No troubles

Met a girlie last week.

Her: I think I have you beat.
Me: I doubt that.
Her: (deep breath) Well, when I was in high school, my prom date raped me, got me pregnant, and, causa my dad, I got married causa it. Then I had a miscarriage so I was a divorcee before I went to college. He divorced me – can you believe that? Moved here, became a model. Now I throw up at least once a day so I can pay my rent and I hate, hate, hate men of every type. Can you beat that?
Me: (shaking head, pause, lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek)
Her: Why did you do that?
Me: I dunno…thought you deserved it. (she laughed, then frowned and nodded)

Didn’t give her my number or ask for her’s, and paid for her drink, which I never do.

There’s this comedian that says that children are a man’s receipt; children are the canceled check that proves that we were here.

The stuff you hear about happening in China is horrifying, isn’t it? 22,000 to 50,000 dead with 169,000 injured. But it’s actually even worse than that. With the PRC’s One Child Policy, bloodlines and family lose everything. For those that lose their one child and they’re too old to have kids again, they’ve no safety net to take care of them in their old age. Their history ends with them; they’ve no connection to the future. They’ve no child to love. Can’t imagine how that must feel.

My father once said that he loved us all before we were born. That didn’t make sense back then.

I’m getting sued (again). I’m working 12 hour days for negative returns. There’s stuff I don’t tell you about. But really, I got no problems. I got my life, my family, my rum, and the occasional girlie for company.

It’s raining here, but in my head, there’re blue skies. Told you before, yeah? God gave me everything.

Hope you have an amazing weekend.

Location: in my office, looking at the rain and thinking
Mood: grateful
Music: Won’t you miss me?

Mother’s Day 2008

Location: 20 mins ago, making a smoothie in my kitchen
Mood: anxious
Music: I still believe there’s something left for you and me

Another weekend – pretty much like every other. Crashed a few parties, met a few girlies, the usual spring twirl. Spilled a drink on this guy that was too blotto to realize it. Clumsy me.

Told you that I’m terribly clumsy, yeah? Fell down some stairs a few years ago and the left side of my face was crushed in. After some work, the doctors sewed me up. Met up with each of my family individually and they each said, I can’t see it. But a second after my mom walked upstairs, she immediately, and wordlessly, burst into tears . The first thing she said was, I’ll pay for plastic surgery. I laughed.

Mothers know their kids, I think.

When my drama first came down, she called me to tell me to come home. Told her I was too busy. But she demanded that I come. So I rummaged around for the best smile I could find and wore it home. You look great, my dad said.

But my mom took one look at me and burst into tears. Like I said, mothers know their kids.

She told me I could always move back home and that made me laugh. Great, I said, I’ll be a 35 year old man living with his parents. (on the positive side, that’d certainly solve my dating dilemmas right quick).

I’d cook, she said.

That made me laugh even more. So I gave her a kiss and told her that if it came down to it, I’d do that. That seemed to make her happy. She says that she knows I’ll be fine. Mothers know their kids so I hope she’s right.

Did I ever tell you my mom’s a writer? She gets published a lot more than me. It’s from her side of the family; my grandfather’s a writer too. All this comes from her.

Off to see her now.

Easter Weekend 2008

The time where I meet a sexologist


Won’t be posting much this week. Getting audited. I’ve got 24 days to come up with $25,674. I really dunno how much more pressure a man can take.


Friday I saw Hazel and her pretty friend, Helen. We chatted about life and love out in the wilds of Long Island. Then I drove them home. The weekend was off to a good start.

Until the letter above came in Saturday morning. Gio rang me and said we had to go out to a party in the Upper East Side. A party in UES’s like a party in the wilds of Long Island. But I went anyway.

Glad I did. I met a beautiful Sexologist who refused to kiss me.

Her: You have to work for it.
Me: (laughing) Fair enough.

Of course, she was 23. Not a pescatarian and not from NJ, though – Philly. We called it a night at 4AM and she told me to look her up when I was in her part of the world.

Me: If I go, can we get a cheesesteak?
Her: Cheesesteak’s a must.

Rolled out of bed a few hours later and worked non-stop. Paul and Hazel wanted to buy me brunch and Rain wanted to shoot me dough but charity and pity ain’t my thing. Rum’s my thing.

Stopped so I could make church on time at at 16:30; stayed until 19:45. Was walking home when I ran into lovely Jenny. Coffee and conversation? I asked. She nodded and we went to a bookstore where I told her about my life. And she told me about her’s.

She said her dramas seemed small compared to mine. I shook my head. Heartache doesn’t work that that way – there’re no absolute values of pain. Anyway…let’s actually plan to do this again instead of leaving it to chance, I said. She laughed and we left.

