Month: April 2020

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personal

Yes, really

(c) Jack E. Kightlinger

How is anyone ok with this?

Doctor: So what do you do?
Me: I’m a high-functioning alcoholic.
Him: (laughing) No, really.
Me: (nodding) Yes, really.

I finally got my COVID-19 anti-body test. It took about 90 minutes of waiting but I got it at the local CityMD – the same one I went to when I got my earache.

Nurse: Do you have any idea where you contracted it?
Me: Yup. Here.

Just a few days ago, the amount of people in the US that died from COVID-19, 58,355, surpassed the number of people that died from the Vietnam war, 58,220.

The Vietnam War lasted from November 1, 1955 to January 15, 1973, or 6,285 days. That means 9.26 people died each day in some faraway land.

The first case of COVID-19 here was on January 21, 2020; that’s 99 days to April 29, 2020. That means that 589.44 Americans died each day here, not on some foreign soil.

This is a picture of President Johnson listening to a tape of his son-in-law, a soldier in Vietnam.

Some reports say he was just tired. Others say that he couldn’t bear knowing that all these Americans were dying. I like to think that it was the latter.

589.44 each day. Each one of those numbers was a person with a mother and father. Maybe a sister and brother. Maybe some kids.

Alison and my father are numbers too. In 2017, 600,920 Americans died of cancer.

One of those numbers was named Louis Lo. He loved his three kids and his wife more than anything. He worked chopping fish in a tiny fish store and went to school at night so his kids could have a better life. He bought himself a harmonica when he felt extravagant.

He was my dad. I loved him.

Another number was named Alison McCarthy. She gave up a high paying job in a financial institution to travel to Africa to try and help people. It was lonely, hard, and dangerous but she wanted her life to mean something. She was beautiful, in every sense of the word. She was my best friend.

She loved her husband and son, like a fat kid loves cake. The first thing she ever said to her son was, “We’re best friends for life, you and me. Best. Friends. For. Life.” She died trying to comfort her mom and me telling us we’d be ok.

I don’t know if she’s right.

589.44 families, just like mine. Every. Day.

I try not to drink. It’s hard.

My mom wanted to come see me because I was alone. I told her she couldn’t. That’s what this thing does. It kills people extremely efficiently and cruelly. You die alone. Away from every one and everything you know and love.

But, there’s always some small positive, because now, you can drink all day, every day, if you want.

I don’t know how anyone is ok with this.

I don’t know how anyone is ok with any of this.

Podcast Version: Yes, Really
Location: my empty apartment
Mood: sub-optimal
Music: She’s gone (Spotify)
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personal

Lunch by the river

Noticing things

Me: Yo, what are you up to? I can’t do any more work and I’m going stir crazy here.
Him: Screw it, come on by. Do you have any extra gloves and masks?

I’ve been trying to catch up on work, but it’s hard being here with the sheer emptiness of it all. I miss the boy terribly.

So, like I said in my previous entries, I hopped onto my scooter and zipped down from the UWS to the LES to take Chad out to eat.

Here’s a quickie vid on what it’s like out there.

It was honestly the perfect day to be out and about. It took me twice as long to get there as it should’ve because I kept stopping to take pictures or video. Once I finally got there, we tried to figure out what was for lunch.

As you know, I’m a sucker for a gyro, so that’s what I got.

He got a gyro burger, which makes no sense to me but he’s an adult so…

Me: OK, where we going, man?
Him: It’s a nice day, we can eat by the river.

My lungs are mostly ok but, honestly, walking those few blocks was difficult. Not necessarily bad, but noticeably not normal.

This thing is truly a bear. Being audited while you’re trying not to die is a new experience, lemme tell ya.

And I’ve had a lotta shitty experiences.

We finally got to the river and it was just perfect. More people were out than probably should’ve been but definitely less than the normal crowd. It was nice to be in society again.

And the food was so good that we both agreed not to speak for five minutes as we enjoyed it shoveled it into our pieholes.

