BEC

This morning, when I realized it was my first weekday without work to do in over a month, I decided I would walk to Win Son Bakery in Williamsburg. I’d heard a lot about it but never actually gone.

I ordered a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a Taiwanese milk bun and a cold brew. The coffee was smooth and fine. The sandwich was a revelation. I don’t order BECs particularly often. If I’m out-and-about and decide to grab a sandwich, it’s usually some version of a bagel with shmear. But this time: the slight-crispy bacon with a little chew, the generous helping of fried egg, the mild, gooey cheese holding it all together; but the real star was the softest, fluffiest, most satisfying bread I’ve ever tasted.

I’m a soft man. I don’t want to cut my gums up on hard, crusty bread or toasted crunchy bagels. Give me fresh, warm, and fluffy. I’m looking forward to buying this bread in bulk and figuring out what else I can stack on it.

dove in a pod of pigeons

In Limassol, Cyprus I met a woman who brought giant bags of bread and breadcrumbs to the shoreline every day. A gigantic flock of pigeons waited there for her. She even trained a few to fly up and land on her hands and arms. Not just any random birds either, she would call out “áspro” (white) and the only white pigeon would pop up and land on her, expecting her next feast no doubt.

I saw a similar white pigeon on the street the other day. The phrase, “a dove in a pod pigeons” came to me. It sounded like something Elvis Costello would sing on Imperial Bedroom. It would probably have something to do with the Troubles in Ireland.

And though doves and pigeons all belong to the same genus, my momentary Costello-ean inspiration was fraudulent. It wasn’t a dove. It was áspro, and a pigeon.

pizza with Christine

Grabbed a quick slice or two with Christine before watching the Knives Out sequel tonight.

Both movies and pizza are better with a friend.

Pepsi Zero is not as good as Coke Zero, but it’s not bad.

I returned home to Lily bundled in a blanket watching the 11 o’clock news on the living room television, which I’d kept on just in case she happens to be the kind of cat comforted by prime time TV.

the box - a detective story

I hadn’t left my apartment in about two days. Yesterday, to continue that trend, I ordered some dinner from a nearby Dominican restaurant. When the deliverywoman arrived at the door, I opened it to find a large, empty Amazon packaging box on my doormat.

I received my overpriced chicken and rice, the woman hurried away, and I dragged the hunk of cardboard back into my apartment.

The box was written on crudely with black marker and sporadic capitalization. It read: “DON’T LEAVE YOUR GARBAGE IN THE LOBBY. PUT IT OUTSIDE WHERE THE TRASH GOES!”

There were a few things alarming about this message.

1. This was, in fact, a box with my name and address marked on it by Amazon. However, I hadn’t received an Amazon package in several weeks. Any boxes I had received were either gathering dust in my apartment or discarded with the rest of the recycling at the front of the building weeks ago.

2. The flaps of the box were held down together by a single strip of black tape. This was either placed there to make sure the messenger’s words remained flat, or to make the box appear closed.

3. Unlike a lot of tenants in my building, I don’t leave random garbage in our lobby. I couldn’t help but feel a little offended being called out for a neighborly crime I did not commit.

According to the de facto leader of the unofficial tenants guild, that empty box with my name on it had been left at the bottom of the stairwell in the lobby for “a few days.” I had come through the lobby two nights prior and didn’t see it, which means it arrived there sometime between late Sunday night and Monday evening.

Though I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon in a few weeks, I have ordered quite a few holiday gifts from other websites. In particular, there’s been one delivery from Etsy that I’ve been waiting on for almost a month. The owner of the store assured me it would arrive by today, but there’s still no sign of it and the tracking number I was provided didn’t work. Is it feasible that a small business owner might reuse Amazon packaging as his own to ship his products? I mean, as long as the shipping information is correct, the logo on the box doesn’t matter.

Let’s say my Etsy order arrived Monday, but because my tracking information is incorrect, I wasn’t made privy to its delivery. That means it could have just sat in the lobby, unbothered until I walked down and noticed it. This would take a few days, as I hadn’t been leaving my apartment.

The final step to cracking this case lies in the infrastructure of the building: namely, our front door. The front door to our building is often left cracked open while tenants smoke on the patio or chat with neighbors outside. It’s completely realistic to believe that, while someone was smoking out front, some random package thief made their way into the building, emptied the contents of whatever parcels they found in the lobby into a backpack, and scurried out unnoticed. And because they’re a professional, they taped the flaps back down with a roll of black electrical tape they keep on hand to make the crime less obvious to the tenants.

