Author: Logan Lo

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personal

Modern Loneliness

If I call home

Her: I took Monday off.
Me: Thank you – you’re the best.

Mouse came by over the weekend to keep me company, like always. My dad died three years ago, you see…

It’s hard to believe it’s been three years.

We had a really nice weekend, which I suppose I’ll tell you about later.

Every year it gets a bit easier, which makes me feel guilty that it gets easier. I was angry at my father in the years before he died. Angry about things I suppose sons get angry with their fathers for.

He loved me, though, so I’m sure he forgave me and my petty nonsense. I’m not sure if I forgive myself, though.

I wasn’t with my dad all that much in the years before he died – cause I spent so much time with Alison trying to save her – sometimes, I feel that if I call home, he’ll pick up.

Even though I know he won’t.

Home. It’s a odd word.

Chad and a buddy Chuck just walked out the door. They came by because Chuck’s heading home after a decade-and-a-half of NYC living. That’s his story, not mine, so I’ll end it there.

I envy him, though, in a way. He has a home to go back to.

The thing with me’s that I am home. I have no place to return to because I’m already here. The only home I’ve know for the past quarter of a century is this one.

My mom and sis still live in my childhood home but it’s not home to me. It doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Then again, in a lotta ways, this place doesn’t either, I guess. Alison isn’t here. My son isn’t here.

Harold’s still here but that’s besides the point.

In any case, this singer named Lauv has a song called, Modern Loneliness that opens with the lines:

I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout my father lately
The person that he made me
The person I’ve become

And it ends:

Modern loneliness, we’re never alone
But always depressed, yeah

For some reason I found it very apropos this past weekend the past three years.

Man, dad, I miss you. You woulda loved the kid. He’s so great. I’m sorry he didn’t get to know you and you didn’t get to know him.

He’s so great.

Podcast Version
Location: home
Mood: gutted
Music: all my demons, if I could cleanse my soul (Spotify)
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personal

Three old friends

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Me: I’m running out the door to pick up some stuff from a friend. This scooter’s really paying for itself these days.
Paul: Wear a helmet! Seriously. People are animals. My wife’s convinced drivers will stop but…wear a helmet!

Got three random messages from old friends recently; people that used to be in this blog a lot more before Alison died.

I think I stopped seeing everyone from my old life because they all knew and loved her. But, I’m slowly getting back in touch with then.

Or, they with me.

The friend I was seeing was Steel. I can’t believe it was seven years ago when he called me to tell me that he caught some striped bass.

I remember Alison thought it was cool that a friend would randomly call me to give me fish.

Anywho, he did again earlier this week so off I went to the Upper East Side.

Like me, he’s a dad of a young child. You need to know this for context.

Steel: Wait, where’s your helmet?
Me: Holy cow, I can’t believe I forgot to wear one. I literally just told a buddy of mine that I always wear a helmet.
Him: (laughing) I was shocked to see you – out of all people – show up without one.

I was actually planning on picking up some fried chicken but, because I didn’t have a helmet, I decided to just go home.

The next day, Gio called me. He left his firm with his boss and the two of them, plus two others, decided to try their luck on their own. They opened up shop at Columbus Circle, not too far from my pad.

Gio: Yeah, we were planning ton his since before the pandemic but, it looks like 95% of our old clients are coming with us.
Me: Damn, nice. I tell everyone that any company can be good in good times, only great companies can be good in bad times.
Him: (laughs) Nice scooter, BTW. I think I have the exact same one. But, I haven’t ridden it yet. I’m in the office by 8AM and I don’t leave until midnight.
Me: I remember those days. I think they’re long past now.

The three year anniversary of my dad’s death is on Monday so I think I’ll be checking out for a bit.

Come back on Tuesday, won’t you?

Oh, in the meantime, my brother suggested that I make my Spotify Blog Playlist public so click here or above for it.

I’ll add the songs that I put into this blog as well as songs from past entries so it’ll continually grow.

I have a pretty broad taste in music so there’s bound to be something you’ll love. Or hate.

Bound to be…

Podcast Version
Location: this week, all over town
Mood: nostalgic
Music: All of the mazes and the madness in my mind (Spotify)
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personal

But wait, there’s more

Good having friends

After the plumbers left, I rang up my neighbor Vic, who’s helped me many times in the past – including when my radiator cracked and Alison was sick – to talk about patching up the massive holes the plumbers left.

The problem is that, while getting him, I got locked out of my apartment. Of course.

More accurately, the lock wouldn’t unlock because the casing around the lock was completely snapped off.