Afterward, we chatted for a bit when I locked eyes with one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life. She was stupid attractive.

Me: Hi there.
Her: (laughs) Hi!

Chad commented that I should have spoken to her more.

Him: Whoa, she was hot and that was a huge smile she gave you, why don’t you talk to her?
Me: (laughing) How do you know she had a huge smile?
Him: (puzzled) What? I saw.
Me: (nodding) OK. Yes, she was beautiful, and, yes, that was a big smile she gave me. But here’s what I noticed….
Him: (afterwards) Oh, that’s really interesting. I never thought about that.
Me: I have my rules. I always have my rules.
Him: (shaking head) I don’t get it but, ok. Man…

It’s a little party trick of mine; noticing little things and trying to make sense of what they mean. Hopefully correctly.

All my senses have been dulled for so long but I feel a little bit of the old me from so long ago.

After a bit, we headed back to his place but stopped off at a local bodega.

Me: Hard seltzer. I’m secure in my manhood. Do it?
Him: (laughing) Sure.
Me: Oooooh, mango…

We kept some good social distancing in his tiny pad.

Honestly, it was good to see and speak to another human being again. I didn’t realize just how cruel and harsh solitary confinement is. And this is nuthin compared to that.

Me: Well, I guess I should go.
Him: Are you ok to get home?
Me:  (getting up) Well, we’re about to find out.

Podcast Version: Lunch by the River
Location: a few days ago, the John V. Lindsay East River Park
Mood: hungry
Music: I notice every single thing, that’s ever happening (Spotify)
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personal

Low-carb recipe: Pan-fried chicken

I need a moment

Me: Man, look at that hair.
NateC: (laughing) Yeah, I’m just growing it out. What are you up to?
Me: Frying chicken, look!

Onto more mundane life news.

Still playing around with podcasting – working on a few things. Not alla my entries lend itself to the format, like if I’m cooking.

On that note, because I didn’t get my fried chicken fix the other day, I decided to make my own. Went and picked up two chickens at the local market.

Jet: Did you brine the chicken first?
Me: I’m not an animal, Jet, of course I brined it.

Did it overnight with:

1 gallon warm water
3/4 cup kosher salt
1/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup erythritol
3/4 cup soy sauce
12 whole peppercorn

Butchered them quickly (it was just for me) in the next morning and vacuum-sealed three of the breasts for a sous-vide later on.

After that, I made a quick and simple dusting of:

1/4 cup low-carb flour
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper

Dusted the chicken…

…and got to frying:

Actually, I have a video:

Honestly, I like it better than most regular fried chicken, with the exception of KFC – that’s a classic.

In the past, I didn’t do it that often because it’s just time-consuming. Before alla this, it was easier to just run out and pick up some. Now, I’m back to basics.

That’s like most things around here, actually.

Me: Wait, you’ve never eaten meat?
NateC: Nope.
Me: I think I need a moment to wrap my head around that.
Him: Well, I…
Me: (holding up finger) I need a moment…

Just as I was publishing this, I received some upsetting news about my son.

He’s ok but all the plans I had for him just evaporated and I’m back to step 0. Nothing ever seems to go smoothly.

Between this, COVID, the audit, and some other personal things, this has been a truly awful month.

I suppose celebrating your birthday alone with a single glazed donut should be a good forshadowing for what’s to come.

Location: my empty apartment, which needs a hard clean
Mood: forever hungry
Music: I go home and I got no self-esteem (Spotify)
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personal

Doubling-Down, Pt 2 – Baseline

Histrionic Personality Disorder

This is a long entry because I just wanna get this off my chest and be done with it.

I saw Chad the other day, which is another entry.  We were talking about this whole crazy situation when somehow our old coach came up, and this is actually why I returned to this topic.

Him: I want you to know for sure; he told me that he was kicking you out because Mouse was dating you.
Me: Oh my god, thank you for telling me. There was always a part of me wondering if I was crazy or not.

