Tag: quote

Categories
personal

Glory Days

I know something you don’t know

Inigo Montoya: I admit it, you are better than I am.
Man in Black: Then why are you smiling?
Inigo Montoya: Because I know something you don’t know.

When you get beat up as often as I did as a kid, you either get all decked out in black and go Columbine, or you just learn how to fight. And for those of you that know me, I never do anything half-assed.

Bryson’s one of my best friends and was a striker like me. He outweighed me by 20-40 pounds but I was fast and flexible. We were always toe-to-toe. Until he started grappling. So I started too.

Then, a little after 9/11, I got injured. A kimura gone horribly wrong. Doc said I could either get surgery and lose 10% of my range of motion or rehab it and lose as little as 2%. Chose the latter. He said it’d take up to four years. It took seven. Stopped watching NHB stuff cause it made me sad. Didn’t wanna be one of those guys that spent his time talking about his glory days.

During those seven years, Bryson worked to the point that he’s a Pan-American Bronze Medalist. And he knew something his opponents didn’t – that as good as he was on the ground, he was even better on his feet. I knew that. My jaw knew that. Me? I stopped. Got fat. Settled down with a girlie.

The only place I’m still better than Bryson’s with a sword. But even then, he’s almost my match. We both know he’s better than me, he’s just too polite to ever say it. Some days, forget that I’m 35. Then my body reminds me. The last time I felt good about my right lead was in the mid-90s.

We spoke recently and he told me that he just got a similar injury. He finds out next week if he can roll again. I understood. Told him that he got seven years on me and he agreed. Small comfort, I know.

After we got off the phone, sat back and remembered when we weren’t old men. Instead, we’re in the muddy backyard of my college house. He’d swing on by, we’d laugh. Then we’d knuckle up and roll.

Man in Black: And what is that?
Inigo Montoya: I…am not left-handed.

Location: my parent’s living room
Mood: nostalgic
Music: hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it

Categories
personal

Three barns with white horses & sliding doors

Barn’s burnt down. Now, I can see the moon


Barn’s burnt down — now I can see the moon. – Mizuta Masahide 

Worked this past weekend. Did manage to see Heartgirl for a bit – she said that I could mention her in this blog so long as it wasn’t anything terribly personal. So she’s back. On a related note, s’funny but about ten people unsubscribed since I stopped being single.

Heartgirl and I did have an interesting discussion about how Life works out. Year ago today I was queuing in Great Britain wondering what to do about losing all my scratch. She was doing some heavy thinking in Times Square.

She mentioned she loved Sliding Doors and In-a-Silver-Bag told me a story about a white horse. While I don’t think that everything happens for a reason, I do think that whatever happens in our lives sculpt us to be who we’re meant to be.

Having said that, had a terrible, terrible day. Said it before, out little lives are all just three things – health, wealth and relationships. It’s like our three barns. And onea my barns are always burning.

It’s hard thinking that there’s some good that’s gonna come outta this latest fire. Then again, realized this past weekend that, if my last major relationship didn’t supernova, never woulda started this blog, had the cool parts of the past 24 months, or met any of the people that matter so much to me now.

Also, never would have met Heartgirl. She alone’s worth the price of admission.

Well, her and the rum. Mostly her.

So…hoping that this latest fire is just my way to see Selene again and an excuse to drink some red, red rum.

Location: 19:45 yest, leaving office
Mood: terrible
Music: we got to do something about where we`re going

Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Forests and Trees

Location: 18:03 yest, dinner with the fam
Mood: confused
Music: every cop is a criminal And all the sinners saints


Me: I can’t. (pause) Why do you defend them, anyway? And not even get paid for it? They’re criminals.
Him: (shaking head) They’ve paid their dues. They deserve someone that believes they can be better. God puts them in front of me. How can I not help them? We’ve all made terrible mistakes, haven’t we? They just got caught. They shouldn’t spend their lives paying for their mistakes, should they?
Me: (thinking) We all deserve someone that thinks we can be better. Look, I’m not a litigator. But tell me how I can help.

