I land in Damascus, Syria, and meet Bashar, a cab driver and tour guide whose love for his city runs deep. What begins as a simple ride for coffee quickly turns into two days exploring Damascus through Bashar’s eyes, from the winding streets of the Old City to the places, people, and memories that have shaped his life.

Along the way, Bashar takes me to a nameless breakfast spot, introduces me to some of his favorite Syrian foods, walks me through ancient streets and historic landmarks, and brings me inside the centuries-old Umayyad Mosque. Between meals and history lessons, Bashar opens up about leaving Syria for Dubai, returning home during the war to be with his family, losing his mother, and watching the city he loves endure years of destruction.

Eventually, Bashar takes me somewhere much more personal: the neighborhood where he grew up and the ruins of his childhood home. Surrounded by buildings destroyed during the war, Bashar reflects on everything Damascus has lost and why he still believes life will find a way to return. What starts as a tour of Syria becomes a story about memory, resilience, love for home, and the complicated relationship we have with the places that make us who we are.

But the day is not all heavy. Bashar and I eat our way through Damascus, argue about FedEx and UPS, bond over Hollywood movies, joke about Julia Roberts, visit a generations-old ice cream shop, and slowly become genuine friends. By the end of our two days together, I realize that Bashar hasn’t just shown me Damascus. He’s shown me the Syria he wants the rest of the world to see.

I hailed a New York City yellow cab and find myself back in the cab of Irish John, one of the most memorable drivers from the very first season of Keep The Meter Running. John takes me to his favorite butcher shop in his longtime Queens neighborhood, where stories of old New York flow as easily as the sandwiches. But what begins as a return visit quickly turns into something much bigger when I decide it’s finally time to make good on a promise I made years ago: producing John’s one-man play for a sold-out audience... the very next night.

John has spent more than four decades driving a yellow cab while quietly building a life as a playwright, radio host, and storyteller. His autobiographical play, Off the Meter, draws on a lifetime of unforgettable passengers, dangerous nights, and the strange, hilarious moments that only happen inside a New York City taxi. Although the play once found success, years away from the stage and the grind of everyday life have slowly worn down the optimism I first admired in him. What starts as a casual lunch becomes a race against the clock to convince John that his story is still worth telling and that it’s never too late to step back into the spotlight.

Over the next twenty-four hours, my team and I scramble to book a historic theater, reunite John’s old stage props, print programs, fill hundreds of seats, and pull off a full theatrical production with almost no time to prepare. As John overcomes his doubts and returns to the stage, the episode becomes a celebration of working-class artists, keeping your word, and the extraordinary lives hidden inside ordinary people. Sometimes the greatest destination isn’t a place at all. It’s helping someone rediscover a dream they thought they’d left behind.

I hail a New York City yellow cab and meet Young, a cab driver from South Korea whose lifelong love of mountains, art, and quiet observation has shaped the way he sees the world. Instead of taking me to a neighborhood restaurant or hidden city gem, Young invites me to leave New York behind and spend the day exploring Bear Mountain, where the two of us hike scenic trails, sketch landscapes, and search for a little peace just an hour outside Manhattan.

Along the way, Young reflects on immigrating to America more than twenty years ago after growing up watching American movies and television from Seoul. He shares how he built a career handcrafting Korean storefront signs before the pandemic led him to driving a taxi, why he still believes he’s chasing the American Dream, and how losing his wife changed the way he experiences the world. What begins as a trip into nature becomes a conversation about grief, optimism, creativity, and finding beauty in the smallest details of everyday life.

The day takes an unexpected turn when Young and I meet a lifelong fisherman at the lake, leading to Young catching the very first fish of his life. Between quiet moments in the woods, heartfelt conversations, and the excitement of trying something new, I discover that sometimes the best journeys aren’t about where you’re going, but about slowing down long enough to appreciate the people and places along the way.

I hailed a New York City yellow cab and met Peter, a driver from Paris with Haitian roots whose definition of the American Dream looks nothing like anyone else’s. Instead of taking me to a single favorite destination, Peter takes me on a whirlwind tour of Harlem and the Bronx, introducing me to friends, fellow hustlers, and the people who fuel his dream of making it in the entertainment industry.

