HeyJaredWrong Man For The Job
A chronicle on modern manhood written by someone spectacularly unqualified.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Sep 18, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 20, 2026
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Wrong Man for the Apocalypse (opens the original)
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Friends sometimes challenge me to explain how exactly the AIs will kill us. “All the explanations are filled with hammy metaphors and abstractions,” a close friend said to me over a bowl of bucatini the other night. “It’s hard to feel on a gut level that it’s real.”I tell myself I’ve avoided writing about AI publicly because Wrong Man For The Job is supposed to be personal. I spend enough of my waking hours thinking and worrying about artificial intelligence. Why not keep this space for my human
My Baby’s Phantom Cries (opens the original)
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PareidoliaMy wife startles in bed grabbing for her phone to check on the baby. “He’s crying” she says urgently. She pulls up the baby monitor app to find Parker fast asleep. She could have sworn she heard him. “Did you hear that?” she asks me.I did not. Responding to these phantom cries used to be a near-hourly occurrence for me months ago, but they steadily decreased in frequency to the point where they are now rare. Allison still hears them, and I feel a mix of sympathy and envy. Sympathy for
This is so embarrassing for me (opens the original)
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Next week, it will have been three years since Allison and I got married under a tent in downtown Santa Barbara because a tropical storm made landfall in California for the first time in one hundred years. A year later, we spent our first wedding anniversary in Scarsdale tending to Allison’s dying mother, Ruth. We’ve had an eventful three years: a death, a family estrangement, an identity-altering career pivot, a podcast about our marriage, and now a child. To celebrate my , I’m going to do some
A Close Reading of My Mother’s Threat (opens the original)
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Like And SubscribeAll relationships require some level of narrative interpretation, but in the second year of total estrangement from my parents, it seems interpretation is all we have left. “Your mom threatened to kill herself,” a family member told me over the phone one afternoon as I sat in a shopping center’s parking lot, sweaty from exercise, hungry for the Sweetgreen salad I had ordered ahead, but not thinking it appropriate to transfer the conversation from CarPlay to my iPhone at that pa
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