S’funny.

Is it You can’t see the forest for the trees? or You can’t see the forest through the trees?

Either way, all I see’re these damn trees.

YASYCTAI: Use the word kismet at least three times today. (30 secs/1 pt)
www.loganlo.com
Subscribe!

Categories
personal

This time

Just off Times Square

 

Saw Gio tonight off Times Square. It was a networking thingy and they had some good rum. Probably not a good idea since I went fencing afterward.
The weird thing is that it was across the street from my old pad. Hadn’t been there in a while. Ayn Rand wrote of NYC in The Fountainhead:

I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York’s skyline….When I see the city from my window – no, I don’t feel how small I am – but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body.

You know when you love someone, you’d end anyone that’d do them harm? It’s like that.

Wish I could put it in my pocket and pull it out to show you Nino’s where I had the best Penne with Vodka Sauce, or the Algonquin Hotel where I’d wish I had dough or the chops to sit at the Vicious Circle, or my corner on 46th and 6th Avenue, where I’d sneak a cigarette at 3AM when I couldn’t sleep and wait for the sun to come up. Or my office at 1500 Broadway where I’d look out and see TRL being recorded with those freakin kids screaming.

OK, that I got a picture of.

Feel so damn nostalgic. Wanted to talk to Heartgirl about it but she was busy. S’ok, I’m hoping we have plenty of time to talk about these kinda things.

Speaking of Heartgirl, she doesn’t wanna show up here. So I won’t write of her anymore. Maybe she’ll change her mind but don’t think so. Cause she thinks that this is a blog about me being a womanizer – but that’s just the marketing message.

Me: It’s not. (pause) The truth is, it’s the story of a boy like me looking for a girlie like you. (thinking) And hoping, I mean really, really hoping, that this time, it’ll be different.

Location: wide-awake in my pad
Mood: nostalgic
Music: I wish I knew the time that I’ve taken I pray is not wasted

Categories
personal

Can you hold this for me?

Location: my black chair in my pad
Mood: awake
Music: I know I’ve got to let it go and just enjoy the show

It appears that the weekend life of a reforming womanizer’s pretty boring and may involve: leaving parties at 12:30, picking up women for friends, cleaning the house and eating one’s weight in blueberries. Alla which are far more entertaining with a Dark ‘n Stormy.

Told you before that I’ve done some awful things in my life. Most I can’t talk about. But one thing I’m deeply ashamed of is the number of times someone gave me their heart and essentially said, Here, can you hold this for me? And take carea it, willya?

And I nod and immediately turn around, stomp the crap outta it and hand it back a wreck. It’s a jerk thing to do. And I did it way too often in my 20s.

Course, someone did it to me two years ago and nuthin realigns your thinking faster than eating the stuff you make someone else eat, yeah?

That’s why I keep thinking of Caligirl and if she’s right. What if I really do screw everything up so I don’t have to go through it again? Sir Edmond Hilary once said that, It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.

It’s not easy, trying to be a better than you once were.

YASYCTAI: Get your shoes shined. They’ll last longer and you’ll look better. Hurry, before it’s winter. (10 mins/1 pt)

Categories
personal

Killing time on a rainy night

Who’s our lucky contestant tonight?

Her: It bothers me when you tell me that I’m just killing time with you. I consider you a pretty close friend so I definitely don’t think of it as killing time in any sort of way.
Me: Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2, Lines 1-2, I believe…
Her: What’s the line?
Me: What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

In the above quote, Juliet tells Romeo that Capulet is just a name, just a word. She loves a man named Montague but the name is irrelevant to her. He could just as well be named Smith or McCarthy for all she cares. Doesn’t change who he is.

Courtesy is all about the polite lie. You don’t really think God will bless someone just because they sneeze, do you? Or that if you say Good Morning to someone, they’ll actually have a good morning?

