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Logan’s 50: Five of my best life tips, Pt. 2

2023 - This is me on Saturday during our shoot, two days before I'm 50.

Just the particulars

Me: What if one day you get new glasses and realize how old I am?
Firecracker: I don’t think so. Maybe I’m just more into antiques than I thought I was.

1973 – 0 Years old

4. You can reinvent yourself again and again

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote Alison’s favorite book, The Great Gatsby; I loved that girl as much as I hated that book.

Fitzgerald had a famous quote that went, There are no second acts in American lives, which is about as wrong as someone can possibly be.

It’s onea those things that have the air of truth to it but no actual truth to it at all.

When I was in college, I spoke four languages and was certain that I’d end up working for the Foreign Service.

Then I changed my mind and wanted to be a writer – ended up writing for several national publications including one of the first major articles on Windows NT versus Novell for Computer Shopper, and some travel articles for the New York Sun.

While doing this, I worked in the club industry and made a name for myself, which a few people still recognize me for.

1983 – 10 Years Old (and starting to get fat, hoo-boy, did I get even bigger)

Then I decided I wanted to build networks and ended up building a 100-seat computer network for a Fortune 600 company on Madison Avenue.

Then I went to law school to become a lawyer. Then I went to CNET and became their first International Sale Manager. Then I went back to being a lawyer.

Then I bought my building with some friends and became a building manager.

Then I got another degree and became one of only 350 people in the New York State with that degree while still working on my legal career. Somehow found myself lecturing on the law all over including Europe and New York. Even won an award.

I also started teaching kali on the sly just a block from my pad and started up a private jet company.

After Alison got sick, I gave up everything and became a cancer researcher, a caretaker, and then a father.

Somehow, in my late 40s, I also became a YouTuber and a gym owner.

Look, my point is that Fitzgerald was fulla shit.

You can be anything you want to be. You get to decide and no one else does.

I decided at 14 that I didn’t wanna be fat so I stopped being fat. It was as simple and as difficult as that.

Few things in life are actually difficult; the most difficult thing you’ll ever do is to decide to do something.

Everything else after that decision are just the particulars.

1993 – 20 Years old – My brother edited out the people next to me in this pic – in fact, he did all these pics. He’s crazy talented, that boy.

5. You’re the average of the five people you hang out with the most

This is dangerous – I speak from both personal experience and as a new father.

My greatest fear is that kid’ll meet some knuckleheads that get him into trouble.

Look, you choose your friends because they mirror some quality you have or desire. I don’t have any close friends that are, say, massive gamblers, because I’m not a massive gambler.

You don’t get to chose your family but you do get to choose your tribe. So, if the people that you hang out with are a buncha people that cheat on their partners alla time, you’re gonna become someone that chats on your partner.

If you’re the most successful person in your group, this is probably a bad thing, too. You need a better group.

This is one major reason why I didn’t want to continue some romantic relationships I was involved in; because, while they were usually fine, their friends weren’t the type of friends I wanted in my life.

Or my kid’s life.

Him: (a long time ago) I heard you two broke up, I’m sorry.
Me: It’s fine. There’s no tragedy that doesn’t have some positive bonus and the bonus here is that I literally never have to pretend to enjoy hanging out with her lame friends again.

This is why I’ve cut so many people outta my life – because I want to be around people that point me in the direction I want to go.

Speaking of bonuses, here’s a bonus tip.

2003 – 30 years old

Bonus: Sometimes, Logan, you gotta say, “Fuck it, I’m out.”

If you are the average of the five people you hang out with the most, then I’m grateful that Bryson’s one of my oldest and dearest friends – for a whole host of reasons.

He’s dangerous; he boxed with Dolph Lundgren, is a brown belt in BJJ under Fabio Clemete, is a black belt in shorin ryu karate, and is also a skilled Japanese fencer.

But, he’s also a great father and cook, married to a beautiful doctor, and helped build a buncha businesses that you’ve probably visited.

Most importantly, though, he’s a great human being. He’s the kinda guy I wanna be, so I try to hang out with him whenever I can.

And I want the boy to hang out with him too.

Years ago, I visited him and his then girlfriend (now wife) out in San Francisco and I was probably depressed when I met them.

I was struggling with whether or not to quit my job and also leave the girl I was seeing.

For the former, it was a great job but I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue being involved with it. The latter? Well, kinda the same thing.

I had all the mixed feelings of duty, loyalty, guilt, etc.

Him, his wife, their roomie, and I, somehow ended up on a boat in the middle of a lake where we got into a water gun fight with some group of people on another boat.

I got onto that boat confused and depressed and left it feeling..pretty good.