This scenario would answer the questions of why I haven’t received my Etsy delivery. It would also explain why an empty box with my name on it was left in our building’s lobby.

However, it doesn’t explain one crucial detail: why didn’t someone just knock on my door? Why the box note? I swear I’m nice.

Persona 5 & other considerations

Last year, my friend Ben bought me a game when I opened my Steam account: Persona 4 Golden. I hadn’t played any Persona or Shin Megami Tensei games before. It was a fairly intimidating video game at first glance. A lot of moving parts and unfamiliar mechanics, all bundled up with a very Japanese bow that doesn’t always culturally translate to a lowly American like myself.

In the end I spent over 120 hours playing Persona 4 Golden. To get the true ending of the game, it requires at least two subsequent playthroughs, which I did. With minimal guidance from walkthroughs, mind you!

A few weeks ago I purchased Persona 5 Royal, the beloved and acclaimed follow-up title. As of today I have sunk over 60 hours into the game during downtime throughout the workday or evenings in. I swear it’s designed with the sole purpose of giving you no good reasons and fewer-than-ample moments to save and quit.

Persona 5, amongst other things, operates like a lifestyle simulator. When you’re not investigating the overarching mystery of the game, destroying monsters called “shadows,” or honing your skills as a “phantom thief,” you’re making friends. Building up relationships. Bettering your own attributes like kindness and knowledge. One way to look at how vital you becoming to your ever-growing community could be this: the moment your character falls in battle, the game ends. You’re sent back to the last save point to try again. Never is there any indication that your friends could possibly go on without their leader.

Not to say something awfully sad like, “life is like a Japanese Role Playing Video Game,” but certain parts force me to reflect on my own tendencies. Each evening, after I’m finished with work, what do I spend my free time on? Do I make efforts to advance my personal relationships? To better myself? To explore the map? I may not be the protagonist, but I am my own. Why not be a decent one? I don’t necessarily want the world to stop the moment I disappear, but I’d like those close to me to feel the loss. I’d love an “I can’t go on,” even if it’s temporary.

So anyways. I’ve been enjoying Persona 5 Royal.

good morning.

I woke up around 5am to both of my cats curled up together against my feet.

Lily’s surgery and Silver’s subsequent bout of nonrecognition syndrome have almost certainly provided me an additional few grey hairs. But as per usual, it’s all worth it for mornings like this.

oh god they took her teeth 2.

I woke up the morning after her dental surgery to find Lily staring at me from the bedroom doorway. This was concerning, as the day before I had “locked” her in the bathroom along with a personal litterbox and tons of towels and comfy spaces and water and such.

I don’t know for sure how she got out. Maybe her sister, out of curiosity, pawed the doorstop out of the crack between the door and the floor, which released our sliding door and allowed them to nudge it open.

After wrangling her back into the bathroom, which involved moving a bit of furniture, I had to start giving her daily painkillers and anti-inflammatories. The latter have been easy enough. They’re small tablets that she eats in her food.

The painkillers, however, have been a pain in the ass. They’re shaped like small cylinders. Unassuming. You’d think you could sneak them into some wet food. But no. According to the vet tech I spoke with at the animal hospital, they tend to be very bitter. And that bitterness affects the food. The two times I tried getting her to eat them in her food, she ate around that section of the bowl.

Now I should say that today I was delivered the Greenies pill pockets I ordered. But for the last two days, I’ve had to scoop Lily into my lap, hold her mouth open and toss a painkiller into the back of her mouth. Then hold her mouth closed until I feel the pill go down her throat.

Two of these instances have involved Lily either tricking me into thinking she took the pill and just spitting it out after I leave the bathroom, or her chewing and crushing them before I can close her mouth. Resulting in her probably not receiving the full dosage she could use.

But! When we are successful. When she swallows her meds like a champ. It’s hysterical just how much happier she is. She curls up in her cat bed in the shower. She purrs and makes biscuits. She accepts light pets on the head without recoiling. It reminds me that I should probably get Lily on anti-anxiety meds. She’s always been a slight timid, nervous girl around the apartment. But she’s so calm and happy when she’s just a little bit high. If I wasn’t a staunchly anti-drug-use sober guy, I’d probably say something similar about myself.

