage (Apr 13 2026)

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In which Our hero explores options. 

Click here for the accompanying video. 

Today, Partner and I visited an appliance showroom. Here’s what we learned: 

  • Shower heads come with flow rate limiters. The national legal maximum is 2.5 gallons per minute. You can remove your flow rate limiter, as the salesman at the showroom once did. His shower subsequently shot water with such force that it knocked the shower door clean off and flooded his bathroom. 
  • If you buy a thermostatic shower handle, you can have infinite separate shower heads all pointing at you. The shower heads are each limited at 2.5 gallons per minute. The thermostatic valve caps out at 14 gallons per minute. So even with three shower heads you won’t lose water pressure! All you have to do is ensure you’re shipping the showerhead to a state that does not have more restrictive requirements (California and New York both cap showerheads at 1.8 gallons per minute)
  • Some faucets cost $150. Some cost $800. Some cost $2400. They all dispense water. The $800 vs $2400 is cosmetic. The $150 vs $800 can be functional. 
  • The cheapest toilets and the expensive toilets both will ultimately contain sewage. The cheapest toilets don’t have glazed piping, so over time the sewage will accumulate in the pipe. The mid-range vs expensive toilets are functionally equivalent, just with different aesthetics and different ease of cleaning the part that doesn’t touch sewage. 
  • No one makes a bidet seat in black. 
  • Everyone likes a toto toilet, especially if you’re getting one with a bidet. I’m not convinced. I enjoy a vigorous stream when shooting water around my anus. The toto toilets I have used are disappointing in this context. 
  • Linear drains (long, thin rectangular ones) in New York City are much more expensive than normal, square drains since they must legally be made of more expensive materials. 
  • Steam showers cost $5k, minimum. 
  • Neither Partner nor I like rain head showers. Our dislike, according to the showroom attendant, is a common perspective. 
  • I will likely be able to realize my dream of three showerheads all at once. Bully for me! 
  • One model of toilet costs just over $26,000. It is not made of gold. I did get to sit on it.

The empty longing of a holding pattern. (Apr 12 2026)

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In which Our Hero yearns. 

When a plane doesn’t yet have a safe runway available, the control tower tells the captain to “go around again”. The captain circles and circles, awaiting the change in this external event that will enable the hundreds of passengers to continue on with their lives. No one enjoys a holding pattern. Quite the opposite: it is during these unenjoyable intervals that we find ourselves “killing time”. 

The last few weeks have been versions of this activity. I’ve forwarded key aspects of incredible importance (my eye surgery; Partner’s jaw surgery complications fixing; Partner’s medical malpractice case; apartment renovations; my work). Yet we – Partner and I – are not living the lives we wish. 

We lift weights more days than not. We amble through the most beautiful park in the greatest city in the world. We cook and eat food that we enjoy. We watch Jeopardy over lunch or dinner, shouting out the answers we know (and a roughly equal number that we don’t). 

But still, we wish for more community. 

We moved into this apartment with the intent of living with others. Now, 2.5 months in, renovations have not started. They might not for another month. Then add 4 months for the renovations themselves. And it could be – probably will be – over half a year before we live with roommates we like, hosting weekly dinners and playing board games and shouting out Jeopardy answers with more than just ourselves. 

This period – this holding pattern – weighs on me. 

There’s no point establishing clear patterns and habits and routines when they will all change in a month. No point improving the infrastructure or systems in a home that will literally have different walls. No reason to stabilize on processes of engagement with my roommate (Partner) when we’ll need to live elsewhere for a while and then return to a different home. 

So we set ourselves on a month-long horizon. We establish temporary patterns. We work, and lift weights, and reach out to friends. We enjoy what we can. 

But still, each day, I want more. 

I want what we’re building. I want at least 5 people living here. I want to cook meals with others, to establish a weekly “Come over for dinner on Tuesday!” that invites a half-dozen people. A board game group and a poker group. I miss those activities. I miss them, though I’ve never had them. 