And it was because I started telling him alla these issues I had with the girl and that job and he listened, politely, and then simply said, Sometimes, Logan, you gotta say, “Fuck it.”

I added on the “I’m out” over the years.

The number of times I’ve said, Fuck it, I’m out, since that day has gotta be at least in the hundreds, if not thousands.

It’s an incredibly powerful statement and one that you can whip out at any time, in any situation.

Bad job? Bad relationship? Bad habits?

Fuck it, I’m out, is a perfect answer that leads directly to Tip 4, which is reinventing yourself.

But be careful, because it is so powerful. Use it with caution.

2013 – 40 years old

Once told you about this snippet of a Batman cartoon I watched when I was younger.

In it, a villain was trying to convince Bruce Wayne that Bruce was mad but Bruce/Batman fought back and won.

When his friend asked Bruce why he was so sure that he (Bruce) wasn’t crazy, he answered simply that the voices called him “Bruce.”

But that’s not what he called himself.

I’ve been many things I’ve been proud of. I think that, by the time you read this, Scenic Fights will either be at exactly 400,000 subscribers or close to it.

And I’ve got some big things happening in my life that I may or may not tell you about in the future.

But none of that matters, really. In my head, I’m the kid’s father. Full-stop.

If that ends up being the only thing that I’m known for, I’m ok with that.

Substitute teacher: And you are?
Me: (pointing at the kid) His father.
Her: (brightly) Oh! He’s a wonderful child! When I said that I was a substitute, he came up to me afterward and said that if I forgot anyone’s name, to ask him because he would tell me. He was my helper all day.
Me: (laughing) That’s awesome.
Her: He’s awesome!
Me: You’re not wrong, lady. You’re not wrong. (sighing) He takes after his mom.
Her: You two are lucky.
Me: (nodding) Yeah. Lucky us.

I’ve been alive for exactly 18,250 days.

I’ve only got 8,250 days left, if I’m…lucky.

Hopefully, I’ll keep writing and you’ll keep reading, yeah?

2023 – This is me on Saturday during our shoot, two days before I’m 50.

Location: earlier today, buying a $12 ice cream cone on Amsterdam for my favourite tiny human
Mood: ambitious
Music: Don’t wait, don’t hesitate, now. Don’t stop and watch the clock (Spotify)
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Logan’s 50: Five of my best life tips, Pt. 1

I like to kick, stretch, and kick!

Today is the oldest I’ve ever been.

That’s a joke, of course. But I did just turn 50 this past week, so it’s not quite as funny as it’s been in the past.

The pic above is of me when I was a few days old.

Man, it’s a kick in the head to get my mind around that I was once that infant in the picture above some 50 years ago.

Realize that I probably don’t look 50 to you, which is fine because I don’t look 50 to me.

In fact, when I think of 50, I think of Molly Shannon’s Sally O’Malley (who’s actually 58 in the clip below):

It’s funny because a lotta my friends tell me that they use me as an example of what 50 might be like for them.

This is my friend Hawk, who – like a lotta my friends – only texts me on my bday, but that’s fine, I’m always thrilled to hear from them.

Spent a lotta time wondering what I would write about to commemorate this momentous occasion and the best thing I could come up with was the five concepts that changed my life the most.

1. Invest in the S&P 500

One of my summer jobs in college was helping two accountants do paperwork for a company called Ziff-Davis, where I ended up working at after college. They asked me to come in on the weekend and said they’d buy lunch. As a poor college kid, that was enough, so I did.

While I was there, we got to talking about investing and they told me to just dump every spare cent I ever made into the S&P 500.

Basically, “S&P” is “Standard and Poor,” think of them like the New York Times, except they only report about companies. And one thing they do is list the 500 biggest companies – in terms of how much they’re worth –  at any given time.

When, say, Company 498 becomes Company 502, it’s kicked out, and some other company becomes 498.

A fella named John Bogle figured out that if you invested money evenly into each of the 500 companies, you’d end up making about 11.8% annually.

If you invested $1,000 a year for 50 years, you woulda “spent” $50,000 but you would end up with $2,505,311.97, or $2,455,311.97 profit.

There are hundreds of funds that track the S&P 500 for little or no money. 

Started doing that 30 years ago, when I was 20. My life woulda been radically different if I never took that weekend gig. 

Think they got me turkey club both days.

In any case, you should probably start investing ASAP, if you haven’t done it yet.

2. Do pushups – or something – every morning

I was a pretty fat kid from 10 to 14 – when I was 14, I was 5 foot 3 inches and 185 pounds with a 44-inch waist.