Along the way, Peter opens up about leaving France behind to chase opportunity in America, why he believes success comes from surrounding yourself with famous people, and how driving a yellow cab has helped him build a career managing artists and hosting his own podcast. Our conversations touch on immigration, ambition, race, faith, and the different ways people define success, revealing a man who refuses to stop believing that his big break is just around the corner.

The day only gets stranger as Peter takes me to a Senegalese restaurant in Harlem, through the neighborhood he proudly calls home, to the Bronx for a classic New York chop cheese, and finally into the middle of a music video shoot where I unexpectedly find myself becoming part of the production. What begins as a simple cab ride turns into an unpredictable adventure through New York City’s creative underground and a portrait of someone determined to turn every connection into an opportunity.

Hope you enjoy!

A lot of you probably don’t know this but I am the front man of a rock band called

TINY GUN. I love performing live and music is my favorite thing to perform live. I also love the songwriting and song making process. I

Yesterday we released a new 5-track EP. Would love to hear what you think.

Listen to it here!

I hailed a New York City yellow cab and met Mark, a 72-year-old cab driver from Mumbai whose wild stories, rock-and-roll energy, and decades behind the wheel have made him a legend of the night shift. Instead of heading to a favorite restaurant or neighborhood spot, Mark invites me to spend the entire night riding shotgun in his cab as we cruise through Manhattan searching for passengers, conversation, and whatever surprises New York has waiting after dark.

Along the way, Mark opens up to me about overcoming heroin addiction, getting sober in his thirties, immigrating to America, raising two sons, and finding a new purpose helping others as a recovery counselor. What starts as a conversation about cab driving becomes a deeper look at second chances, loneliness, connection, and why some people never stop chasing the city's energy after midnight.

The night turns into a rolling portrait of New York itself as Mark and I pick up strangers from all walks of life: a newly engaged couple, an aspiring singer who performs from the backseat, a veteran teacher hopping between gay bars, and a self-proclaimed legend searching for love, meaning, and one last great conversation. Between late-night diner stops, unexpected confessions, and stories from decades behind the wheel, I discover that sometimes the best way to understand New York is through the people climbing into the back of a yellow cab.

I hailed a New York City yellow cab and met Homero, an Ecuadorian-American driver who has spent more than 30 years navigating the city's chaotic streets. But instead of just taking me to some nearby destination, Homero decides to drive me all the way out to his favorite Cuban restaurant on Long Island—a vibrant spot where good food, strong drinks, loud music, and dancing all come together.

Along the ride, Homero shares stories from his three decades behind the wheel. He talks about raising three daughters, surviving a divorce, finding love all over again, and building a life through sheer hard work. What starts as a simple conversation about cab driving quickly turns into an unexpected lesson on relationships when Homero looks at me and warns that getting too comfortable is one of the fastest ways to lose the spark with the person you love.

The day quickly becomes a crash course in Cuban culture, salsa dancing, mojitos, spicy empanadas, matching suits, and the art of keeping romance alive. After teaching me a few essential dance moves and helping me pick out the perfect outfit, Homero joins my wife and me for a surprise double date, finally sending me onto the dance floor to put my brand-new skills to the test.

I have set up a GoFundMe for Norman and his family here. Please consider donating.

Right now, Norman and his family are facing an incredibly tough crisis. Because of the massive decrease in taxi fares over recent years, combined with the predatory and abhorrent cost of the loans required just to own a taxi medallion, Norman has been squeezed out of his livelihood.

Despite working tireless hours, the math simply no longer works. He has fallen behind on his mortgage, and his family is now at immediate risk of losing their home.

Norman has given 15 years of hard work to New York City, and it is heartbreaking to see a system break a family that has done everything right. We are raising funds to:

• Catch up on delinquent mortgage payments to immediately halt the risk of foreclosure.

• Create a financial cushion for his wife and two children while Norman navigates the next steps with his career and medallion debt.

Every single dollar raised will go directly to Norman and his family to save their house. If you cannot donate at this time, please consider sharing this link with your network, your friends, and anyone who loves NYC and the people who make it run.

I hailed a New York City yellow cab and met Khakendra Pun, a Nepalese immigrant and 10-year veteran of the taxi force, who took me to Himalayan Restaurant & Bar in Jackson Heights to show me a taste of home.