And that weight – the weight of wanting what I don’t have – is a heavy burden

for at least the next month. Or two. Or four. Or six. Or….

A Small Change’s Gonna Come (Apr 10 2026)

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You can’t always get what you already don’t like having

Steven Jobbers (the famous fruit vendor) once said (or at least I remember hearing of him saying it) that he tracks whether his days are good and if he ever has too many not-good days in a row, he makes a change. 

Yesterday, I made a change. 

This change: 

Walking up 7th avenue, roundabouts 26th street, I saw all the negatives. Everything sucked. So I switched it. I saw that woman’s hat. That’s a good hat. Then the windowpane. That’s some straight-up magic. Then the fact that Partner enjoys hanging out with me, even when I’m a grumptastic grumplestiltskin. That’s nice. 

I did this over and over – saw the positive, the good, the bright thing. 

Often that’s how I get dragged into the doldrums: seeing the problem, the issue, why it wouldn’t work. I avoid that, resist it, run from it. 

That’s how Partner engineers. She sees the problem, the issue, the way it won’t work. I find that demotivating. She finds it comforting. 

Today, Partner worked from a coffeeshop. I worked from home, leaving three hours before I woke up. A good day is one where you sing to yourself in the morning, then only put on pants around noon. I completed around 7 administrative tasks, only one actually for me. Then, at 1pm, Partner came back. How nice it was to see her after a few hours away! 

I like working alone. I like the emptiness. The lack of seen-ness. The feeling and knowledge that no one’s paying attention to whatever-the-hell I’m doing. Writing with a witness is a nightmare. 

She likes coffeeshops.
I can’t stand them.
Two nice

tiny

significant

shifts. 

Ahhh. 😌

Alums, Assembled. (Apr 9 2026)

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If you can’t return to the school, the school will return to you. 

“I was just talking about you. I was telling him about your underground gambling ring in highschool.” 

My reputation left an impression. 

“If the administration found you, they would have expelled you!” 

Oh, come on. Do you know how hard it was to get expelled from that school? Dealing drugs to other students or cheating on an exam, sure. Or, like, punching someone. But gambling? 

–

“Julian Wise! I know that name.” –two women from the grade below me. They recognized my name. I sure didn’t recognize them. 

–

My highschool had an alumni gathering in New York City earlier tonight. I ran into some old friends and met some new friends. This is why I live in New York: the serendipitous activities; the always-on; the my-highschool-was-on-the-west-coast-but-of-course-there-are-enough-people-in-New-York-for-an-alumni-gathering. 

I feel sad. Sad that it’s over. Sad that I can’t ride that social high. Missing it already. 

I miss that event more than I miss most of the activities I did in highschool. 

Improv, some theater, bumming around with friends. ..
I don’t miss having been there.
New York seems to have been in hibernation mode.
And now, finally, it opens. 

On Occupation (April 8 2026)

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Not the military type. 

My recent activity has all but concluded.
Six months of hiring.
An important job.
Hiring, negotiating, structuring, whittling.
And now I have a contractor. 

My plans are submitted.
So, may god’s love be with me! 

Now,
I want a job. 

Sure, I spent 6 months working on key life projects (purchasing an apartment; hiring contractors).
Now I’d like to return to work.
It’s a weird experience for someone who
has only ever run his own business.
(Sure, there was a year-long stint as chief of staff to the ceo of a tech company.) 

I’ve only ever gotten jobs from referrals.
And most of those are self-directed. 

Now,
I seek something stable.
I’d love a remote job with clear deliverables.
What are my skills? 

  1. Writing. Blog posts, website copy. I’ve done lots of reliable work here. (Earlier this decade, I was the most sought-after ghostwriter in the Bay Area tech scene!)  
  2. Fundraising pitches. I’ve raised $1.5M for one startup and $800k for another, both by rewriting and workshopping their pitches (and the former by actually doing the pitching). 
  3. CEO whispering. I navigated one company through a cofounder split-up, served as chief of staff to the ceo of another, and helped a third rewrite her sales contracts and sales calls, tripling her ARR in 2 months. 