Continuing with my last post, on the three steps of an apology, our old coach always did Step 3, like offering free classes or taking people out to eat, but he never did Steps 1 or 2.

One day, a huge newbie came to the gym and we were doing take-downs. My coach asked me to work with the noob and the first thing he did was tackle me at full-speed, completely tearing my ACL.

My coach told me that he wouldn’t charge me for classes and also did fundraisers for Alison when she got sick, both of which I appreciated. But note that both are only Step 3.

He not only never did Step 1 – apologize for setting me up with a newbie without properly instructing him on what to do – like the acquaintance from my last entry, he doubled-down on 2.

You really should’ve just gone with it, Logan.

Meaning, I caused myself to tear my ACL and not the 200-pound newbie, who tackled me, and my coach’s poor supervision.

My coach wasn’t even looking at us when it happened. Trust me when I tell you, I went with it.

That was it. Eight years later, nuthin. He just left it with Step 3 and the double-down.

Actually, I finally hit the red line with him when he triple-downed with me with his weird attraction to Mouse and started me thinking deeply about what his damage was. It’s just creepy and weird all around.

Did you know that you need a physical injury for cancer? You can’t mentally will someone to get cancer, you have to have something actually injure you – a virus (HPV), a particle (asbestos, coal), a physical action (tick bite), something.

Well, when you hurt someone, without early intervention, that injury metastasizes like cancer.

You wanna stop cancer? You gotta get it early, Stage 1. If you do nothing? The worst outcome happens.

That’s why they’re so lonely. Because they not only don’t try to stop it at Stage 1, they double and triple-down, to ensure that there’s no relationship.

I remember bringing the three steps up with the acquaintance and he just scoffed and essentially said, That’s just you, most people don’t need that. That’s demonstrably false, especially since he’s destroyed every relationship that mattered to him, ever.

That’s like saying, you don’t need medical intervention to cure cancer, just drink lemon juice.

Dude, your naked belief doesn’t change something factually true. The truth is that the best bet for curing cancer – and it’s a shitshow, lemme tell ya – is to throw every scientifically valid thing against it.

You screwed up and you wanna save a relationship? The starting point for everyone on the planet is the three steps. Everyone. That’s baseline.

If I’m honest with myself, I never got over that my coach destroyed my physical body and just moved on with his life. I can’t, I don’t have that luxury.

For the rest of my life, when I wake up, my knee reminds me of his failure as a coach and – frankly – as a basic, decent human being.

Our mutual friend asked me to forgive him and I told him honestly: No. He’s never done the baseline of what forgiveness requires. Not for any of us: Me, Chad, Pac, Robinson, just off the top of my head.

He injured us all in some way and went about his life and those injuries metastasized. What could’ve been an easy fix – I’m sorry, I had a bad day, I’ll make it up to you – is now insurmountable because of the doubling/tripling-down.

It’s your fault.

And that’s why these people are the loneliest people I know: Their 14-year-old selves were somehow taught that you never apologize for things (properly – all three steps). Their adult-selves, and others, pay the price.

They share more with Trump than they can admit. And Trump is a lonely soul.

Interestingly, all the people I mentioned – Trump, Michael Scott from the office, my acquaintance, and my old coach – all seem to suffer from Histrionic Personality Disorder.

They have weird relationships with the opposite sex (they can only have opposite-sex relationships that have some sexual component to it), are attention-seeking, and have poor impulse-control, among other things.

The two people I know personally definitely had traumatic childhoods, and I do pity them. But I also accept that they will never change because they don’t want to. They make the conscious choice to not change and to double- and triple-down, every single time.

That’s not healthy for anyone. I don’t wish them any ill; I just don’t want to risk getting injured again.

None of these people are bad people. Like everyone, they’re capable of good and bad actions. But if they can’t accept responsibility when they factually hurt other people, it overwhelms whatever good they possess.

At least for me.