Khakendra came to America from a small mountain village in Nepal and spent decades chasing a better life, working 77 different jobs, living at 94 different addresses, writing and self-publishing his own book, and driving a taxi through New York City. Along the way, he taught himself to find joy in the in-between moments, playing the flute at red lights, practicing kindness wherever he goes, and dreaming of one day becoming a comedian.

The day turns into a conversation about immigration, creativity, resilience, grief, happiness, third eyes, handmade gifts, Nepali food, and what it means to keep going when life doesn’t go according to plan. Then I decide one dream should not wait any longer and take Khakendra from the driver’s seat to a real comedy stage for his very first stand-up performance at The Stand in Union Square.

Thanks for watching!

Enjoy and see you soon.

KR

Please do not pitch anything else to that email address.

Written by Oliver Baranczyk

My routine each warm season is to put off wearing shorts for as long as possible. Why? Part of it is that I like delayed gratification, which appeases my contrarian nature (It’s hot! How long can I go without admitting to myself that I’m uncomfortable?). The other reason stems from wanting to avoid something I associate with wearing shorts: I’m afraid of looking like an adult child.

While I try to liberate myself from my competitive desire to outrun others' judgment of my personal style, I have absorbed a collective cultural idea of what shorts do: they expose legs. In my adult life, I’ve read and heard a fair share of hot takes that no one wants to see men’s legs. Sure, I get it, and also: it’s hot, and shorts are comfortable.

The fear of looking like an adult child weaseled its way into my thinking when I noticed how often I see heterosexual men who don’t look nearly as put together as the women they’re with. We’ve all seen him: he’s wearing cargo shorts weighed down by a wallet, keys, and phone, that end past the knee; ankle socks and beat-up sneakers, or alternatively flip-flops; and a souvenir graphic t-shirt and baseball hat. He’s with a woman who looks as good as Caroline Bessette Kennedy. We know they are contemporaries, but he’s dressed like a child.

And the fear truly blossomed after I became a dad in 2022. While kids look pretty cute in drawstring shorts and a graphic t-shirt, I worry that dressing in drawstring shorts and a t-shirt myself ages me in the wrong direction.

My hesitancy around shorts is shared by many. Shorts have long been a divisive piece of clothing. Many people choose not to wear shorts, and in a 2011 interview, designer Tom Ford opined that shorts “should only be worn on the tennis court or on the beach.” (The impact of Ford’s take on shorts has reverberated in the last 15 years, as evident in its being cited in every article I link to here.)

But recently, more men have become shorts-curious. Some even argue that we are in a golden age of shorts. So I’ve begun to experiment with shorts, as part of my broader approach to styling: I know what I’m comfortable wearing, and I also want to play around outside of that comfort zone. In this approach, I’ve started wearing shorts proudly—and responsibly—and I’m here to share my secrets.

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Crucially, start with shorts you feel comfortable in.

Think about the rise

Some people are comfortable with a higher rise, letting the waistband sit higher, usually at or below the belly button. A high rise can be flattering, by virtue of the focal point of the short, the waist, moving up the wearer’s body, and creating the illusion of longer legs.

Choose an inseam you can stand

Some people prefer shorter inseams, others longer. Inseam length has long been debated: 5 inches? 9 inches? 12 inches? There’s no right answer, but each length comes with a caveat. Short inseams are going to put your thighs on blast, for better or worse; shorts with longer inseams can be heavier because more fabric is used, and can also make your legs look shorter.

Pick a roomy fit.

Shorts work best when they billow, given the lightweight summer fabrics they are often constructed from. The more billowy a garment is, the less it touches and hangs on your skin, and the cooler you feel. However, roomy does not mean baggy. Roominess is characteristic of a garment with a loose, relaxed fit that allows for ease of movement, whereas bagginess occurs when the garment is oversized.

Use proportion to distract from those legs.

Proportion is a key element when assembling an outfit, and identifying how to make it work for you is a superpower. The right proportion can make your legs appear longer, for example, which is flattering for any body type and height. Proportion also allows you to skillfully redirect where someone’s eye goes so that they notice what you want them to. Most commonly, this could involve emphasizing something else you’re wearing (taking eyes away from your legs).

Stock up your shorts portfolio.

You might not think too much about it, but the fabric can have a big effect on how a short moves and hangs on your frame. Summer fabrics are breathable and lightweight, allowing greater freedom of movement. And they all feel so nice to wear! In contrast, denim shorts can be insulating and heavy, which can make you sweat and feel hotter.