What else? 

  • I do good work, turn it in on time, and my coworkers generally like me. That’s worth something too. 

I feel this odd sense of loss. Of distance from myself. As though I wish for this situation – this need for occupation – to be solved. But also, a reticence to exist in a box where it is solved. 

I’d enjoy this occupation because the rest of my activity is more lax.
The books I’ve written; the apartment I’m remodeling; the weird medical and legal systems I’m working through: all would be improved if my head were also often somewhere else. 

And also, it would be nice if that somewhere else also gave me money. 

Sleeping Uneasy (April 7 2026)

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In which Our Hero becomes crochety about costs. 

When did pillows get to be $100?
Is this a technological thing?
Are they actually that much better than cheaper pillows?
One recommendation aggregator literally asked the question, “Is it worthwhile buying a pillow under $50?”
There’s no way the cost of production is this high.
Is it? 

Pillows are very important. Shoes, pillows, mattresses, tires. If it goes between you and the ground, get a good one. Gravity is pulling us down all day. It’s worth it to spend for quality. 

And sleep is super important, too. How much would you pay for the difference between a good night’s sleep and a meh night’s sleep? $1? More? Now multiply that times the lifetime of a pillow. $50 is a steal! $100, too! 

Still, a large part of me is recalling the pillows I had in France. $14 per pillow and super high quality.
Maybe we don’t have better pillows here.
We just have more money

and therefore more willingness to pay. 

This whole thing keeps me up at night. 

Deleted Scenes from Resurrection Sunday (Apr 6 2026)

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In this happenstance order

  1. The pastor only ever referred to Easter as “Resurrection Sunday”. I’ve no idea why. 
  2. About 110 minutes into the 125-minute service, a banner appeared on the projection screen: “Will the owner of a GREEN CHEVY license plate [number] parked on 116 between 7th and 8th, please attend to your vehicle” 
  3. The women beside me debated the age of the star soloist in the church choir. Their final guess: 51 years old. They also think it’s obvious she dyes her hair. I’m surprised, as I’ve never seen someone with dyed hair that short. (I would have assumed that shortness gets too much bleach & dye on the scalp.)  
  4. The pastor opened his speech with, “I feel like doing a comedy set.” Then, a few beats later, he commented about latecomers seeking seats. “You mad you can’t find a seat? It’s eleven-o’-five on Resurrection Sunday. Services started at ten!” This line killed. 
  5. The head pastor and the youth pastor share a last name. The youth pastor’s first name is “Tre”. I wonder if it’s short for “the third”.
    1. My fact-checker investigated this question. She says, “Tre is, in fact, his father’s son.”
      1. She finds this hilarious. 
      2. And yes, Tre is the third.

Repetition DOES NOT Equal Boredom (Apr 5 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero meets a new sort of show

The weirdest part of the Baptist Easter services was the repetition.
Say it again: The weirdest part of the Baptist Easter services was the repetition. 

Listen to me now: 

At 9:30am, Partner and I walked north into Harlem. We approached one church on the right. The church was welcoming people inside. We entered. The deacon at the door introduced us, mentioning there is a $10 admission to the service. Partner found this charge unacceptable. We left. You shouldn’t charge admission to Easter services.
Say it with me now: You shouldn’t charge admission to Easter services. 

We continued onwards up north. A few blocks later, we arrived at a second church. More active, more bustling, with bright colors adorning all the flock milling about. We joined the line to enter. Security wanded us, patted me down. We ascended to the second floor balcony of the former theater. We joined. 

And ‘allelujah, did we experience His flock. 

The singing began at 9:54am. It did not stop – I say it did not stop – until 11am. 