Look, I get what happened to me was eight years ago. But what’s changed besides time? Time not only doesn’t replace the three steps, time makes the three steps even harder – for everyone.

Halsey wrote a song called, You Should Be Sad for her ex. She was basically saying that she wanted the relationship to work but it didn’t. She was sad over what was lost but, at least according to the song, he didn’t even give her that: Grief over losing the relationship, Step 2.

I get it. Cause that’s baseline, man. I’m sorry. I feel bad. What can I do to fix this? That’s baseline.

Podcast Version: Doubling-Down, Pt 2 – Baseline
Location: my empty apartment, which is fulla carbs
Mood: thoughtful
Music: I tried to help you, it just made you mad (Spotify)
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Doubling-Down, Pt 1

Everyone’s got a red line

Do you remember when I gave you that three-step PSA on how to apologize?

      1. The words: “I’m sorry.”
      2. Some manifestation of contrition: “I feel awful about what I did; there’s no excuse.”
      3. Some overt act to try make things right again: “I’ll make it up to you. Let’s go to counseling.”

Think about Michel Scott from The Office: He’s lonely because he regularly hurts people but he can’t seem to do Steps 2 or 3. He can barely do 1.

The actress that played Pam said that she broke down twice while filming the episode where you saw why Michael was Michael.

[Michael is] asked what he wants to be when he grows up and he says, ‘I want to be married and have 100 kids, so I can have 100 friends and no one can say no to being my friend.’…This is when I had to turn off the episode.

I get it. I always make excuses for other people’s shitty behaviour.

But I submit that a lotta lonely people are the ones that don’t understand that apologies are a three-step process.

And the loneliest ones are the ones that not only don’t understand this, they’re the ones that double-down; they make the situation worse, so that there’s no coming back.

As much as possible, I make this blog about me. But screw it, I’m in a writing mood for reasons I’ll tell you about tomorrow. Lemme tell you about something on my mind lately.

I have an acquaintance that does Step 1: He apologizes for things, but that’s it. He never feels bad about what he did (Step 2), and, not only doesn’t do Step 3 either – try to make it better – he always doubles-down.

For example, he was always talking about his female “best friend.” While I know the girlfriend, I finally met the “best friend” at a party one night and she told me, “We’re not best friends, we barely talk. He’s just always been infatuated with me.”

The thing is, she might’ve once legitimately’ve been a close friend. But that stopped when he got jealous one day and bailed on her in a foreign country.

Two years later, he ran into her and did Step 3 – by pretending everything was fine – but never he did steps 1 and 2. The thing is, he caused an injury to that relationship that never healed. And now, never will. Too much time has passed.

Full disclosure – the best friend was honestly quite nice. And oblivious that the acquaintance was going around town calling her his best friend.

But it was only after we finally met that I realized that her being his best friend was all just a ruse; he told everyone that because he just wanted an excuse to be around her, even when he was dating other people, just in case an opportunity arose for him.

The opportunity actually happened – after a decade – when he got drunk and made a sloppy pass at his best friend at this party.

With his girlfriend there.

And the best friend’s boyfriend there as well.

The girlfriend demanded that he finally admit that they weren’t best friends and to defriend all the rando women that he kept picking up. That’s a whole different story.

Not only did he not apologize and not defriend anyone, he doubled-down and broke up with her.

How’s that for a kick in the head?

I guess everyone – him, his girlfriend, the mythical best friend, and everyone that saw him make this drunken pass at the party – finally knew what only he knew: He didn’t love his girlfriend and had been holding a torch for his supposed best friend the entire time. Ten years.

Why do I care? Well, I hate injustice.

But I also hate this whole situation because it goes against everything I know to be true; men and women can – and should – be friends. But people like this screw it up for the rest of us.

I’ve got so many female friends that I’ve not only never made a pass at, we’ve never come close. Even when massive amounts of alcohol are involved.

I feel bad for his ex, she wasted three years of her life with him. She loved him completely, and her life story would break your heart.