I went on a fast for four months – legit stopped eating, cold – and dropped down to 120 pounds and a 28-inch waist.

I’m now 50 years old with a 28-inch waist.

It all started when I stopped eating completely to reset my brain and started working out. When I first did it, I could barely do two pushups.

By the time I was 18, I was doing 100 pushups without issue. I just banged out 79 pushups in 60 seconds a few weeks ago.

Look, I don’t really do pushups anymore because I kept needing more. I’m in the gym like 10 hours a week these days.

You don’t gotta do pushups, you can do situps, you can run, you can walk for 30 minutes. Whatever.

But you gotta do something.

Otherwise, you’ll definitely look your age.

3. Learn to cook and stop eating stuff made by machines

OK, I admit that I eat quite a lotta things made by machines, like protein bars and stuff.

But I make sure that at least three out of every four meals I eat, I’ve made most of it myself.

This way, you know what you’re putting into your body.

When I was growing up, my main source of cooking knowledge was a fella called The Frugal Gourmet – this is the very video I saw to learn how to make chili.

But he turned out to be a pedophile – really – so alla his stuff disappeared and I turned to Alton Brown’s Good Eats and America’s Test Kitchen.

As an aside, the bulk of my diet is beans and nuts, mainly peanut butter, honestly.

I found out that they sold five-pound jars of peanut butter but I’m more than half-way though one jar and it’s only been less than two weeks.

So, I bought another jar.

But that’s really neither here nor there…

I still have two more things to tell you, but I’ll do that tomorrow because it’s getting late and I don’t wanna mess up my sleep schedule any more than it already is.

And because it’s never too late to be better.

I’m trying to be better, even now.

We should all try to be better than we were yesterday.

Man, I could go for a turkey club right now…

Location: same place I’ve been for the past 18,250 days, here in NYC
Mood: hopeful
Music: I’m still me, who I was, who I’ve been, who I’ll always be
Since I was young (Spotify)
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Having all the parts

On the regular

The last few people I’ve dated, including the Firecracker, have been on the shorter side, which I find amusing.

Me: Man, you’re tiny. You’re like half a person.
Her: No, I’m not! I’m a whole person – I have all the parts.

I have most of my parts, but I’ve been worried about how some of them have been functioning lately – mainly my eyes.

My eyesight has been getting progressively worse since I got kicked in the head the night I covered class.

Rang up the doc that I saw a few weeks back and he told me to stop by his office again this past weekend.

One thing that I really like about him is that he runs a tight ship. Within 30 minutes of my arriving he, was already wrapping up the visit.

Him: Everything looks good, your retina is solid, and you just have a touch of cataracts.
Me: So why does everything look blurry?
Him: Ah, well, you’re developing monovision. That’s when one eye sees distance and one eye sees up close. Your right eye is now essentially for reading while your left eye is for seeing things far away.
Me: Whoa, that’s wild. Because I got kicked in the head?
Him: (nodding) But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Most people have to have surgery to get that, but you now have it naturally. I have it naturally myself and it’s why I don’t need glasses.

All-in-all, it was a relief.

It’s still weird to walk around and have things so blurry alla time. But he says that I have to practice looking at things far away with my right eye and reading with my left eye.

How hard can that be?

One thing that I found interesting was that, when I first met the doctor, I barely knew the Firecracker.

Now, I’d spent the last two months seeing/chatting with her on the regular.

Funny how life works.

Location: a small room, watching her eat an apple pie in her bed
Mood: wondering if I should eat an apple pie in my bed
Music: I’ve lost more than a heart could take (Spotify)
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Mortise locks

Locked outta the gym

Watching either my BJJ or kali instructor do their thing is always something impressive. It’s like they can read your mind and know what you’re going to do before you do.

It really just comes with experience and knowing what’s possible versus what’s probable. The longer you do something, the more you see what the likely outcomes to things are.

I’ve run my building for decades now. Think I first told you about it some 16 years ago but, really, I’ve been managing buildings with my dad since the 90s. Did my first big deal when I was a senior in high school.

Kinda like Trump and his dad but without the greed, lying, and closeted racism.

Because of that, I’ve seen the same mistakes happen time and time again.

One thing I’ve had the worst luck with is a specialized lock called a mortise lock. Up until recently – I’m guessing due to things AirBnB and people wanting higher-end stuff – it wasn’t very common here in the US but is super common in Europe.

Except in NYC where almost every building has these goddamn things.

They’re elegant but very confusing to people that have never used one before. Because one single lock with one single key controls three different types of locking mechanisms on a door; a single mortise locks:

      1. the knob itself
      2. a deadbolt built into the lock, and
      3. the latching lock.