You see, when the firemen came to deal with the gas from Pac, they seriously weakened the housing for my lock, to the point that, when I locked my gate, the screws that kept the lock in place weren’t attached to anything; the metal itself had been crowbared open.

Anywho, I was locked out of my home for close to an hour until I finally managed to get the gate open by repeatedly trying to jiggle the lock back – somewhat – into place.

I couldn’t get in touch with Vic, so I called up another workman around the way.

Me: How much do you think a gate like this would cost to replace?
Workman: Easily a thousand dollars; these are all custom made. Your best bet is to find a welder but even that’ll be expensive with COVID.
Me: You’re fulla good news.
Him: (shrugs)

So, between the flooding, the broken AC, the continued flooding, the fall, the doctor’s visit, the jackhammering, and now the gate, this has been a decidedly annoying and expensive few weeks.

Now, I had been continuing to pay my gym fees during COVID because the owner’s such a good guy and he and his wife have been nuthin but super generous with me.

But, after all of the expenses piling up, I finally had to stop paying.

Me: Hey brother – I’m sorry to do this but I have to stop payments. Got hit with a flood that wiped me out.
Owner: Shit, sorry to hear about the flood! I’ve suspended your membership. Thanks for sticking with us for as long as you have.
Me: Dude, I was hoping to stick with you guys until you reopened. It’s been a rough few weeks.

Of course, my life’s been far, far worse. So, I suppose everything’s relative.

Plus, it’s good having friends like the gym owner and Vic on your side.

Vic: I can do that for you. And I’ll see if I can find a welder for you to try to fix the gate. Maybe a week after next?
Me: Man, you rock. For sure.

Podcast Version
Location: earlier today, seeing Gio at Columbus Circle
Mood: drained (of money)
Music: Please come to save me from myself again (Spotify)
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personal

Then they started cutting open my floor

Do it

My friend Jen guessed what I guessed, that I got my infections at one of the times the place flooded, with my hands bailing water like mad. It was pretty gross and I knew that I pulled a splinter out of my hand while painting.

Father-in-law: You’re telling me that you can’t even paint without needing medical help?
Me: Clearly, your daughter married down.
Him: (laughing) That I knew.
Me: (laughing) Why do you kick a man when he’s down, sir?

Had a pretty fitful sleep because the very next day, two more plumbers arrived promptly at 9AM to try to resolve this issue.

They cut open my wall, found a pipe, cut that pipe open, cleaned it, and started packing to leave at around noon.

Them: It’s clean, there’s nothing there. But, we did fix a crack that needed to be repaired.
Me: That’s impossible, there must be another pipe.
Them: Probably not. Besides, the only way to see is if we jackhammer your concrete floor and brick wall.
Me: Do it.
Them: What if there’s no second pipe?
Me: There will be. Do it.

So, they had a chipper/small jackhammer delivered – honest-to-god, you can get anything delivered in NYC these days – and then they started cutting open my floor.

Three hours later…

Them: OK, we found a second pipe. We need to dig out enough of it to cut it. Keep jackhammering?
Me: In for a penny, in for a pound. Yeah.

Four hours after that…

Them: It was this. (they hold up a small rusted lid) It got into your system somehow and backed up all the sediment you see here.
Me: God, if it wouldn’t be weird, I’d give you both a hug.
Them: (blank stares)
Me: I’m…not actually going to give either of you hugs.

All-in-all, they were here maybe ten hours and I have a gaping hole in my basement floor and wall. Still, it rained yesterday and today and there wasn’t a lick of problem.

Which is not to say that it was all smooth sailing after that but this entry’s getting long so I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow.

Podcast Version
Location: earlier today, by Steele; right now, watching Project Power with her
Mood: Off
Music: out of my head, I keep letting you in though (Spotify)
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personal

Where to begin?

Streaks of bad luck

It’s been a trying few weeks. Where to begin?

I’d been feeling off for a while. Cloudy headed, disoriented, etc. I thought maybe it was just allergies or I was getting a cold but no sneezing or coughing so I just chalked it up to my regular insomnia.

I met with some clients for the first time in a long while.

Him: How have you been?
Me: This is my first time wearing pants in months.

It was short, which was for the best because, as it turns out, after four sets of plumbers, the flooding issue was not fixed, so I didn’t have time to really focus on much beyond that.

After my last entry, it rained again and so I was out on a rickety wooden ladder furiously trying to pump water out of my patio beyond a retaining wall. I’m essentially about six feet off the ground, wearing shorts and boots, when the pressure from the pump knocks me down all six feet onto the brick floor.

I felt that I, for sure, either broke or sprained two fingers. I went about my day as normal but a few days later, the pain just kept increasing.