With the wide variety of fabrics, lengths, colors, waistband styles, etc. available, owning more than one pair of shorts can be helpful. For me, an ideal rotation is the following:

• The athletic short (no longer than 6-inch inseam, quick-dry fabric)

• The long short (8/9+-inch inseam, high rise, slightly flared leg, dry fabric)

• The everyday short (7-inch inseam, soft fabric)

The athletic short

The athletic short is by far the most casual of the three, and the platonic ideal of this style is the Patagonia Baggie. With nylon and synthetic fabrics, I find a shorter inseam is better because it leans into the quick-dry, swimming aesthetic. When styling, a slightly roomier shirt can be flattering because extra volume on the top block is a great contrast for the short length of the short. Try pairing a hooded sweatshirt, relaxed-fit t-shirt, or my personal favorite, an unbuttoned band-collar chambray shirt with sleeves cuffed, over a t-shirt. Examples: Manresa; Earth\Studies

The long short

The long short is the short that will get you the most compliments. This is because long shorts offer more drama—more fabric, volume, and a higher rise, all of which establish a focal point and add tension. A high rise begs the wearer to tuck their shirt in, whether entirely or with a simple French tuck. The length of the leg and extra fabric create an elongating waterfall effect, although those with shorter legs might do well to seek a shorter inseam or have the garment altered. Examples: Lady White Co & Kaptain Sunshine; Yoko Sakamoto; Gramicci

The everyday short

The everyday short occupies the center of the Venn diagram, combining the strengths of the athletic and long shorts into a versatile, do-it-all garment. The 7-inch length will still reach toward the knees, but can be made to appear shorter by wearing more voluminous shirts or long-sleeve tops. And this style looks as great with a pair of Vans as it does with an espadrille. Examples:Frizmworks; Todd Snyder; 18 East

Practice styling those shorts.

Next, it’s time to think about how to style and what to wear with each kind of short. Here, I think it’s easiest to work with a simple palette—a white T-shirt (heavyweight or fine cotton) and summer shoes, whether huaraches, leather sandals, or espadrilles—to see the effect each short has on the outfit and where to adjust.

Think of it like an interview for your clothes and your comfort zone. Try tucking in your shirt, try a French tuck, wear your shorts higher on your hips, don’t tie the drawstring waist, etc. You’ll gain a greater understanding of how styling yourself in different ways makes you feel and look.

Don’t let your shoes ruin your shorts.

A word on shoes: I endorse huaraches, leather sandals, espadrilles, slip-on leather or suede shoes, and other summer footwear because they keep your feet cool in the warm season and look good with shorts. They also look refined; they elevate whatever else you’re wearing. That said, simple canvas shoes like Vans are timeless and communicate an easygoing yet stylish look. Bulkier shoes like trainers often look best with socks but require a little more planning, such as matching them to the color or tonality of your outfit.

Don’t forget good socks.

Regarding socks: every outfit requires balance, and here’s where socks can be a useful tool. The more layers you have on your torso, the more license you have to incorporate a sock. For example, if you’re wearing a light jacket with your shorts, throw on some socks. It will create visual harmony and balance out the extra fabric you have up top. And if you’re wearing socks, lean in: make it a crew sock. Ankle socks and no-show socks are non-starters—show your sock and celebrate it, it’s doing work for your outfit! That said, most summer footwear is designed to be worn without socks, so if you go that route, you’ll likely find you won’t miss them much.

Whatever you do, it’s good to grow.

In the end, what you wear is all down to your comfort and what makes sense to you. There are exceptions to every ostensible rule, and many other ways to play with how you style yourself, such as through color, tonality, texture, etc. And it’s normal for personal style transformations to occur across years, as you discover things about yourself or your taste through how you dress.

I do stand by one thing always, and I’ve experienced it in my own life and had others tell me the same: taking risks with what you wear is a good thing and, more often than not, will garner you a compliment. A little validation and affirmation go a long way, and even if no one says a thing, you’ll know you’ve outrun that adult child.

This article was written by Oliver Baranczyk, personal style consultant and founder of Therefore, a new and secondhand men’s and unisex clothing showroom in Baltimore. IG: @therefore.therefore; @baran_czyk.

Please do not pitch anything else to that email address.

