Location

North Park. Oregon and Idaho Shelters, North Ridge Drive. I've already studied the sight lines, the acoustics, the distance from the nearest road. It's quite suitable. I do enjoy a proper setting. You'll find it without difficulty — and if you don't, well. That tells me something about you already.

The Briefing — September 12th, 2026

Food will be provided. I want you to sit with that for a moment. Someone has thought carefully about what goes into your mouth. Someone always has. We begin at 11:00 a.m. and continue until darkness makes further observation unnecessary. The pig — our pig — will be ready around 1:00 p.m. I've found that patience at the table is among the most revealing of virtues. Do try to have some.

The Roasting — 7:00 a.m.

I will be at the pit before you wake. I am always there before you wake. If you'd like to join me at first light and watch the process from its beginning — the preparation, the heat, the slow and necessary transformation — you're welcome to. Most people prefer not to witness where their meal comes from. I find that rather telling, don't you?

Your Assignment

The meat is handled. What the afternoon requires from you is something sweet — a dessert that reflects your palate, your effort, and frankly your character. Cakes are welcome. Pies are encouraged. If you arrive with something from a grocery store bakery shelf, I will know. That is the assignment. Come with something worth discussing.

The Bar — A Small Experiment

Kegs were acquired. I won't trouble you with the details of how. The beers were brewed by people who call themselves the Burning Nerds, which I find charming in the way that all earnest things are charming.

You will choose between them. You will think you're choosing based on taste. You aren't. You're choosing based on who you are. I'll be watching which one empties first. It's a poor man's Rorschach, but one works with what the afternoon provides.

If you prefer soda, flavored water, or something that won't impair your judgment, bring it — I won't hold it against you. No glass bottles, please. I insist on this.

The Grounds

Two pavilions. Tables. A lawn. A playground, which I mention only because children will be present and I want you to know I've accounted for them. The space is generous. People will spread across it in patterns that reveal more than they intend.

Bring a chair if you like. Bring lawn games. Bring whatever you feel you need to feel comfortable. Comfort is interesting — people pursue it so relentlessly, and then wonder why nothing surprises them anymore.

Weather

I've never cancelled anything due to weather. I find the suggestion faintly embarrassing. Come in the rain if it rains. Everything worth doing has been done in worse conditions than a grey afternoon in western Pennsylvania.

RSVP

Tell me you're coming. I ask not because the logistics require it — though they do — but because I like to know in advance who will be in the room. I like to prepare.

The form is below. It will take you less than a minute. I've timed it.