Tag: Travel

Sneaky Share Cake (Mar 15 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Partner uses Birthday as Gift for Others đŸ€«

On Friday I surreptitiously ran the 3.5 miles round-trip to Costco to order Partner a full-size Costco cake. The chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, with additional frosting inside the cake instead of the normal mousse because it’s Partner’s favorite (the frosting is her favorite part!).
Today, we acquired the cake from Costco. Partner was surprised: We spend almost all of our time together. When did I have time to order it? 

Partner ate some frosting and squirreled a few additional pieces for later. 

Then, armed with a stack of paper plates and a bag of plastic forks, we started a walk around the Harlem Meer (a pond at the northeastern tip of Central Park).
At the beginning of the loop, we had 2/3rds of a Costco cake.
At the end of the loop, we had none. 

Highlights include: 

  1. Six teenage boys with fishing poles. Five of them want cake. One comments how fortuitous it is that we stumble upon teenage boys when we have extra cake. Another teaches Partner that a fishing license is $25 but no one checks if you have one. 
  2. Two stoner early-twenties girls on the east side. If teenage boys are one’s most fitting cake-wanters, stoners are a close second. They were two of only three cake requesters after they overheard us offer a couple nearby.
  3. The third was a homeless man emerging from the bathroom, saying “I love cake!”, receiving a slice, and then returning to the bathroom (presumably because it’s warm there). 
  4. A European man who rejects it by saying, “A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” 
  5. A fisherman who first asks his son if he wants a slice, rejecting one for himself because “It’s not my cheat day”. Then, when offered one to save save for tomorrow, says, “Alright, I’ll take one.” and, as we walk away, follows up with, “I’m not saving this for tomorrow.”. 
  6. A group of three who comment, “That’s so generous!” to the idea of people giving out cake. The kid doesn’t want a slice, but the two adult do. The kid’s mom ends up grabbing a second slice for herself after the kid changes his mind.
  7. Learning that if you say, “Do you want some cake?”, many people will scoff. But If you say, “It’s my birthday” before they say “No”, those same people will not scoff. Once they say “No”, there’s no coming back. 

This is our second year of giving cake in this manner. Last year we were featured on Reno After Dark. 

Happy Birthday, Partner! 

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. 

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

JulianLeave a comment

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 Âżugly?: 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)

JulianLeave a comment

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)

JulianLeave a comment

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.]

A Love/Hate Relationship (Mar 3 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

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. 

Parties & Penises (Mar 1 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

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. 

Two Out of Seven Ain’t Bad (Feb 26 2026) 

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero exhibits snail-like tendencies. 

No, I did not leave the house today. No, I did not leave the living room today. Yes, I had a good day.

Ah, yes, I correct myself: I went from the bedroom into the living room into the exercise room into the bathroom and into the kitchen, in a series of loops co-overlapping and co-insiding. 

How did I have a good day like this, you may ask?

Well.

Everything I need is here.

I’m a bit of a homebody. That’s why I chose to live in one of the highest rent areas of the world.

(That’s a joke.)

I’m not a homebody. I like warm weather, however. And outside is particularly cold.

I don’t like warm weather just for its warmth. I like it for its sociality. Warm weather → people outside. Bopping around, conversing this and that.

I had a good day because I got some stuff done and I had tasty food and I got exercise and my apartment gets good sun and I socialized with friends (through a screen) and I went outside and did sufficient in-person socializing yesterday and have plenty of plans for tomorrow and the weekend.

I’ve set up my life to enable having lots of good things that I like.

So what if some days I am a hermit.

(Two days out of the last week? Yeah. Two days out of the last week.)

The Previous Tenants (Feb 25 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

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.” 

In the Spirit (Feb 23 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which? IN THE SPIRIT! 

In the spirit of my yesterday writing, here are relatively trivial items I’m happy with: 

  1. Frolicking in the snow with Partner at 10pm yesterday in Central Park.
    1. I acquired a stick. A great stick. A passerby said, “That’s a great stick, man.” Some sticks are great. 
    2. Partner and I scaled the steps atop the ice rink. We passed two late-20s men who smelled like weed and soap. “Stay safe,” one of them told us. “Make sure you get out.”
      1. Partner & I both remarked how similar New York City is to Burning Man. 
    3. At the ice rink, a worker used a snowblower to shift snow from atop the ice to another place atop the ice. Then he used the snowblower to shift the snow back to its original location. I’m still not sure what he’s trying to accomplish. I suspect he either is failing or paid hourly. 
  2. I awoke at 6:30am thinking about all the quotidian aspects I’ve been enjoying.
    1. The review of 8 contracts for home renovators. 
    2. The simple pleasure of being able to host. 
    3. The comedy of being awoken by a THUNK-THUNK-THUNK at 6:30am and immediately fearing it’s someone banging on the door of your van, then recalling you haven’t lived in a van for almost a year.
      1. It’s still not clear what caused the THUNK-THUNK-THUNK. Snow falling? Radiators clanging? Someone actually knocking on our door? My hypothesis: GREMLINS!
    4. The sadness + regret for leaving your bedding with the man who bought your van, him promising to deliver it to you in New York when you closed on the house. He delivered it well enough. But he also washed one of the blankets, a dry-clean-only item that had been a gift from dear friends in Texas, and which will now never be as soft as it once was.
      1. The memory of accidentally doing a similar thing to another friend’s blanket. I borrowed it for a picnic; it acquired burrs, and I began picking them out by hand. Wanting to avoid me the trouble of picking them all out, he washed it and it developed piles. I don’t really blame yourself for the actual ruining of it: I would have picked it back to pristine. But the spirit is similar. 😔
  3. Partner: “Can you squish
” and points downward. I start squeezing her right foot. She laughs. “Can you squish the ottoman toward me? I like the default to the footrub, though. I do usually request that as, ‘Could you squish my feet?’” 
  4. In Central Park, Partner said, “What’s that?” And pointed at the ground. I inspected. She clarified: “No, that!”. I looked closer. She grabbed a hunk of snow with her arms and shoveled it in my face. 
  5. On 105th street, between Columbus and Amsterdam, Partner & I walked by some strangers. They had been throwing snowballs at each other. One of them asked, “Snowball fight?” as he walked past. Partner & I kept walking. Then three steps later, I wheeled around and whipped a snowball at him. We attacked back and forth for a while, until a man approached our makeshift war and said, “please don’t hit me with one of those.” We paused the thirty seconds for him to pass, then threw more snowballs at each other.
    1. An hour later, Partner happened upon these same strangers while walking down the street. One of them yelled “That’s our enemy!” and the fight reprised. 

Ahh. Are these not the joys of life? 

(I also completed 4 financial administrative tasks of necessity: opening a credit card; moving a bank account; creating an LLC; closing an LLC. But those, dear reader, are the mere mechanics that allow life’s joys to whir.)