Last month, Project Hail Mary made box office history for Amazon MGM, bringing in more than $300 million globally in just its first two weekends. That success is thanks in no small part to the movie’s protagonist, Ryland Grace (Ryan Gosling), a middle school science teacher tasked with traveling through space to save the world. Most of all, he achieves such a feat in the lovable, witty way that Andy Weir has clearly mastered since the 2015 movie adaptation of his first novel, The Martian.

But Project Hail Mary’s greatest lesson isn’t that original stories can still crush at the box office, that humanity can persevere against all odds, or that alien puppets are sick as hell. It’s what the film reflects about life back here on Earth, particularly for fifty percent of our population.

In a world of toxic masculinity, Ryan Gosling is once again putting on a clinic for how more men should think of themselves: as silly, silly boys.

21st-century culture has done an excellent job describing what toxic masculinity looks like (not that we’ve all learned our lesson, by any means). Objectifying women. Fear of physical weakness. Emotional desensitization. Internalized and externalized homophobia. The list goes on. We have also succeeded at creating an entire lexicon of phrases to tell men how they shouldn’t behave: “catcalling,” “mansplaining,” “bropriating,” “weaponized incompetence,” “machismo,” “white-knighting.” And to be clear, each one is incredibly important for combating bad behavior and turning boys into better men. Especially given that the Andrew Tates of the world, or that guy who does 4 am banana ice baths or whatever, have yet to listen.

But what we haven’t done as effectively is describe the alternative: what does positive masculinity look like? What is the model for how dudes should behave instead?

Our ol’ friend Gosling gives a much better answer: silliness.

Gosling’s Grace is characteristically charming, vulnerable, and able to connect with damn near anybody—from hulking bodyguards to international political coordinators to aliens made of literal rock. He is the cool science teacher, the cool astronaut, or the cool savior of Earth who isn’t afraid to scream like a little girl when he’s scared. He makes jokes. He cares about making others around him feel safe or heard.

To be clear, Ryland Grace’s character, as written, still forces a depth to Gosling’s shenanigans. He is not a swaggering action hero who thinks he is invincible. In fact, he bears a crippling cowardice and loneliness that are both projections of what many men are struggling with more than ever right now. So, for as much as his silliness is the model, it is still rooted in and made human by his imperfections—imperfections that, once we become aware of them, ironically enable silliness in the first place.

As guys, we know we’re naturally intimidating. We’re usually born in bigger bodies with louder, deeper voices that are often used to throw out overly-confident, half-baked ideas. And we rarely express ourselves vulnerably in a world that teaches us to be inexpressive and invulnerable. To endure rather than admit our suffering. But just because Dad was hard on you doesn’t mean you should sign up for a $3,000 Alpha Male Boot Camp or obsess over looksmaxxing. These are just tricks to perform masculinity for others rather than to examine it for ourselves.

To be silly is to be self-aware. Without it, we’re just obnoxious: either using humor as a shield against true vulnerability, a weapon to bring down others, or a magnet for attention.

Self-awareness is especially crucial because there is something asymptotic about completely defanging what makes men manly. We will always be bigger, stronger, and louder. But while we can’t always change how we’re perceived, we can control how we use that perception. After all, there is value in being able to walk my sister or girlfriend home safely at night. So what’s the best way to fight that feeling of always being an imposing force in the world, while still making those around us feel safe and making us feel like we belong for who we are?

Be silly. Embrace whimsy. Use your male privilege for good by not taking yourself too seriously. Positive masculinity isn’t about being less masculine; it’s about being more conscious of masculinity’s effects.

Silliness isn’t a cure for toxic masculinity (lest we look at all the silly men who have done terrible things). Nor is it a complete answer to what positive masculinity should be. But it’s a tool in our toolbelt that helps us be more vulnerable, sensitive, and self-aware. If women carry knives and pepper spray on their key chains, then men can carry silliness in their pockets. And fortunately, men’s pants have pretty big pockets.

Ollie Hicks is an NYC-based writer and filmmaker. Find more of his essays about the personal, cultural, and cinematic on Substack or follow his Instagram @olliel.twist.

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As a diner, it’s not uncommon to date around. You try things on for size. Sometimes you’re in the mood for a casual, neighborhood joint, like the girl next door who doesn’t wear a lot of makeup and isn’t afraid to get sauce on her face; other times you want to treat yourself to something a bit more opulent, like a posh beauty queen, high-maintenance but worth it. Other times, when the mood strikes, you crave that dingy hole-in-the-wall where you can try to get your Bourdain on like a dive bar hookup ten minutes after last call.