Me riding past the Hudson Yards and The Shed.

See, she actually supported the dude while he was a struggling student and one day, he won this prize. Instead of giving it to her, he ended up giving it to this random girl he met just a few weeks earlier.

Even when the girlfriend found out about the prize, she still stayed with him because he had an admittedly rough life, just like Michael Scott.

And she was madly in love with him. He literally bragged to people that he went on this date with this girl. It was hilarious to him. He showed me a text where he wrote his best friend, “At least I squeezed in two dates before I got caught.”

Like I said, he never apologizes and can’t help but double-down.

It’s a goddamn shame.

I mean, she’s an idiot, but it’s still a goddamn shame. That kind of loyalty and love is rare; if you’re lucky enough to find someone that’s always on your side, you should protect it with all you got.

Education’s expensive though. At least she finally learned and moved on. To quote one of my exes, Everyone’s got a red line.

This is getting super long, so I’ll finish it up tomorrow. I got a lotta time on my hands to think. And write.

Speaking of female friends, I just finished writing this when KG Betty wrote me.

We’ve known each other a decade as well. I crashed at her place a buncha times and she at mine. Never kissed her or anything ever. I just don’t get how other people live. For serious.

Cause, my relationship with KG Betty is valuable to me, I won’t jeopardize that for something stupid.

Her: Finally! I heard you got sick, I was worried about you.
Me: It’s good to hear from you. How’s life in Korea?
Her: (laughing) Much better than where you are, Logan. You guys are in trouble.

Podcast Version: Doubling-Down, Pt 1
Location: yesterday, riding past my possible pasts
Mood: free
Music: What a shame, we coulda had a good thing (Spotify)
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personal

Stupid attractive

My best friend

One of the last conversations I had before COVID-19 hit was with a lawyer.

I’d gone to his office and one of his co-workers was stupid attractive. We walked out together.

Me: Hard to believe someone could be that attractive and that successful.
Him: She kind of annoys me, actually. She’s always dressing way too inappropriately for work.
Me: (stopping) Wait, you just a had a kid, yeah?
Him: Yeah, why?
Me: Well, there’s a weird quirk in relationships where couples in secure, happy relationships get turned off by third parties like attractive people, because they view it as a threat to what they consider the most valuable thing they have, the relationship.
Him: Whoa, that’s it exactly.

Think that’s why I never came close to cheating on anyone I’ve ever dated. I just never had an interest.

My buddy swears he saw me kissing someone at Mouse’s birthday party. But that’s just not in my nature. Other people are fine with it but then again, they reap what they sow, I suppose.

I may be a womanizer but, when it comes to an actual relationship, I’m all in.

Alison’s best friend was this guy named Shawn. She cut him off completely when he said something rude about me. I remember being so flattered and she just thought it was weird that I made such a big deal about it.

Me: He was your best friend.
Her: (rolls eyes) You’re my best friend, Logan.

Full disclosure, when Alison got sick, Shawn somehow found out about it and still sent her a large check to try and help. It’s hard to dislike someone that is nice to someone you love.

To know her was to love her.

On a related matter, I got a really sweet email the other day from one of Alison’s grad school buddies.

ABFF: Oh, her? I’m surprised because I recall that she was in love with a guy that was in love with Alison.
Me: (laughing) Alison never told me that and this girl certainly didn’t mention it.
Her: Yeah, she was jealous and maybe even had a fight with Alison over this guy? Because everyone always had some sort of real or hidden crush on Alison and so she was jelly
Me: I believe it.

My son was once going to be named Jack.

But this guy Jack kept asking her out, even when she said she and I were dating so that ruined the name for both of us. She told him to knock it off at this Halloween party with the ABFF; Alison actually shoved him against the wall.

I remember thinking I wanted to yell, “Yeah that’s right, she’s with me!” But I figured that would be too douchey.

I always liked the name Jack. I named one of the main characters in my book Jack because I liked it so much.