Mouse – who’s dealing with her own streak of bad luck – hit me up and insisted that I go see a doctor.

Her: Go to CityMD.
Me: I think it’s just a sprain. Gonna give it a day.
Her: Why bother with a day? Just take care of now. Go to the doc and avoid other problems.
Me: Fiiine. I’ll eat and then go.

Next thing you know, I’m back there.

Doc: (looking at fingers) These aren’t broken or sprained. Both are infected. Pretty seriously, actually. From the looks of them, they’ve been infected for at least four days now.
Me: Wait, what? So, it has nothing to do with the fall?
Her: Not if it happened just a day or two ago. I need to open them up.
Me: (sighing) Of course you do.
Her: I have to say, I’ve been doing this for 20 years. I’ve never seen anyone with the exact same infection on two separate hands in two separate places.
Me: I like to go for the superlative.

Relax, it’s mostly iodine. Mostly.

It was painful and hard, but mainly because it brought back a flood of memories of Alison.

She endured what I endured but for every single day for years. That girl was tough as nails. I spent the rest of the day remembering stuff I didn’t wanna.

There’s more, but my fingers and soul are killing me. I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow.

Podcast Version
Location: in front of a bottle of antibiotics
Mood: drained (literally!)
Music: I heard you fell off after a couple bad nights (Spotify)
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personal

It’s not that bad

Running into friends

As I was saying, while Mouse, Chad and I were eating at our usual Vietnamese joint, I locked eyes with this tall fella walking by with a buddy of his that seemed familiar, even though we were both wearing masks.

Him: Logan?
Me: John?

It was actually a buddy of mine from my old judo class out in Queens. The last time we rolled together was just around 9/11. At the time, I was living in the boy’s room, before Abbie. That’s one of the few pics I have of it from back then.

Man, was I a mess before Alison.

In any case, John was in high school then; he now had grey hair.

Me: (turning to Chad) This is actually my coach, Chad. Chad, this is John, he’s a purple belt…
John: I’m a brown, actually. (laughs)
Me: Damn, nice! Sorry.
John: (to Chad) We saw your ears and figured you were a fighter.

The two of them started to chat about our old coach. I stayed out of it since I got it all outta my system but it was interesting to see these two strangers trade very similar notes.

I do remember that I asked my old coach once how he was so ok with his less-than-stellar reputation. He said he was fine with it so I don’t have any compunction telling you.

I wonder what my reputation is like. Like, what do you think of me?

In some ways, I don’t care, in others, I care a great deal. Like my professional life – I care greatly what people say about me and my work product.

Because I don’t advertise at all and I also haven’t had a salary in close to 20 years; it’s always been eating what I kill. And that’s 100% dependent on reputation.

My personal life, I care about my reputation far less so. I’m probably making it all up anyway.

Can’t tell you how many people tell me that I shouldn’t write this blog. But it’s for me. To remember what I want to remember and keep myself honest about what happens in my life.

I suppose I’m rambling again. Anywho, John had to run because he was eating at Playa Betty’s and his table was ready.

Me: Oh, that place is great for kids but the food’s terrible.
Mouse: Why would you say that, Logan?!
Me: (stammering) Uh, uh, well, it’s it’s not that bad…
Everyone: (shakes heads)

Podcast Version
Location: in front of my computer, all day
Mood: busy again
Music: I’m anti-everything, but you (Spotify)
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personal

Sweet Dreams

I’m sorry

Luciano’s mom reached out to me over the weekend and filled me in on some more information.

I didn’t know what to say. What does one say, but, “I’m sorry?”

The truth is, you want to say, “I’m sorry that the world is so fucked up and people like Luciano and Alison are gone but shit-heads like Trump and his progeny still exist. There’s no God and if there is one, he’s a giant asshole and he can go fuck himself.”

But in the end, all you can ever say is, “I’m sorry,” and hope it’s enough.

Speaking of which…

Me: I guess I should take these letters off.
Chad: Do you want me to help?
Me: No. I’ll do it myself. Just…distract me will you?
Him: Sure, I’ll do a dance. (thinking) You should take a picture.
Me: (starting the process) I already did, but thanks.
Him: I’m sorry, Logan.
Me: (nodding)

When Alison moved in, she wanted to paint the boy’s room but I convinced her not to. It was too much trouble, I said. We had already agreed on painting the master bedroom and living room so she relented on what was the guest room.

I kept the paint cans for those two rooms, 11 years after Alison and I got them.

It’s hard letting things go.

The boy’s room, though, was painted by a lovely girl name Abbie in September of 2004, almost exactly 16 years ago. That was the last time it was painted. Abbie painted it when patterns were all the rage but it now made the room look dated.