But there comes a time in every young lover’s life to finally settle down. To stop looking for the next new thing. To find a place that actually feels like home.

When I first moved to New York City in 2012, I knew that becoming a regular was something I needed to do, so I set my sights on a neighborhood spot at the end of my block in the East Village called Sidewalk Cafe, on the corner of 6th and A.

I desperately wanted to be the guy who walked in and said, “the usual.” Or better yet, the guy who walked in, smiled, and sat down with a newspaper without saying anything at all…

It turns out that trying to become a regular when you have negative $400 in your checking account is practically impossible.

At the time, I simply did not have the confidence, social skills, or money to become a regular anywhere. So, I gave up the dream for a while because that’s what winners do.

About a decade or so later, the universe presented me with my white whale. Like actually running into that Craigslist missed connection for a second shot at glory, my dream of finding my local reappeared, and this time I was determined to make my move.

On one of those beautiful, bright Spring days that make NYC feel like the best city in Europe, walking into brunch at Balthazar was love at first bite.

But it wasn’t even about the food for me; it was about the theatrics of it all. The opulence of the space, the decadence of the seafood towers, and the kinetic energy of the staff and patrons bouncing off each other. It didn’t feel like a real restaurant; it felt like the movie version of a New York City restaurant.

It was the perfect place to entertain folks from out of town, impress folks from in town, and ultimately just feel like the main character for once.

Now, I knew becoming a regular here would be no small feat. Deciding to become a regular at a place like Balthazar is like deciding you want to join the cast of SNL. But I was determined. It would be my crown jewel. My greatest achievement.

And so my courtship began.

I had to send some emails in between meetings on a random, miserable, rainy April afternoon. Normally, I would duck into a little coffee shop to blast off a few, but I checked Google Maps and saw that Balthazar was only a few blocks away. I decided I’d sit at the bar, order a cold one, and draft my emails there instead. A coy little entry. Me? Oh, I’m just popping in for a quick pint while I get some work done. Oh, this place? I just needed to get out of the rain. An appetizer? Maybe I could be persuaded, but I really gotta get some work done.

When I walked in, the place was perfectly, beautifully empty. I sat down, said hello, and struck up a conversation with the bartender. He was kind. We made each other laugh. I wasn’t a regular yet, but sitting there, I caught a glimpse of what it might feel like to be one.

I did the same thing the next week on a random weekday afternoon. Same spot at the bar and more importantly, same bartender. This time, a complimentary glass of champagne.

I was making progress, but there’s a difference between charming a bartender (God bless them all) and becoming the kind of regular I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be just another barfly; I wanted to be the kind of known entity who could show up at 7:30 PM without a reservation and still be whisked away into a booth.

It was time to escalate, so I orchestrated a big dinner with six of my best-looking, well-behaved friends and Josh Schneider, who is neither the best-looking nor well-behaved. I made sure we were the ideal table: playful but not obnoxious, cracking jokes with the servers, over-ordering food and drinks. Halfway through the meal, a floor manager came over just to introduce herself. IT WAS WORKING!! The meal ended with a comped dessert. I was definitely getting somewhere. My friends all tipped the expected 20% as you do, but I made sure to leave a little extra on the table as well.

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I know that the ’90s were awesome and we all miss our childhoods, those sweet days of freedom from social media and our jailbird ankle bracelets (phones) but it’s time for us to grow up.

I understand that life as an adult is hard, that most of it sucks, and that the majority of it is just "logistics." But that is no excuse to regress into Adult Children. At least that’s my opinion.

I understand the comfort of a worn, warm blanket; the desire to feel and act like a kid. But we can find that warmth without playing dodgeball or having spelling bees brought to you by Brand™️

I understand that the world is a mess and that attending a "Branded Content Adult Sleepover Party" feels nice, but let’s be honest: it’s embarrassing as hell. You should honestly do something else. Like sleep at your own house. Or sleep with somebody for reasons that are definitely not brand-safe.

I hate feeling like an old man shaking my fist, but I’m 40. Maybe I have the right to be an old man shaking my fist. The problem is I’m shaking my fist at people my own age, not the youth. The kids are going to be alright. Seems like we middle aged folks aren’t?