Hopping into my whip, I raced across the city see the woman I love most in the world. When I arrived, she beamed and gave me a huge hug.

Her: How was your Easter weekend?
Me: Could have been better, mom. Could have been better.

Gave her a kiss on the cheek and went downstairs where I sat by my lonesome. Took a deep breath, bowed my head, and asked for some grace and mercy. I ate, washed and took some poison to sleep. Could have been better but could have been worse, I guess.

I told you, yeah? There’s always more room for down.

Location: on a new leather couch that’s not mine
Mood: so very tired
Music: pressure pressure pressure AAAAAAAhhh…pressure pressure pressure

The Prodigal

Location: my own apartment for a change
Mood: anxious
Music: You’re like a favorite song to That melody, that melody I love

Was out this weekend with Paul. He got a killer Hong Kong gig lined up so if any of you are from there, drop me a line? He’s the guy I go out with the most so if you do end up showing him around, he’ll fill you in on about 40% of what I leave out in this blog.

Consider it a bargain. Plus he’s the gold-standard of wingmen.

Speaking of being out, a girlie and I got into a theological discussion at a bar recently about the parable of The Lost Son/The Prodigal Son. Yes, I like to interrupt my drinking with religious discussions. Of course, she’s a bisexual pescatarian – although not from NJ.

I always felt that the older brother got screwed. Here, the younger son blows all his coin, lives it up and comes back broke, only to be welcomed by his father. The older brother’s pissed.

He was loyal. He took care of his scratch, his family and here’s this messed up brother who gets welcomed back with open arms. A party no less. How’s that fair? Now I see it like this; the father loved all kids and so:

  • the older son will be rewarded for what’s he’s done;
  • the younger son is forgiven for what he is.

That’s what fathers do. Even when the kid a royal screwup, a father pulls for him anyway.

I think hope that’s what it says. Because I’m the family screwup; the cautionary tale for my extended family. But they’re all too polite to say it to me.

So I sigh, put on my brown shoes, my happy face and wait for the 1 train to roll in. And I hold my breath for the weekend to come again.

Hello, Monday. What do you have for me this week?

Grace and Mercy

Do you know the difference between Grace and Mercy?

Him: The fine is $2,000 a day for non-compliance.
Me: (coughing) You either gotta kill me and sell my body parts a nickel a shot, or we’ve gotta work something out.
Him: (laughing) We don’t have a department for that type of collection. (pause) I can give you two more days. Can you be in compliance by then?
Me: (nodding) Hell or high water.

Do y’know the difference between Grace and Mercy? They’re two sides of the same coin.

  • Grace is when you get the good things you don’t deserve.
  • Mercy is when you don’t get the bad things you do deserve.

Been posting less these days – cause I’ve never been into ranty posts. I did call my brother about two days ago, though. Guess something in my voice worried him. Or maybe mom told him about my shaking. Dunno.

Today I was running around all morning, having one unpleasant meeting after another, before I finally made it to my office.

And there sat my brother.

He dropped everything and took the 7AM flight outta Florida. I was in the hood, thought I’d see you, he joked. Then he looked down for a moment and asked, You ok?

Outside, my three employees were working, my partner was in her office, and I had clients waiting. I said it before, the words that’ll make a grown man cry are, I’m on my way. Just showing up’s even better.

But a boss weeping in his office doesn’t do anyone any good. So instead, I coughed, cleared my throat, frowned and nodded. He got it.

Later that night he and his friend Kathy had dinner with my folks, laughed, and sang about two American kids growing up in this heartland on the road home.

Today I got mercy from a total stranger and grace from my earliest memory.

Yes, I said honestly, I’m ok, now.

Location: 22:00 yest, Rego Park
Mood: hopeful
Music: life goes on Long after the thrill of livin is gone

One point five

Location: Queens, locked outta my office
Mood: irritated at myself
Music: The more you ignore me, the closer I get

Painting by Constellajen whom I met online
Me: Mom, don’t cry, my hands always shake.
Her: But they’re not supposed to…

Mom’s terribly worried about me these days. I tell her not to be and yet – well, mothers are as they are.

When she first came here, my mom tied a 1.5 minute egg timer to the phone. Once a month, she would call her mom and they would talk for exactly 1.5 minutes. No matter what, they got off the phone after 1.5 minutes. It’s all they could afford. Her mom worried about her too. She was 26?

Can you imagine?

Here’s the thing: unless you know me in RL, you and I most likely wouldn’t be anything back in those days. What a world we live in, where communication is a commodity. Text, email, fax, blogs – we can all connect.