Tomorrow night begins the process of letting her back out into the apartment. Slowly. Slowwwwly.

oh god they took her teeth.

Lily’s dental cleaning turned into a surgery mid-anesthesia. They found my cat’s back left and right molars were damaged beyond safety and extracted them, after I frustrated-ly approved of the procedure over the phone.

I have decked out the bathroom in towels and blankets and laundry and cat beds and placed a second litterbox next to the sink. I have placed the incredibly high cat in her comfy corner and closed the door to prevent her sister from attempting to wrestle with her while her stitches recover.

Part of me was very worried about something like this. We were warned about dental disease and gingivitis. We tried brushing her teeth with some frequency, but Lily began to resent us for handling her. Simply picking her up became an incredible challenge. Cats are quick, y’all.

I worry this reflects my capability as a pet parent. That I couldn’t prevent these tooth extractions. That, when presented with what the new bill for the dental service would be, I momentarily considered just leaving the rotting teeth in for the sake of my wallet.

Though she undoubtedly resents me right now. I love that fucking cat. I want to see her live a long and comfortable life. I want to wake up with her snuggled against me every morning for as long as possible. But for the love of god, why did they have to take her teeth?

John Fetterman is now a Senator

And as a blue-leaning voter, I’m happy to see him win tonight’s midterm election.

It’s 3 in the morning following Election Day. According to the Associate Press, Fetterman currently has a majority of Pennsylvania’s votes: 2,567,680.

Dr. Mehmet Oz, a television personality and scam-promoter, has so far received 2,436,756 votes.

By the time all the votes are tallied, it’s likely that the difference between Fetterman and Oz’s performances will be within 3% of the total vote.

I’m happy to see Mr. Fetterman take his seat. I’m horrified by the millions of voters who didn’t learn anything the first time.

Lily is resting by my feet

but she doesn’t know what we’re doing Wednesday.

Lily has gingivitis. Yes, cats have plaque build-up too. And we tried brushing it and giving her Greenies. But Lily is (as some popular relationship books might call it) an anxious-avoidant cat. She is anxious that I will scoop her up and make her uncomfortable. And she will avoid it by hiding under the bed where I can’t reach her. And so any attempts we’ve made to clean her teeth ourselves have been undermined by her ability to run and hide from us for hours at a time if she feels unsafe.

On Wednesday, I need to trick her into eating a calming drug, wait until she’s a little stoned, scoop her up into her crate and bring her to the vet, all before the sun rises. Did you know for feline teeth cleaning, cats are put on anesthesia to avoid any injuries during the cleaning process? Then I can return later in the day to bring her back home.

Personally, I feel that my partner and I are getting scammed out of hundreds of dollars. But we like our vet. And the vet is worried about a few of her back teeth rotting. And extraction is more expensive than cleaning. And Lily already resents me enough for the toothbrush. So we’ll give it a go.

I worry our vet is judging us for not preventing the issue. But the vet doesn’t live with Lily; Lily who snuggles up in my armpit to sleep against me almost every night, but who automatically turns to run when I walk towards her without a bowl of food in my hands.

Lily who flops and stretches and rubs her whole body against the hallway rug, but gets self-conscious and stands up and starts grooming herself the moment she realizes she’s being watched.

Lily is resting by my feet. I love her. Sometimes, I think she loves me too. And we stress each other out, so much.

coke zero

Today I had some groceries delivered. A discount code was left in my mailbox that made it worthwhile. Along with the usual avocados and salad mixes and fish filets, I ordered a twelve-pack of Coke Zero.

As someone becoming more-and-more weight conscious; someone attempting to exercise at least a little every day and eat a little better, Coke Zero may become my newest crutch.

Regular Coke has always been too sweet. Saccharine, even. And Diet Coke, though it has many defenders and fans, is an acquired taste. Coke Zero, however, is more like original Coke, but less sweet and with zero calories (according to the can). And being that most popular, zero-calorie seltzer drinks make me gag, Coke Zero has quite a big appeal.

Coke Zero is flavored with aspartame and acesulfame potassium. These ingredients have been put under heavy scrutiny over the years. I’ve heard they cause cancer, heart failure, blood clots, weight gain and disruption to the gut biome, which is a biological concept I’m not sure I fully understand. Conversely, some studies link them to supporting weight loss in conjunction with exercise and a relatively healthy diet.