At 11am, the service stopped for an ad break. The Hope Network and the church itself both advertised (the latter for donations). 

Then, 11:05am. The pastor – pastor Mike – enters the stage. This man has the sort of presence that demands a $180 ticket to his 55th birthday party (on a yacht around Manhattan, cash bar, advertised during the ad break). He starts with the text. Of course he starts with the text. And oh boy oh boy does he go deep with the text. 

Deep. But not wide. Deep. 

What juice can we squeeze out of these four lines of text? And how many times can we repeat it?
There is… profound juice to be squeezed from this one line of text. 

I said: this juice can be squeezed.

Now turn to three people near you and share the message: There is. Juice. To squeeze. 

A 45 minute sermon. Fewer than 9 points total. 

The sermon was the opposite of boring. It was repetitive and grand and communal and physical. It was not wide. It contained 1) Repeating the thesis of the sermon; 2) Inviting the congregation to repeat the thesis of the sermon to their neighbors; 3) Repeating the thesis of the sermon; 4) Raising the audience up to standing; 5) Seating the audience with the wave of a hand; 6) Repeating the thesis of the sermon; and of course 7) Repeating… 

Of all my experiences at church, this was my most enjoyable. Partner commented, only half-jokingly: “Our kids might become the only white atheist Hispanics Jews in the Baptist choir.” 

I’m reminded of the Grand Texas Megachurches I visited in Austin back in 2019.
Those subtly (or sometimes obviously) wormed their messages into your minds.
Their leaders funneled away money while allegedly practicing various Good Deeds. 

This church made no promises. It gave some advice. But it was all vibe. 

Upon leaving this church, I felt energized. 

At the end of my faith healing in the Austin megachurch, three separate individuals invited me to come back to church. I never did. 

But next year, with this Baptist church?
There may be more juice to squeeze. 

An Art (Apr 4 2026) 

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An off-off-off-off Broadway day. 

I attended an art today. A very Burning Man-ish art. Listen: 

You knock on a door in Brooklyn. A clown-not-yet-in-costume opens the door. She tells you the show starts when she dons her hat. But now, she is hatless, so the show must not have started. 

You introduce yourself to the other attendees. There are five of you: you, your partner, a couple (she’s from Bulgaria; he’s a stand up comedian), and a woman of about 80 who formerly performed voiceover work for the Muppets. 

The host dons her hat. She provides you a passport and divides you into groups: you’re with the Bulgarian and Muppet; your partner is with the Standup. The host introduces you to the town: five stations, each themed around a custom topic for you. (Mine was Consistency & Stability.) 

You visit the five stations in sequence. At one, you marry your theme. At another, your theme writes you a letter.
At the beginning of the experience, you ask yourself, “Why am I here?” You imagine yourself leaving to go to a park. Getting some much-needed rest away from the world. 

At one station, the Muppet tells you of how she was engaged to a man in L.A. A beautiful man, an incredible musician. But he had a nervous breakdown and moved back to Las Vegas. And she moved back home to New York City. And had she not done that, she would never have been the in-demand voice over artist she ended up being. 

By the end, you have found in this activity a bit of solace, peace, and comfort.
You met some people who enjoyed the time they passed with you.
You learned a small bit experientially.
If you generally had positive memories, you would have positive ones here too.

After the experience, the clown host mentions she previously studied in France, under the same teacher who founded the clown school you attended.
She says she left his instruction back in the early 2000s, thinking he had failed her. Only after he died did she recognize he had been right all along.
You wonder how much that’s true for you too.
You wonder where you have to go. 

An hour later, you see a dear friend for a bite of dim sum.
It’s his birthday. It’s nice to laugh.
You wander toward home, a bit colder than expected.
You check your texts, and find a thank you from the clown host. She says that your conversation helped her. She may return to that school. 

You arrive home. 

And all this time,
still,
throughout the entire day,
you wonder
why you feel
so utterly
alone.