Bone-Headed Moves (Mar 16 2026)

In which Our Hero commiserates and plans. 

Some days you get bad news you were expecting. Fearing. Hoping against, but unsurprised by. 

You speak with an expert who confirms your fears.
And the six weeks of bleeding
will need to be repeated. 

The best in the world
vs a mere A player
in a complicated field
are aeons apart. 

Last year, a friend had surgery.
The surgeon messed up the hardware.
The bone healed incorrectly.
Friend asked at multiple steps along the way.
The surgeon said it’s fine. 

Now today, finally, they spoke with an actual expert.
He suggested… Intimated… That friend had experienced medical malpractice.
Surgeon prompted friend that it’s time to collect evidence. 

“Wow,” Expert said. “[Surgeon] put that in writing?” 

This is not how Friend wanted today to go.
But knowing the truth doesn’t make it less truth-y.
Life has thrown a new opportunity.
Let us do with it what we can. 

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. 

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 🙂

Sunday in the Park as “Oeurgh!” (Mar 8 2026)

In which Our Hero tries really hard to do hard things. 

I walked with a new person today.
Enjoyed diving into his head.
Sometimes I do this. Ask what he’s paying attention to, then follow where his mind wanders. 

It started as a potential business conversation. But as business conversations sometimes go, that felt too high-stress. So we said “let’s not talk about that…” and talked about what was fun. 

And what was fun, inevitably, circled back to the business at hand. 

I wonder whether we’ll move forward together.
I wonder if the overlap between his interest and my curiosity will take us where I thought it would. 

At the end of the conversation, I excused myself to the bathroom and dry-heaved over the toilet. 

Life has been stressful of late. 

Big moves. 

Frightening moves. 

Exhausting and intense and overwhelming moves. 

We’ve decided to narrow scope. 

The good: When I increased scope, the contractor offered me discounts for a few items. That means I know his marginal cost on them. Now, when we decrease scope, I’ll get those at a discount. This could sum to a few thousand dollars. 

The bad: this experience is terrifically unenjoyable. Combing through all the proposals to locate how specific prices ballooned, and therefore 

The ¿ugly?: We’ll probably end up writing the scope sheet for the contractor instead of the other way around. While this will probably arrive at a satisfying conclusion, it is an incredibly stressful and annoying process. 

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. 

Expanding My Range (Mar 6 2026)

In which? in da hood! 

Range Hoods.
You want knowledge? I got knowledge.
12 hours ago I knew nothing.
Zip.
Zilch.
Now? 

You want a remote blower?
A telescoping chimney?
Oh boy am I your guy. 

You probably want to stack your Frigidaire cooktop atop your Frigidaire oven AND THEN only have 34” high countertops?
Can do. 

Is it in manufacturer’s spec?
No. 

Can we do it? 

Yep. 

Everything except ADA compliance.
[Insert wheely bad joke here.]

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. 

Magic comes to those who contribute

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. 

Parties & Penises (Mar 1 2026)

Sometimes days off are the most exhausting of all. 

I feel fear.
Fear about the largesse of what I’m doing.
Not about the wrongness.
Just the largesse. 

This morning I awoke excited for a day of poker & bedrot.
But my partner (who is currently in San Francisco) texted me about a potluck in Brooklyn.
The potluck: 11:30am. Her text: 9:45am. So I sprinted through a 20min Peloton ride and hightailed it to Brooklyn.

I enjoyed the party. Two people who I especially enjoyed. One an excellent storyteller and the other a skilled hypeman

Then, two hours of poker. I dialed up my social shenanigans while dialing in my poker playing. Crushed the game. Save for one situation where I lost a 47% vs 53% scenario for $100, the cards were win-win-win! 

Then, at the subway station en route to a friend’s penis party (more on that later), a woman held out her phone with a picture, asking me how to get to Times Square. Her language sounded familiar. I said, “French?” She said, “Creole”. 

I tried French to no avail. Must be too distant from her creole (despite it clearly being French-influenced). I successfully got her to the right station. But it was through a series of sounds and gestures (“boop. Boop. Bing!” means “not this station, not that station, but the one after”.) Sometimes all those years of French class are less effective than the communication skills I’ve recently learned from my year-and-a-half-old nephew! 

Finally, at the penis party. 5 years, he’s had it. (A phalloplasty, specifically.)
The food? Tacos (heh) and penis-shaped cake (pronounced “cock”). 

I liked these folks. Lots of laughs, an Irish catholic lesbian my new favorite among them. Great sense of humor and vibrancy for dark humor in life. 

That lesbian is a building examiner. She says if my architect self-certifies, I don’t have a building examiner. That’s nice. Sounds like I’ll pass code! 

Walking home from the subway, I’m struck by a few elements: 

  1. I’m afraid. Fearful. Terrified. Of becoming house poor. It makes sense to me. I see how people do it. 
  2. My community is diverse. This morning’s pot luck was 100% tech or tech-adjacent. My favorite people were a couple of churchgoing presbyterian boarding-school grads. Then, everybody at the party tonight was either trans, jewish, or both (or the plus-one of someone trans or jewish). It’s no coincidence that the host is trans and jewish. 
  3. For years I’ve asked, “Who are my people?” At least I’ve found those people self-select. Autistic, definitely. Intellectual, yes. But aside from those traits, I don’t think it’s as clear as it would be for my trans & Jewish friend. 

Sometimes I wonder how much we’re carved by influential experiences that we didn’t select. By how much our scars draw us to others who’ve experienced similar. 

Then I walk home. Suddenly, I’m all alone. It’s glorious and sad. Lonely and elevated. Freedom and…

no. that’s it.
just freedom.