To make things even more complicated, there’s an internal toggle that switches on the knob lock (number 4 in the diagram below). So, let’s just say that there are three “locks” in this single lock.

They’re mechanically beautiful and like most beautiful things, troublesome.

(c) Bella Maximum Security

It’s hard to explain but if you’re ever in NYC, just go to any old building and check out the locks. Chances are good, it’s a mortice lock.

Anywho, when Chad and I opened up the gym, I knew that this lock was gonna cause us problems.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had to return to NYC after being in NJ with Alison or the reporter (who also lived in NJ) because someone got locked out due to one of the three locking systems of the mortise lock locking a tenant outta their pad.

So, I hooked up this very elegant wifi enabled lock to bypass the mortise lock entirely in the gym with the kicker being that we could unlock the lock anywhere in the world.

But the students kept yanking at the wifi lock, because it’s oddly shaped and some people thought it was a handle, breaking it.

Super frustrating.

Chad was mindful of costs, which I understand, and didn’t wanna replace the wifi lock and I was too busy to fight him on the matter.

Unfortunately, he got COVID earlier this week so people had to cover class. That part was fine. The issue arose when one of our buddies, Thundercat was helping around in the gym and locked all three of the locking mechanisms on the mortise and also locked the deadbolt we had the wifi lock attached to.

Obviously, he was trying to be helpful so it’s not like he did anything wrong per se. But since we never used the mortise, no one had a key for it.

Long story short, about 10 people, including my kali instructor, were standing outside for over an hour waiting for Chad – who was still sick with COVID and had to schlepp all the way from his warm bed – to come by with the one key necessary to open the lock. Poor guy.

He went up alone because he had COVID, and didn’t realize how the lock worked – again, not his fault either, look at that damn thing, hence my wanting to bypass it altogether with the tech solution – and told everyone to go home before I had a chance to say anything.

I wanted to take a look and expected that Thundercat broke the key in the lock because Chad couldn’t get it open but it turns out that it was just the trickiness of the lock itself.

By the time I opened the gym up, several people already left.

Honestly, I feel that I shoulda insisted on replacing the tech lock and sealing off the toggle of the mortise, which I finally did with athletic tape.

But it’s so hard to explain and I always figure it’s best to just let people figure things out for themselves.

Like I said, I’m upgrading my OS. I’m trying to focus on just making sure I’m working ok before I try to fix anything or anyone else.

Me: Put on your long socks.
Him: I don’t wanna.
Me: You gotta trust me on this, kid.
Him: I don’t wanna!
Me: [In my head: It’s raining. Which means you gotta wear your boots. If you wear your short socks, they’ll get pulled down in your boots, which means that you’ll keep stopping every five minutes to fix them, meaning we’ll be late for school] Hokay. But we’re not stopping for any reason.

He wears long socks when it rains now.

Location: yesterday night, telling people to not die on 18th Street
Mood: super tired
Music: You’re a good soldier, choosing your battles Tsamina mina, eh, eh Waka waka, eh, eh Tsamina mina zangalewa (Spotify)
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Upgrading my OS

I like it when we play 1950

Her: I’m sorry about your wife.
Me: So am I. All my gods look like her.
Her: What does that mean?
Me: Nuthin. (brightening) Let’s play a game…

It’s the first day of 2023.

I’m writing this on a computer that I first built when Alison was still alive and upgraded repeatedly, such that there’s nuthin left of the original computer, just like I talked about in my Ship of Theseus.

One thing that I did after the hack was to upgrade the operating system of that computer from Windows 10 to Windows 11, something I did with great reluctance.

Still working through the pros and cons of that, but I note that I went through Windows 7, 8, 8.1, and 10 on this machine before finally arriving here.

Just like the philosophical exercise of the Ship of Theseus, the question remains if there’s anything left of the original computer that I originally built all those years ago.

Speaking of philsophy, this blog has, more than anything, been my own personal repository of how I see the world, kinda like Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations.

Suppose my operating system has always been based on German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who was introduced to me in my 20s by the Devil.

One of my earliest blog entries spoke about a quote that served me well my entire life: With increased intelligence comes increased capacity for pain.

When Alison, my dad, and another relative got sick – all at the same time – and I essentially gave up my career(s) to try (and fail) to save them, then lost Gradgirl and Mouse, I think that the truth of that statement is why I’m here writing you now.

Schopenhauer’s worldview was that life is, at its core, suffering.

Life swings like a pendulum backward and forward between pain and boredom. – Arthur Schopenhauer

At no point in this blog – through all the highs and lows – did my baseline OS change; it was always run on some variant of Schopenhauer.