Brands and corporations treat us like children, and we buy into it. As a result, we feel increasingly incapable of doing adult things like buying a house, getting married, having kids, or starting businesses. Yes, I know these things are hard. I know that the economy sucks. I know that AI is taking our jobs. I know that there are other factors at play. I know that some of you don’t want any of these things at all! I know we’ve been dealt the wrong hand. But I feel like participating in the Branded Content Adult Spelling Bee is not helping.

I feel like we should be doing something else like maybe revolting?

But even the signs we carry while we protest are cute and unserious. Yes, you made a pun. Such a clever boy! They are still taking away your rights. At least you’re getting enough protein.

Brands speak down to us because they want us to believe we are incapable. This makes us lose belief in ourselves, which makes us lazy and hopeless. I would prefer to be spoken to like an adult, to be slapped across the face with the cold, hard truth: that life is hard and that it’s okay. It is meant to be hard.

"Adulting" became a meme. Look at me, Mom! I’m adulting! I just mailed a fucking letter and licked the stamp and put it in the right spot all by myself! We all clap. But we shouldn’t. Being an adult sucks, but it’s not so hard that we should be applauding ourselves for doing it.

Millennials do not act like this across Europe or the rest of the world. It’s a uniquely American problem, just like the corporate infestation into our politics.

The brand sells you convenient solutions to make your life "easier," but in the meantime, they steal everything from you, including ownership. You own nothing. You rent everything. It’s "easier" this way.

Nostalgia is a powerful emotion. Most of the time it’s fine, but much of the time it is deeply unhealthy. There is a difference between reminiscing about the good old days and trying to relive them. We are not serious people.

We must become serious people. Not "serious" like Gordon Gekko, but serious like an immigrant parent in the '80s who came to America for a better life.

When I was 13 years old, I begged my dad to buy me a PlayStation. He told me video games were for kids. Twenty-six years later, I am thankful and grateful for those words of wisdom. There is nothing more embarrassing than an adult who plays video games, and honestly, nothing more unattractive. I understand that this is a coping mechanism—but so is sucking your thumb.

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It ain’t that hard to keep your fuckin’ plants alive.

*Written on my iPhone from bed, a diner in Connecticut, and the porcelain throne

This was awesome news, but the truth was that there were no other shows on TikTok. I knew this at the time, but no one else did.

It still felt good, though, because I knew that even if there had been other shows on TikTok, it still would have been the best. The quality of the production and storytelling was unmatched. With my producer Adam Faze, we set out to make “TV for the internet,” and we succeeded.

A year later, I went on to launch SubwayTakes (alongside Andrew Kuo), and we all know how that turned out. It changed my life. It opened new doors. It made me more confident in my ideas. And it became a global phenomenon.

Both shows spontaneous feel, matched with a higher than necessary production value, and an emphasis on booking the right guests as well as a seasoned host (ME!!) with years of formal improv and comedy experience created bona fide global hits. And it’s funny to say this now, but I was quite sure they were both going to fail.

Two-for-two is a hard thing to pull off and three-for-three is even harder (which is why I haven’t gone all-in on something new yet.)

I genuinely thought that both shows were a waste of time, and the only reason I wanted to make them was that I thought they were good ideas and I needed to get them out of my body. I put zero thought into what makes for a good short-form show for the algorithm and only focused on what it means to make great entertainment. Something to entertain myself, something to entertain the tiny few people who would give a shit.

The global success of SubwayTakes inspired thousands of others to launch similar shows. And why wouldn’t they? They should! It worked for me; it should work for them.

What I don’t understand or appreciate, though, is why all of these shows are almost exactly the same? A man or woman stands in Washington Square Park (why is it always that park?!!!??? THERE ARE SO MANY PARKS IN NYC!!!) with a microphone and asks people vapid, depressing questions. It’s not “lo-fi.” It’s just... lazy. And it makes me sad because the internet should be a place where we innovate, challenge, and create things more interesting than the slop currently programmed on TV and in movie theaters.

It would be more permissible if it were just a person and their friend doing it to have a good time and just make something for fun, but much of this feed-slop is funded by new “media companies” trying to go viral. The intention is off, which is why the vibes are off. With the exception of a few short-form unscripted shows like Errands or Revival Of The Fittest, which are made by cool independent creators trying to do something different, who likely did not think about virality or engagement before making their shows. They thought about creating the most entertaining thing they could make and, more importantly, something personal.