The girl in the above conversation’s too polite to tell me that I’m her placeholder; her stopgap measure. I’m the guy she kills time with until she meets Mr. Right. Not ideal but I’m not one to cry into my porridge.

Besides, anything’s better than the lukewarm.

So I smile, nod and say, Sure – look there’re worse people to spend a rainy night with than each other.

And she nods and says, OK.

So you take a breath breath. Stuff all of that doubt into that little pocket you keep for just such a night. Get dressed cause you never turn down an invitation.

And try to keep that doubt at bay. Don’t think of green eyes or blues eyes. Cause you’re a brick wall. Y’gotta be. And everything, for better or for worse, makes sense again. Shut the door behind you. Breathe in that fall night air and think:

Hello weekend – who’s our lucky contestant tonight?

Location: about to step out
Mood: determined
Music: I just don’t belong here

Categories
personal

Any fool

Location: in my thoughts
Mood: so very sad
Music: A long, long time ago. I can still remember

Got a call from Rain earlier to get together today. Made me think. What I wrote last year still rings true.

Y’know, there was a TKTS booth in the World Trade Center. Was 17 when I first went there to pick up tix for me and my girlie. Les Mis.

There was an escalator going up to the booths and the lines would sometimes snake around the floor as people waited for their tickets. Had a red Aiwa cassette tape player to keep me company while I waited. Two tapes and a cassette player – way before Ipods, kiddies.

The people in those buildings were ordinary people like you and me. It’s why when Chrissie Hynde said, We (expletive) deserve to get bombed. Bring it on, I hope the Muslims win, I got sick.

Cause, it could easily have been me. Or even her. Or some 17 year-old kid buying a ticket for his girlie. Someone could have called me, or my brother, or my kid sister, and said, Hey, let’s get together downtown. That’s exactly what happened to my buddy Bryson. Luckily, he always runs late. My high school classmate wasn’t so lucky. Those sons of motherless bitches murdered him a few weeks before his wedding. Disintegrated rather. Nuthin’s left of him. Nuthin. Poof.

I hope they lose. Cause otherwise, fools like Chrissie can’t speak her mind. Even fools like her deserve the right to speak our minds, no matter how stupid. No matter how obscene.

Cause obscenities are fought with words not 747s filled with people – even if they’re just simple words from a clown. Or a heartbroken 30-something C+ class womanizer.

Goddamn. They punched a hole in my pretty city.

They punched a hole in my home that’s still there.

YASYCTAI: Watch the video above (9 mins/1 pt)

Categories
personal

Lukewarm

Location: 9ish yest, 23rd and Broadway
Mood: excited
Music: love me or hate me, it’s still an obsession

Me: I’m not that guy – I don’t pine after people.
CaseyI: “I don’t pine?” Logan, darling, your whole blog is one big long pine.
Me: OK, I pine a little….wait, what? No it’s not! Is it?
Her: Have you read it?

Onea my favorite quotes is So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. My pastor just spoke of it. Said the word earnestness in that passage is the Greek word zēlos, from which we get zealous. Funny, right? Earnestness and zeal are related. In other words, honesty and passion are related.

I submit that we love sports because of that passion. Champions fight with every fiber in their body for what they want. Step into a ring distracted and you get your block knocked off. And I’m no longer distracted. I know if I’m the button, needle or thread again. It’s such a relief.

Y’know, Heartgirl once said we’d never get along cause I’m dispassionate about certain people and things. But, I’m only dispassionate when faced with the lukewarm. If you look at the quote, lukewarm is nauseating – even to God.

I’m tired of feeling lukewarm about everything. I wanna be hot or cold again.

And y’meet so much lukewarm in the big city. The random boring conversations in the random blue nights. Whaddya do? Whodoyaknow? Blah, blah, blah. Man, just keep your lukewarm to yourself. Gimme some hated or love. Some passion, some zeal. Something. Hate me? Then wind up and swing. Want me? Then throw me down. Don’t talk me to death.