And you know my feeling about those who’s worldview never changes. I can’t be a hypocrite.

All this, despite the fact that some baseline beliefs of his contradicted directly with my own heart’s desire.

For example, I’ve always wanted family and family, by definition, requires children. Yet Schopenhauer, like my billionaire buddy, feels that “Bearing children into this world is like carrying wood into a burning house.”

Schopenhauer, as the base operating system of my life, was ill-equipped to deal with the overwhelming sadness and despair of it all, for various reasons.

For example, Schopenhauer’s world view of Wille zum Leben respected love like one respects a dangerous animal, but it doesn’t deal with love, which I both respect and submit to.

To Schopenhauer, love is an illogical means to an important end: The extension of our very species.

I understand that but, having loved and lost in the profound ways I have, I think it’s an idealized version of what humans are actually capable of.

While it’d be nice to live a life purely pragmatically, the way humans are designed, it’s not practical. Because emotions exist and aren’t going away.

I need an OS that reflects that reality.

The Devil’s gone from my life and, while I appreciate all that he’s shown me in the world, the OS he helped build for me doesn’t work with who I am now, especially given all that’s happened.

Moreover, I want more for my son. Assuming that Schopenhauer was correct, and our universe is only what we experience through our mental facilities – our operating system – then I plan on giving my son the best one I can.

After close to 30 years of working on myself, I think that answer lies in Stoicism. Not “stoicism” with a lower-case “s,” rather the full philosophy of Zeno, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca.

The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts. – Marcus Aurelius

I don’t think, at all, that Schopenhauer was wrong, or that the last three decades of my life were wasted. Rather, I think that it’s served its purpose for what I needed for that time and that version of me. Now, I have a new purpose – the boy – and that requires a new way of thinking.

We suffer more often in imagination than in reality. – Seneca

It’s still early yet in all this. Just like it’s early in the new year.

But I spent the last month reexamining my life and need to discard the things that aren’t working for me anymore, if they ever did, and find things that do work.

Don’t think you’ll notice any drastic changes here, per se. Just little things for myself as I try to give myself and – by extension, the boy – the tools I’ll need to be the best version of myself.

Man conquers the world by conquering himself. – Zeno

I’m still me, but I wonder how much of who and what I am/was is still there or if I’m a completely new being altogether, just like this computer I type alla this out on.

On that note, let’s start the new year off with a song.

This is by a young woman named King Princess that my brother introduced to me a little while ago.

Can’t put my finger on it, but it always makes me dream that my life might be better than it is.

Maybe it’s the line that goes, “I will keep on waiting for your love,” which goes directly against Schopenhauer’s distant respect of the concept of love.

Because love’s not only something I respect, but also something I want – to both give and receive – so it’s worthy of patience and time.

Even if it never comes my way again.

Here’s to 2023 and changing for the better.

Her: (surprised) Why did you do that?
Me: (shrugging) Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Her: (laughing) OK. (pause) You can do it again.

Location: in the first hours of 2023, on W 97, wondering if we should sell our apartments and move to NJ
Mood: new(ish)
Music: I love it when you try to save me
 (Spotify)
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Not Looking for Mrs. Goodbar

Altogether Different

Me: [In all the years I’ve lived on the UWS] I’ve also never been to Emerald Inn if you wanna try an Irish pub. They have burgers and wings.
Her: Done.

ABFF and I haven’t been able to meet up with the kiddos because of scheduling issues but we managed to toss together an impromptu dinner with everyone the other day.

For something new, I suggested this Irish pub that I musta walked by a million times.

Just never went in so I brought it up. She was game.

While I was getting the kid ready to head out, though, it occurred to me that there was a reason I never went in.

Like I said, my memory’s been awful lately but as we headed down there, I remembered why I never went.

In 1977, the Emerald Inn was called W.M. Tweeds over at 250 West 72nd Street.

That year, a 28-year-old schoolteacher named Roseann Quinn – who lived across the street at 253 West 72nd Street – was out trying to pick up a fella for the night.

It was the 70s and she was into things like one-night stands, despite her being beaten and assaulted previously.

On the night of January 1st, 1977 that she met a fella named John Wayne Wilson (not kidding) whose wife was away so he went home with Quinn and, evidently, couldn’t perform.

When Roseann asked him to leave because of this, he evidently became incensed and grabbed a kitchen knife – her kitchen knife – and stabbed her a total of 18 times.

He then fled to Florida to his wife. Roseann’s body wasn’t found until two days later.

I always joke that I don’t know why all women aren’t lesbians because we men are, admittedly, a pretty awful lot.