Spoke to Rain recently as well.

Him: You need to find someone that thinks you’re great. Like, I look at my wife and worry that I’m in a dream and I’ll wake up and find out it’s all imaginary.
Me: You know how you know this is real? I’m in it. And you hate me.
Him: (laughs)
Me: I don’t think people are lucky enough to find someone that thinks you’re made of awesome twice in life. I know I’m not the greatest thing on the planet; it’s just nice when someone thinks you are. We both married up.
Him: (nodding) Definitely. We definitely did.

It’s selfish, I know, but I miss having someone (not so) secretly on my side.

Really, though, I should just try and meet someone that thinks my son is the greatest thing on the planet.

Now, how hard could that be?

Podcast Version: Stupid Attractive
Location: my empty apartment, with the last jar of peanut butter
Mood: accepting that I’m not the one
Music: Why do you have to go and make things so complicated (Spotify)
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IDGAF

Why is that so much to ask?

Me: You wanna hear something true? I care about both of you deeply. But – honest to fuck – if someone told me that I could get Alison back by killing you two, or anyone, for that matter, I would do it without hesitation. I would feel bad about it, yeah. But I would be at your doorstep within the hour to cut you clean and cut you deep. Alison would hate me forever, but I would do it. There is no sin I would not commit to get her back. (sighing) But I don’t have that option. So, (raising glass) cheers…

The last time I got audited was twelve years ago for about $25K.

Got audited again this past week. Happy birthday to me.

Essentially, NYS wants to know how come I went from reporting $XXX,XXX in income in years past to $X,XXX (AGI) for the last couple of years.

Honest to god, my first instinct was to write them a letter that just said:

My wife and father died exactly 90 days apart in 2017 from some medical bullshit while other assholes get to live their shitty meaningless lives.

I spent the last three years trying not to kill myself cause of the injustice of it all. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Fuck you. Fuck everyone. Tell me what you think I owe you and send me a goddamn bill. I don’t give a shit.

Sincerely,

Logan Go Fuck Yourself Lo

I actually wrote something along those lines. Just with less restraint. I subsequently toned it down.

Logically, I know that some innocent bureaucrat that has no interest in hurting me will be on the receiving end of my vitriol but, I’m the eggshell plaintiff. And I don’t care.

Plus, now, I had to find her goddamn death certificate.

There is nothing more hateful or rage-inducing than having to look for – and, ultimately, find –  something that you despise with every fiber in your body. I keep it in a case, on the bottom drawer, in a folder, in a folder, in yet another folder.

It’s as if it’s radioactive and will kill me if there aren’t enough layers between us.

That’s probably not too far from the truth.

In the past, I used to go to the gym to get out my anger and frustration. I don’t have that option any longer. So, I sit here and quietly seethe, holding a piece of paper that tells me to go fuck myself because my family’s gone and we’re shit outta luck for a happy ending.

Well, that’s not entirely true. The silence part, that is. Cause, right now, I can scream to my heart’s content.

Always a silver lining, yeah?

Speaking of my gym, I think the last time I got hit with some pure truth was when I spoke to someone out there about Alison dying. He lost someone that he loved with all his soul as well.

I asked him if it ever got better.

Him: You never stop being angry. I’m angry right now thinking about it – and that was years ago.

We’re surrounded by bullshit 24/7 – our president is 24/7 bullshit – so that’s more true than ever. My Facebook feed is fulla people clearly ok with consuming and vomiting up Trump’s daily bullshit.

I don’t know how they live.

The thing with the truth is, when you hear you hear something that you know is true, your soul hears it. You feel it. In three years, what my friend said about the person he loved and lost was and remains one of the purest true things I’ve heard felt yet in my life.

Well, that and when my son said I had a big head.

When a toddler tells you that you have a big head – and your wife said the same – it’s probably true.

I’m sorry. I’m tired. I’m tired of so many things. I’m mostly tired of being surrounded by bullshit. I am craving some truth and peace.