Fall’s around the corner and I feel my teeth again. I’m excited. Maybe there is a SING or a girl on the east side missing a heart. Might happen. Give it to me. Gimme some honesty and heat.

Knuckle up and swing like y’mean it. C’mon…hit me already.

Categories
personal

Safe

A letter to my grandmother

 

Dear Grandma;

Went home last night because mom wanted to talk. She told me stories I already know but wanted to hear again, mainly because they’re so hard to believe.

Like how your mom sold you for seven dollars when you were three because she had no money. And that when you heard your mom died three years later, you ran away to change her clothes because you didn’t want her to be dressed in rags when they buried her.

I think when I was six, all I wanted in life was more food. I’m 35 now and I still think of food way too much. Well, you remember how fat I was…

Mom cried again when she got to the part where you came back and they beat you. She said you didn’t deserve such a hard life. No one does.

But you were tough. Mom’s tough like you. She thinks I get my temper from you, which, by the way, I’m working on. I told her it was probably more from my lack of sleep. Speaking of sleep, I thought of a line that goes: We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. But I digress…

I do think that I got my eyes from you. Oh, and Aki and I have this weird talent I think we get from you too; mom says that if you ever saw anyone knit something, you could recreate it. well, Aki can play any song he hears on the piano and I can do something similar with a sword – which is admittedly pretty useless but is good cocktail conversation.

Been meaning to say I’m sorry – again. That I broke my promise to you. It keeps me up at night, the regret. It eats me. As does the fact I couldn’t go to say goodbye. Yours was the only promise I’ve broken in years, I think. I had a really good reason – I’ll tell you about it some time.

Mom says that your funeral was packed – even your real father’s entire family came. Because you loved them even though there was no reason for you to. I meet a lot of wealthy people here in the big city but they’re all labels and show. I know it’s wrong, but I feel it’s somehow cosmic justice that you ended up more successful than all of them.

You know, mom made the right choice coming here, she really did. The best thing about this corner of the world is that no one ever asks what we come from, only where we’re going. But I don’t forget what I came from. Who I came from. In fact, I don’t forget anything.

I guess the main thing is that I wanted you to know that your oldest daughter’s safe. You can rest because mom’s safe. We’re all safe.

Really.

You would have been 87 today. I pray that you get the grace and mercy in the next life that you didn’t get in this one. Happy birthday.

L

Location: home
Mood: indescribable
Music: All your grief At last, at last behind you

Categories
personal

Blessed are the forgetful

Her: I forget a lot of things.
Me: I envy you. Nietzsche once said, “Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.” I never forget anything.  But I’m working on that.
Her: I’d never want to remember everything. That’d be terrible.
Me: (nodding) It’s why I’m an insomniac.

Caligirl’s getting married.

For my longtime readers, she was also the girl in this entry. She’s everything I’m looking for in a girlie. Yet I don’t love her. Least, not in the way she wants. Dunno why that is, but that’s as it is.

As a kid, I remember reading about Soma in A Brave New World and wondering why anyone would wanna forget stuff. Not a kid anymore. There’s no Soma in NYC. There’s no River Lethe. That part I knew. But I’m also finding that there’s no SING. No girl on the east side missing a heart.

There are, however, any number of fine (and not so fine) drinking establishments in the big city where they’ll serve me my favorite poison on the rocks with a big slice of orange for $14 a glass.

I know cause I went to two of them Wednesday and Thursday nights with any number of girlies, some very random, some very specific. The weekend forecast looks similar. They’ll have to do.

Suspect I’m not invited to the wedding.

I’m an insomniac cause I lie awake remembering. I’m so talented at it that I even remember things that never happened, people that never existed.

Location: 10:00-14:00 yest, all over Manhattan
Mood: calm
Music: Why so scared of romance?