Veijukka asked who gives me pep talks, I don’t really need them. Because I’m so much in my own head all the time. Sometimes, though, I could use a quiet connection.

Thanks for listening this week. It’s been rough.

I’ll see if I can’t get slapped again by another girl this weekend to keep y’all entertained.

Life – Real and otherwise

Location: 21:00 yest, turning onto Northern Blvd.
Mood: sick
Music: I’ve fallen from my nest so high above Help me fly I am too afraid try

So either my parents are reading my blog, someone’s telling them about it, or they’re eerily perceptive. I’ve been crashing with them when I get out past 21:30.

Him: Sit down, I wanna write you something. (writes) This is from Mencius. Before Life decides to give greatness onto someone, she’ll test them first – she’ll make them suffer. It’s suffering that gives you depth and wisdom.
Me: Thanks but…why’re you telling me this now?

Him: (shrugging) You got home so late. I thought you should know.

Her: Do you want some rum?

Me: (shocked) What?

Her: I like rum. I’ve got the spiced kind for some rum cakes and one from Brazil. Do you like rum?

Me: (long pause) A little.

Really, really weird.


I wonder if you and I’d get along in real life.

I’m told I’m funny and smell nice in RL; I’m also told I get moody right quick and disappear for months – years, sometimes. But I’d call or write – or at least wonder how you were. Honest.

It’s probably better you just come to this blog and find out what I’m up to, shug, and go, Eh, about the same.

Speaking of the same, I’m sick again. Send soup?

Bit Player

Location: 20:00 yest, leaving office hating life
Mood: indescribable
Music: On silver stars I wish and wish and wish

Talking with my mom about the situation.

Her: Are you worried?
Me: (nodding) Yes.
Her: Don’t be scared. Are you scared?
Me: (nodding) Yes.
Her: But you’re gonna be alright, right?
Me: (lying) Yes.
Her: (satisfied) God will take care of you.

Here’s my fear. What if I’m the bit player?

Take the story of Job. The story is that he suffered, but through his suffering, he lived the remainder of his life in happiness. So it worked out, in the end, somehow for him.

But one of the reasons he suffered was because his kids all died. They were the bit players in Job’s story. It didn’t work out for them at all. We don’t even know their names or anything about them. Nothing.

Maybe my rotten luck is just for the benefit of some greater thing. I dunno. I’m going to the doctor for the fifth time tomorrow for something I’ve not mentioned yet because…my life’s already so insane.

I keep wondering if it’s the lions’ turn to win.

The worst part of it all is that my mom’s so worried already. I can’t tell you how that makes me feel.


Location: in front of the tube, with a Coors Light
Mood: better
Music: Hielten sich fuer schlaue Leute

Hey, for everyone that volunteered for my project, apologies I’ve been out of touch. Things are nuts. I’ll follow up soon, gimme a bit.


Up and out at 7AM. Worry, worry, super scurry. Finally stopped at 9PM. Hate, hate, hate. Tired. Too tired to go home so I went to see the rents. Ate lunch at 9:30PM.

Was beat but my dad said, Let’s watch a little more of The War. So tired but I said, OK. It’s not like I sleep.

In the middle of part three, where the Marines were at Tarawa, he asked me to pause it. He said, “Y’know why I came here? To America? Because if I was born just 10 years earlier, I would have had to kill Americans. I would’ve had to hurt this country I love so much. But I was lucky. I just missed all that. I wanted to go to America. I said I would be brave because I was lucky.”

I don’t know why but that made total sense to me. It made my day slightly less craptastic.

Midnight. Guess it’s time for dinner.

Secret Project II

Location: 22:30, yest., hitting something on 72nd
Mood: better
Music: I don’t care…As long are you’re here

A brief break from Bachelor Cooking, just to keep you on your toes. Thanx to Seemore for putting our last vid up on her cooking page; to ouijacat for sending me the above and prodigallyyours for her nice words – I was feeling craptastic because I spoke to my grandmother recently.

Me: Something’s come up. I can’t come.

Her: It’s been almost five years. (long silence) You promised.

Me: I know, (clearing throat) I know.

I felt murderous but Johnny’s traveling and Bryson’s busy so I spent Saturday working with my coach, Koshen. I also just walked in from fencing. Y’ever just wanna break stuff?

Man, I wanna break stuff.


Seemore reminded me that I’ve got a project in my head. Remember the last insomnia driven project I had? It turned out well, I thought, and now I need volunteers again. Involves drinking so drinkers and foodies welcome.

More practical than art. If you wanna help, shoot me an email: logan607 at hotmail.