The problem is the string of short-form shows being created in an assembly line by new “media companies” with the sole purpose of going viral in order to monetize. These shows that do not have a point of view are produced by a new crop of “media companies” that give content creation a bad name and also seek to take advantage of young people through bad contracts. The audience has spoken, and the audience is sick of these shows. Stop making them. It’s time for a new thing.

I would like to acknowledge that, for some reason, when legacy media participates, I don’t mind it as much because, as much as I hate gatekeepers, I do want publications like New York Magazine (shout out Zach Schiffman) and The New Yorker to thrive and survive. It’s also not their main business so it feels less offensive and more participatory. And to be quite frank, most of them actually have a POV.

I think the difference between a good show and a bad show is intention.

The intention should not be to make a viral thing. The intention should be to make the highest-quality, most entertaining work with the resources you have. The outcome is virality! That is the reward, but it is not the intention.

The thought never once crossed my mind when producing or developing either show. When the intention is virality, the show sucks.

The issue is threefold:

1. Oversaturation: Audiences want something new.

2. Quality Control: Things should be great.

3. A Race to the Bottom: Because of oversaturation and lack of quality control, brands expect to pay less for more, essentially turning something special into what the industry did with “listicle” style content and “readable” video. And now TV/film.

If I were just starting my career now, I would likely do something different. The space peaked last year.

I’m excited to see a new crop of short-form scripted shows pop and become hits (The Ick and Brooklyn Coffee Shop are standouts). I think we will see many more of these types of shows this year, which is a move in the right direction.

I’m not totally sure what the next thing is yet, but I’m sure some enterprising young man or woman is out there right now, inventing something totally new and inspiring. And for that, we are fortunate!

Anyways, this is not meant to be a take-down. Just some musings on some things. I hope it does not discourage you. I hope it does the opposite. Go make your thing. But make it good!

*written from my iPhone in the Delta Sky Lounge, a park bench in Sarasota Florida, and finished up on my couch

Now, there is nothing to watch. There are plenty of options, but nothing to actually watch. It is the illusion of choice and it is much worse going to Blockbuster because it is infinite and there isn’t a GOOD section. I I scroll and scroll through the options and watch trailers, but it’s all junk. So I fall asleep having watched nothing but some Reels on my phone.

There’s no real choice…just the same five shows on different streamers. Wait until there is a gay sports show on every platform; this is what will happen in 2026. Every streamer will have a show like Heated Rivalry. This is what happens, and it is why everything always feels the same.

It’s funny because it’s not the "safe" choice until, suddenly, it is. But in order to get to that safe choice, someone has to take a risk. So few people are willing to take that risk. It’s a shame.

The same goes for podcasting: same format, same shows, same jokes. Have you seen the Netflix podcast slate? That section is an absolute joke, it’s all so boring. Not to mention impossible to find. I wonder how many people are “watching” these. Probably not many, since it seems there has been little to no press about anything on here.

The only place that seems to have people pushing boundaries and limits is YouTube, and for that, I am grateful. The most innovative new podcast (Friends Keep Secrets) isn’t on Netflix, it’s on YouTube. But I’m sure in a few months we will see a similar format on Netflix because that’s what they do.

I am sorry if this upsets you, but it is true.

This reminds me of the "Denver-ification" of American cities. Places used to look different; architecture would vary from place to place. Now Denver looks like San Diego, San Diego looks like Williamsburg, and Williamsburg looks like Austin, and so on ad nauseam.

*written on my iPhone from the Delta Sky Club for absolutely no reason

I’ve had a lot of wild rides on Keep The Meter Running, but looking back at this one feels a little different now...

Back in 2025, when Zohran started his run for Mayor of New York City, we spent a day during Ramadan cruising the city to find the perfect Iftar. Fast forward to today, and he’s the Mayor of New York!!!!!!

Watching this back, you can see exactly why he made it to City Hall.

His pal Muhammadu was the taxi driver, and I got to hear first hand the incredible story of how they fought the city for taxi medallion debt relief, even going on a 15-day hunger strike together.

Welcome to my new show. Every episode, I spend $100 on scratch-offs and see how much I win (or lose). Today we talk about going to Egypt, cookies, and the existential crisis I had about making stuff.