Girl with Yellow Eyes: It just goes to show, attraction isn’t a choice.
Me: That’s my line!
Her: (rolling eyes) You don’t own that, Logan. But yeah, dating’s much worse for women. We’re all fighting over that one non-asshole in NY.
Me: (nodding) I’ll let you know if I meet him.

Suppose I’m only half joking.

Dunno why, but stories like these are morbidly fascinating to me because New York – compared to places like Berlin (826 years old) or Beijing (978 years old) – is barely an adolescent at 399 years old.

Yet New York City’s fulla these types of sordid and interesting stories.

You’d walk by the Emerald Inn or 253 W 72nd Street a million times and never think of the dark things that happened there.

And Quinn’s building is as boring and grey – literally and figuratively – as can be, yet it was once the scene of such horror.

Plus, this all happened just 45 years ago; imagine living in a place like Beijing that’s well over twice as old as NYC?

Conversely, I often wonder the same about the people I meet.

Maybe they were once something altogether different than they are now – perhaps the mild-mannered businessman next door was once a mob logistician.

Who knows?

Then again, I’m altogether different than I once was.

I mentioned to the ABFF that Quinn’s story was made into a bestselling novel called Looking for Mr. Goodbar, and later a film starring Diane Keaton and Richard Gere.

While the actual story about Roseann Quinn is tragic, the movie is tragic in slightly different ways, because in it, Keaton’s character had finally decided to change the trajectory of her life when it was cut short.

Things like that bother me for a multitude of reasons – the what ifs – but I suppose that’s an entry for another time.

 

In any case, the darkness of the place’s history notwithstanding, the kids had a really fun time there. Plus, they have some the best fish and chips I’ve had in the city.

Him: Can we have quarters for the jukebox?!
Me: Fiiine.

I suppose if you dig deep enough anywhere, you’re bound to uncover something horrifically evil.

Probably more often than you can find some good fish and chips, anywho.

Her: This place must be great during St. Patrick’s Day.
Me: You gotta figure…

Location: earlier tonight, being told that Bloomberg news wants to interview me for a legal issue.
Mood: flattered
Music: Tragedy, private, comfort of strangers (Spotify)
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Kintsugi: The tenacity of the broken

Daderot, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Nothing gold seems to stay

Read yesterday that scientists discovered that a humpback whale named Moon that they’ve been tracking for a decade had broken her spine.

For 10 years, they followed her from Canada to Hawaii – 3,000 miles – something she had to do for food and to teach her calf how to do the same.

Sometime recently, a ship hit her and broke her spine, dooming her.

There’s no question she’ll die, it’s just how long she’ll survive in excruciating pain.

But she longs to live. So, she swam the same path she always swam – except upside down and in pain and a broken tail.

She swam 3,000 miles doing the breaststroke.

Look how broken she is, yet I find her beautiful, nonetheless. I’ve always found people and things that struggle and scuffle against their fate, beautiful.

She’s going to die and I wonder if she knows.

I’ve long said that females seem stronger than males in many regards.

The stories I’ve read about Moon aren’t clear if she made this last trip with her calf or not but I wouldn’t be surprised.

As I said before – and quoting Agatha Christie – A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things, and crushes down, remorselessly, all that stands in its path.

It dares all things.

Including swimming upside-down for 3,000 miles with a broken back and tail.

Have you ever heard of kintsugi?

It the Japanese art of repairing broken things with melted gold.

Essentially things like pottery bowls are put back together with melted gold and the result is something beautiful despite its scars.

I always thought Alison was so beautiful, despite all she’d gone through.

There’s something beautiful about tenacity, especially when it’s driven by love.

Me: They thought I was 35.
Him: Were they white? It doesn’t count unless they were Asian.
Me: (laughing) All three were Asian.

I feel myself retreating into my head again. But, I’m remembering things, so I’m not alone.

For better or worse.

My therapist thinks I’ve been making great strides in putting this mess that is my head back together again but I’m not sure.

The rage is better – all the hours at the gym seem to help with that – but I look at my face and don’t recognize myself a lot. And I’m tired.

Three different people from my gym thought I was 35 when I’m really pushing 50. Actually, one guy thought a woman there was the oldest person in the room when I was actually 17 years older than her.

But I wonder what I’d look like without all the trauma from 2014 to, well, today.

I feel those years aged me more than pretty much anything.

This is one of the few good pics I have of me from 2014, with PerfectCircles, at my fave dive bar.

I’m 41 in it but I usually got that I was in my 20s.

And this one is when I actually turned 41.