To the point that, when Mouse lived here, she also asked to paint it, and I said no again. This time for a slightly different reason.

You see, Alison and I put up these stickers that read, “Sweet Dreams.” It was just a random idea that Alison had and she surprised me with the lettering. I still remember her, pregnant and carefully measuring and adjusting the words so that they would be perfect. Which they were – perfectly balanced and exactly in the center of the crib.

That was her in a nutshell.

Now, she always had meant for them to be temporary but once she died, I couldn’t bear the thought of taking them down.

But the boy’s growing up. And he should have a room that he can have for the next 16 years if he wanted, not the room Abbie wanted 16 years ago.

So, this past Sunday, I took the lettering down with Chad. Then Mouse came by and the three of us painted the whole thing.

While we were waiting for it to dry, we went out for food.

Me: Are you two tired of Vietnamese yet?
Them: Nope, not yet.

We ran into an old friend of mine while we were out but I suppose that’s an entry for another time.

Then we came back and we marveled at the room.

Neither of them had ever painted before. It wasn’t perfect but we were happy with it afterward – we didn’t do any of the molding as I figured we’d do that some other time.

But it was good. I think Alison would have liked it.

Hopefully, the boy will.

Podcast Version
Location: earlier today, at 84th, asking for Ariel
Mood: much better
Music: Hold your head up, keep your head up, (Spotify)
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personal

Goodnight, Luciano

I don’t understand why

Haven’t heard from the Devil in months. That worries me because he’s one of the few people in the world I think of as a friend.

How odd, to have a friend you call the Devil.

We’re friends because we see the world in the same way.

Me: Why me?
Him: (shrugging) Because you can separate signal from noise.
Me: So?
Him: As you get older, you’ll realize that most people can’t.

On July 14th, I felt compelled to reach out to this fella named Luciano Anthony.

What a name. Picture a super-built, really good-looking guy that was brilliant and you’d be picturing Luciano. He looked like a dude named Luciano Anthony.

(I also just found out that he went by Luciano Bianco as well – I only ever knew him as Luciano Anthony).

We were never close but he always said hi to me at the gym and was never anything but the nicest fella. He was covered in tats so I immediately made some judgments about him. All wrong.

He had a masters degree in Biotechnology from Johns Hopkins and worked as a science engineer. He did woodwork on the side.

Quiet and thoughtful, he was a beast on the mats. I remembered that I liked rolling with him because he always kept his gear clean.

Anywho, Luciano posted something random that night. It seemed out of sorts for what I knew of him.

I’m so fucking clever, you see.

So, I wrote him. I was probably drinking.

He was struggling with some demons. As a friend of the Devil, I know demons. In fact, I knew these particular demons he was struggling with. They’re old hated companions of mine as well.

Him:  (afterwards) Sorry if that’s too straightforward. Don’t have much family or friends so I tend to word vomit.
Me: No. That’s fine. When I say I understand, I really do. And more.

The last thing I said to him was, “I get it. If you’re in heed [sic] of someone to vent to, lemme know.”

That was it. Even though I knew something was wrong, I thought, I did my part. I reached out. I patted myself on the back. And I went back to my life. And I didn’t reach out to him again.

He killed himself exactly a week later. I didn’t know until today.

In ironies of ironies, I just wrote about depression and suicide in my last entry.

In the past four years, I’ve known six – now seven – people that died; I loved two of them completely. Luciano was the only one that took his own life.

I knew there was something wrong but I didn’t follow-up.

I get it. What could I have done? With him, with Alison? But what’s the point of hearing signal if nothing changes, if it doesn’t make a fucking difference anyway?

His mom posted that he died on Facebook. That’s how I found out. Fucking hell. No parent should have to do anything like that.

Like I said, a mother’s love for her child is like nothing else.

I think the same thing I always think whenever I hear about someone as good and as talented as Luciano dying – doubly so when it’s suicide – why?

For all my cleverness, I’ll never understand why. I suppose I don’t really want to. He was only 29. To me, that’s just a kid. What a fucking waste of a good soul.

Goodnight, Luciano. I’m so sorry you suffered and felt like you had to go.

I hope you found your peace.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Hours: Available 24 hours. Languages: English, Spanish.
1-800-273-8255

Podcast Link
Location: Pier 84, talking about Luciano with Chad
Mood: not good
Music: Didn’t get to sleep that night till the morning came (Spotify)
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personal

The Call of the Void

Marley’s Chains

Co-Worker: I thought you were afraid of heights.
Me: I am. Kinda.
Her: Well, you seem fine.
Me: I hide it well.