To all this I say: most of what I eat is probably killing me anyways. I’m probably cutting a lot of tasty things out of my diet in the coming weeks. Few to no fried/greasy items. Less and less carbs. Only occasional desserts. And yes, most soda is poison. Most beverages are poison. But in the magic of Coke Zero, I find just a little bit of comfort. I will eat my salad and drink my smoothies and enjoy the routine of a cold, sweet, somehow calorie-free Coke Zero. I welcome this new addiction with open arms.

the new routine

Tomorrow morning I will wake up early. I will do 30 minutes on my stationery bike and take an hour long walk in Brooklyn. I will pick up medicine for my cat from the vet. I will buy vegetables for salads and avocados and eggs for protein. Despite them being on sale, I will not purchase any leftover Halloween candy. I will go home and work in my office. I will call my grandparents and my health insurance provider. I will hard boil eggs for snacks and gulp down Metamucil to help me feel full. I will take time to write down ideas for plays and songs and TV shows. I will go to bed at a reasonable hour and do it all again the next day. And if I fail to commit to the new routine tomorrow or the day after or any day after that, I will resist the temptation to eat $13 worth of Taco Bell.

peanut butter cups

Last year, our apartment didn’t receive any trick-or-treaters. In an attempt to match the spirit of the holiday, I have decided to order lunch today through a delivery app. I will be offering the delivery person some peanut butter cups and kit-kats as if they were a child.

I will tip in cash, too. But also, candy.

two monkeys and a Luigi

This week in quintessential New York City experiences…

Last night, after enjoying a small play at the Cell Theatre in Manhattan, I made my way to 14th Street Station to catch a train home. I would have taken the much closer 23rd Street train had it been running downtown, but weekend maintenance got in the way.

One stop along the C line later, a young, horrible mob of costumed party-goers funneled into the train car. I found myself flanked by two monkeys and a Luigi, cornered against a door and a seat-dividing silver bar. Later, after escaping that zoo, I walked past a woman dressed as a sunny-side-up egg with horns and a pitchfork. Deviled eggs. I thought, ‘if this were a crossword clue, it would say ‘Satan’s favorite hors d'oeuvre.’”

I wanted to thank her for the laugh but I never know how to initiate those stranger-to-stranger interactions without coming off as a creep. Especially since only one of us was costumed. There was a clear power imbalance. So I chuckled quietly and kept walking.

I couldn’t tell you the exact moment, but at some point in my young adult life, I became a much more self-conscious person. Maybe it was just an underlying current of anxiety breaking the surface. Fear of embarrassment became akin to fear of falling off a cliff. All I know is when I was younger, I enjoyed dancing at bar mitzvot and weddings and birthdays. Now, I don’t like dancing at parties. I feel like everyone is looking at me. Talking about it with their friends and family later. Who was that big, doofy guy with the hair?

So no, I haven’t done a Halloween costume in a couple years. I certainly haven’t put effort into one since I was a kid. It should be whimsical and fun but these days the whole spectacle feels more embarrassing than anything. Most years I just make sure I have candy ready for the three or four kids in the building, and any young vagabonds who somehow wonder into the walk-up. Their joy in receiving a whole handful of peanut butter cups is my joy too.

And I salute the slew of costumed people roaming the streets of my city tonight and tomorrow, with no fear of judgment. I can hang back and leave the fun to those in want of celebration. Your guts are stronger than mine. Though some deviled eggs does sound good.

social media on fire

Twitter recently reminded me that I’ve been on their platform for 13 years.

It bothered me.

And now, with the recent change in leadership at the company (which, will likely bring a 4chan-esque energy along with it) I’ve decided to begin the process of drastically reducing the amount of time I spend on social media.

I don’t think I can fully remove myself from it, unfortunately. It’s the most convenient, and sometimes only way I communicate with large groups of my friends and loved ones. As a professional freelancer in television casting, it’s an incredibly valuable tool. And despite my many issues with how these sites have damaged our ability to communicate with each other, I still want to scroll through TikTok with my partner when we go to bed. I want to easily share photos with my grandfather on Facebook.

A big part of the reason I use Twitter to this day is just to have a place to put my thoughts. Maybe make a few friends and followers chuckle. Maybe to express some frustration into the void.

I think it’s time I make my own corner of the void. Old school, like we used to on Tumblr or Blogspot. I pay for this damn website, don’t I? I may as well make the most of it. I have a history of being bad at journaling consistently. This is my effort to improve.