Me with Abe

This is me with my buddy a few weeks later:
Logan Lo and a buddy on the Staten Island ferry

I’m flattered that people think I look so young but that vain, shallow part of me – which, granted, is pretty sizable – wonders how much younger I woulda looked like without all that fucking shit we went through.

Which, of course, is hopelessly stupid and banal considering all that I’ve lost.

But it’s just bonus pain to my grief.

I feel that if Alison were still alive, she’d think that I look great, despite the grey and the scars, both visible and invisible.

Love is blind, after all.

I wonder if I’ll ever meet anyone that thinks I’m great the way she did.

Or am I just so obviously and irreparably broken inside and out, without her or anything else gold to mend me?

It’s an old saying but it weighs at me, that nothing gold seems to stay.

And we’re all on our doomed journeys, some shorter and more tragic than others.

I suppose that, like Moon, there’s not much to do but keep going until the end.

Her: What’s going on?
Me: Well, pour me a drink, darling, and I’ll tell you. But you won’t enjoy the story.
Her: How does it end?
Me: (shrugging) Like most true stories, love: In tears.

Location: earlier today, watching the boy sing Jingle Bells and wishing everything was different
Mood: complex
Music: I’m broken but, I’m ready to feel better. Glue me back together? (Spotify)
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Olga of Kyiv

Forgetting history

Me: …like Olga of Kyiv.
Her: (laughing) You know about her? Why?
Me: (shrugging) I’m always drawn to stories about people that go to extreme lengths for the people they love.

Don’t think I ever told you, but Lviv had yellow green eyes – they were green in the edges but yellow in the middle.

Was always fascinated by that. Recently met another woman from her hometown with the same coloured eyes.

Must be something in the water.

If you’ve never heard of Olga of Kyiv, you should know that she’s one of the baddest-assed women people that ever lived.

She was married to Prince Igor I of Kyiv who was the leader of a tribe called the Kievan Rus’, which ultimately became modern day Ukraine.

In any case, Igor teamed up with another, neighboring, tribe called the Drevlians against the Byzantine Empire. Or, at least, Igor’s dad did.

But once Igor’s dad died, the Drevlians figured it’d be cheaper to kill Igor and take over the Kievan Rus’ than pay them a tribute. So, they did (there’s a lot more to this but you get the point). They figured that Igor’s son was only three so he wouldn’t be much trouble.

It’s doubtful they gave even a moment’s thought about Olga, Igor’s now widowed wife.

Big mistake.

The Drevlians wanted to make their treachery legit and proposed that Olga marry her husband’s murderer, Prince Mal.

Holy disrespect, amIrite?

Olga thought so too.

So, she told them that, not only was she down, she was flattered. Flattered to the point that she told them that she’d honor them by having her men carry the ambassadors’ boat with the ambassadors in them.

Well, they thought this was grand and agreed. Sure enough, when they arrived, alla these men were there to greet them and carried them all – the entire ship – into the kingdom.

There, Olga had them dropped – the boat with alla the men on it – into a ditch and had them buried alive.

Reportedly, she watched alla this and said, “I hope you find this honor to your tastes.”

Because the Drevlians back home didn’t know about this, she sent word to them that they should send “their distinguished men to her in Kiev, so that she might go to their Prince with due honor.”

So, the Drevlians gathered up their very best and sent them to Kiev.

When they arrived, she asked that they all bathe before them met up with her, which they agreed to do.

While they did so, she locked all the doors and set the entire bathhouse on fire, essentially turning them into soup.

But she saved the best for last; since this was before Twitter, she sent a third message to the unsuspecting Drevlians, asking them to “prepare great quantities of mead in the city where you killed my husband, that I may weep over his grave and hold a funeral feast for him.”

And they did that, and she went and cried at where her lover died. After she was done crying, and the Drevlians were sufficiently drunk, she had her men slaughter all five thousand of them.

Then she went back to Kyiv and raised her army to attack what was left of the Drevlians. By then, the Drevlians were so terrified that they sealed themselves up in their cities. So, Olga told them she would spare them if they sent her “three pigeons…and three sparrows from each house.”

The Drevlians were like, Shit, done and did exactly that, sending her the birds they kept as pets.

But Olga told her men to attach a small piece of burning sulfur cloth to every bird, each of which flew back to their respective homes in terror, setting every single house in the city on fire.

As the people fled, Olga and her men waited for them and killed some and enslaved others, wiping out the Drevlians from history, save for this blog entry that no one but my mom reads.

Why this story?

Well, when Putin announced that he would essentially raise a new army to try and complete a takeover or Ukraine now, I thought of it and wonder if he fully realizes who and what he’s fucking with.

That’s the problem with history, no one learns.