I’m afraid of heights.

But not in the way you might imagine. There’s particular type of suicidal thought called the “Call of the Void” where, at a very high height, some people feel an incredible urge to jump, even though they don’t wanna.

It’s part of the original siren’s song.

When I was younger, I avoided open heights on the reg because the urge was so strong. It’s part of why I lived in basements and ground floors for essentially my entire life.

This fella named Rudolf Diesel invented the, well, diesel engine. But, he was so convinced that it would be failure that he killed himself. He jumped from a ship into the sea, unable to resist his siren’s song.

Not soon after he killed himself, his engine became the standard of Europe and of most of the trucks here in the US. If only he ignored the song for just a little bit longer.

I’m not – at all – suicidal right now. But I remember hearing my siren’s song a lot, throughout the years. It was partly Diesel’s story that kept me from jumping.

The idea that, maybe it’ll be somehow  ok if I hold out for just a little bit longer, keeps me going.

I bring this up because I saw a buddy recently and he was in a funk.

Him: It was like the start of a depression. But, not depression.
Me: I call that “bummed.” It’s a feeling of general boredom, sadness, and hopelessness all in one. I feel it too. You have to be careful it doesn’t snowball into a full depression.
Him: Yeah. I feel it.

Funny, I always feel it, like Jacob Marley’s chains.

Link by link, and yard by yard…

Podcast Link
Location: outside, feeling the sun on my face, if just for a bit
Mood: So. Damn. Hot.
Music: It’s like a part of me must love it (Spotify)
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personal

Bodies to get over bodies

I understand

Last week was weird, but not terrible. First of all, there was a new contestant that I’ve been putting off for a while.

Me: I’m sorry, I can’t make this week either. Too much happening.
Her: If you don’t want to meet up with me, just say so.
Me: I think what’s more accurate is that, I want to meet up with you; just not enough to break the inertia.
Her: You’re an asshole.
Me: So, I’ve been told.

Because of everything going on, I also didn’t get a chance to meet up with ML but we did speak on the phone.

Me: You shouldn’t trust anyone, including me.
Her: Why?
Me: For me? Because I use bodies to get over bodies. It’s not a good thing. But, it is what I do.
Her: What if a body doesn’t want to be just a body?
Me: This is America; everyone has the right to say “no.” But you won’t. Cause I’m the best you have.
Her: You’re so arrogant.
Me: To be precise, I’m awful. But, I’m honestly awful, because I’ll tell you the truth, even if you don’t wanna hear it.

She insisted on coming by for a “talk” afterward.

Me: You really don’t need to come here.
Her: It’s fine. (later) I’m guessing you know what I’m going to say but…I don’t think we’re right for each other.
Me: OK, I can see that.
Her: Wait, that’s it? You don’t want to know why?
Me: If you want to tell me, that’s fine. I’ll listen. But, either way, I understand.
Her: (leaning forward) Are you sure, Logan? You understand? (kisses me)
Me: (pulling back) Wait, what just happened here?

I suppose we woulda spoken more except that’s when the cable guy finally showed up and so she left. I think she exited my Venn Diagram or I exited hers.

Although, I suppose, that’s a distinction without a difference.

The following day, Lviv came by with sushi, which we had to eat in the kid’s room because it was the only one with a working air conditioner.

She grossly underestimated how much I eat but that’s neither here nor there.

Her: I don’t think we’re right for each other.
Me: (nodding) I’m hearing that a lot. I understand.

We ended up taking a walk afterward and came back to mine, when she got a phone call.

Her: (The other guy I like) is in the neighborhood.
Me: You should go with him. Or go home. But, you can’t stay here.
Her: Why not?
Me: It’s for the best. He’s more your fella than me. It’s fine. I use people to pass the time, and people use me to pass the time. That’s the deal.

I suppose I’m ok with everyone exiting my Venn Diagram because they were all non-starters for one reason or another.

The next day, I was in a car with a female friend, who ran a red light and almost killed me.

Me: Red light, RED LIGHT, REDLIGHT!!!!
Her: OMG, sorry!
Me: Well, I’m awake now.

After all that, I did end the week with one really sweet conversation, though. You see, I made a last-minute trip to see the boy and we spent the day together before I tucked him into bed.

Him: Be safe, papa. (starting to cry) I’m free tomorrow morning. If you’re free tomorrow morning too, you can call me.
Me: (smiling) I think I’ll be free.
Him: Good night. I love you.
Me: Mommy and I both love you so much, kiddo. Get some sleep.

Podcast Version
Location: my oven-like apartment
Mood: tired
Music: Baby, it’s okay if I’m still the best you had (Spotify)
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