Putin didn’t win the first time around with his professional army; don’t see how a hastily thrown-together military of conscripts is gonna do any better.

And now there’s an entire nation of pissed off Olgas that lost the people that they love most.

Like I said, I don’t think they’re prepared for what these people can, and will, do.

A Ukrainian official tweeted on Wednesday, “Putin have [sic] not yet understood who he is dealing with.”

Agreed.

Her: And you? Have you ever been in love?
Me: Just once.
Her: What happened?
Me: Nothing I want to talk about right this moment. (changing subject) So, do people mention your eyes a lot? I’m a sucker for pretty eyes.

Location: Japanese restaurant, telling him we’re not friends, but this is a good thing
Mood: good
Music: being alone is the, is the best way to be (Spotify)
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Cascading consequences

Schadenfreude

Me: You’re not thinking of the cascading consequences.
Her: What are they?
Me: Let’s say you meet someone today. You chat, etc. You meet up in, say, September. Figure like six months of casual dating and you two lock it down, it’s now March 2023. You’re 35 then. You guys date for two years before you decide you’re right for each other, it’s now 2025, and you’re 37. You get engaged for a year, you’re now 38. You want to be a young married couple for a year without kids, making you 39. Then you decide you wants kids and try. Figure the first year isn’t great, and then you get pregnant, you’re now 41 with a kid. That’s even assuming the guy wants a kid in the first place.
Her: Well, now I’m stressed out even more!
Me: Sorry. All I’m saying is that you obviously still love him and he loves you. Just have him join my gym and that COVID weight will come right off. 15 pounds isn’t the end of the world.
Her: You just like him because he’s rich.
Me: See – I think of the cascading consequences. Have him join the gym. Shame he doesn’t have a sister.

Trump’s in alla this legal trouble right now, least of which is because of the FBI raid on his house.

I think most people would say that he’s in a quandary of his own making, and that’s true, but not in the way most people think.

See, he and the other GOPers have always needed a boogeyman to rail against and they picked Hillary and Biden to play that role.

For her part, Hillary was supposed to have mishandled classified information/documents. So, when Trump was president in 2018, he signed into law a bill that made mishandling and keeping classified information a felony.

I suspect he did this to have the chance to actually “lock her up,” without fully thinking of the cascading consequences of his actions, knowing that he was a sloppy and relatively stupid man.

Check that, knowing himself, he didn’t even fully think of the direct consequences of his actions.

Add this action to McCarthy refusing to have GOP members on the Jan6th committee and we see a group of people that barely consider the direct consequences of their actions, let alone the cascading ones.

It’s with more than a little schadenfreude that I sit back and watch alla this unfold.

Couldn’t happen to a more deserving fella.

Location: in front of a portfolio of work. What have I done?
Mood: busy
Music: Relax, relax, relapse, it’s a new day (Spotify)
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Memorto Mori

Remember that you have to die

One of the three books I feel everyone should read is The Godfather. The movies are great, but the book is worlds better because both the Godfather and Michael are good men in the books but monsters in the films.

Michael essentially agrees to run a mafia family in The Godfather to keep his own (real) family safe. But in The Godfather II film, he seems to forget why he agreed to run the mafia family – something he hated, originally – in the first place and ended up losing his wife and killing both his brother-in-law and his own brother for “the Family.”

He killed his real family for his fake family.

The tragedy of the Godfather films is that Michael forgot why he was there in the first place.

I’m telling you all this because I told someone from my past that I forgot that I loved her, which is why I was so awful to her.

Granted, there was a lotta craziness in my life when I met her, but it’s not very comforting to her or me.

The question she had, though, was obvious: “How is that possible? How do you forget you love someone?”

I ask myself that all the time.

And my answer is just like Michael did with Kay and Fredo. Just like men and women do when they cheat – emotionally or physically – on their spouse.

On normal days, people forget important – crazy important – things all the time. People forget to pick up their kids, forget to show up for some super important meeting, etc.

They forget what they really wanted in the first place, mistaking the noise for signal.

People even forget – all the time – that they’re going to die. That’s why the saying, memorto mori even exists. People forget to make the most of their time because we’re all not here long. But we forget that.

Everybody knows they’re going to die, but nobody believes it. If we did, we would do things differently.

For her, she forgot that I was everything she had hoped her whole life for a date with a guy that she forgot she loved (not me, it’s complicated) who ended up marrying someone else.

And I forgot that I loved her, which, itself, is the most ridiculous thing ever.

Cancer and awful luck notwithstanding, I suppose we all live the lives we earn for ourselves.

Location: learning about officiating weddings in NJ
Mood: resigned
Music: you didn’t notice (Spotify)
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