I just want some goddamn truth and peace. And kindness.

Why is that so much to ask?

(c) Alyson McClaran

Sir(s);

The reason for my lowered income is that I find myself unable to work full-time any longer.

This is because my wife and father both died in 2017 and I find it difficult to care about anything. Including this audit, frankly.

Attached, please find her death certificate and a copy of my bank statements…

Podcast Version: IDGAF
Location: the basement of my brain again
Mood: blindingly white hot rage
Music: my best friend caught you creeping. You blamed it all on the alcohol (Spotify)
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personal

Goodnight, Nick

I miss my tribe

Decades ago, my mom was gardening in front of our apartment when a woman came out and started talking to her about plants.

She was Greek and spoke with a crazy thick Greek accent; my mom was Chinese and spoke with a crazy thick Chinese accent. Somehow, though, they connected – probably because both saw the world the same way,

They became best friends, to this day. Everyone finds it ridic cute, that these two lovely women found each other in this sad little world of ours.

When my dad died, it was this friend that called my mom constantly, just to make sure my mom was ok. That’s what friends do.

My mom wasn’t, of course, but her friend made it a little better, I think.

In any case, that woman’s husband, Nick, died earlier this week. I wasn’t super close with him, but he was in the fabric of my life since my earliest memories of the world.

Nick died this week right before his birthday, which bothers me greatly because Alison died just right after hers. And like Alison, and my dad, Nick suffered before he died. That makes me irrationally angry for reasons I can’t properly express.

Like Fouad and Kirk, he too died of pancreatic cancer. Three people I’ve known in less than a year. It boggles the mind and breaks the heart.

That pic above was taken almost 12 years to the day by my brother. Nick had come by for my sister’s birthday. They did things like that.

Their family has never shown us anything but kindness. When money, beauty, and possessions go away, kindness stays. That’s why I’m a sucker for kindness; it’s the only thing really worth anything in this shitty world.

It’s my mom’s turn to support her friend now. It’s hard; my mom just had surgery and this damn pandemic hangs over us all. But she does what she can.

A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own. This was and remains true. There’s nothing I can do or say to my mom’s best friend beyond, I’m sorry, and I understand. Cold comfort, but the truth, nonetheless.

It’s good they have each other. Life’s hard enough without your people. She’s Greek, my mom’s Chinese, but they’re both part of the same tribe. In that sense, they’re lucky.

All we really have in the world are our tribes; the people that love us, I suppose.

Everything else is just hot breath and lies. And what good is that, in the end?

Goodnight, Nick. Your family misses you very much. We all do.

All this death around me wears on my psyche, I think. I’ve been talking to other people that, like me, have dealt with depression in the past.

Buddy: I haven’t hugged anyone in over a month!
Me: Dude, me neither. I don’t think I’ve touched another human being in over a month. I’ve also not hugged my son in this time, which is excruciating.
Him: Man, that must suck.
Me: So much. So much.

I miss my son terribly. When this is over, I’m gonna hug the crap outta him.

He’s gonna complain the entire time and I’m not gonna care, I’m just gonna do it. I’m bigger than he is and there won’t be anything he’ll be able to do about it.

I cannot wait.

Podcast Version: Goodnight, Nick
Location: you’d never guess
Mood: sad and pensive, and missing the people I love
Music: If we never met, I’d be drunk, waking up in someone else’s bed (Spotify)
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personal

One man’s search for meaning – and Fried Chix

Mainly Fried Chicken

It’s good to see that it’s still business as usual for the Naked Cowboy.

I’m still recovering from this damn thing; can’t walk a few steps without needing to sit down and rest.

But when I was out yesterday, I was determined to get the one thing I’ve been craving for over a month – fried chicken.

It’s time to be honest with you all. For years, I’ve talked about my love of gyros and chili, and it still exists. But switching over to a mainly fat and protein based diet, I had to cut back on both. Instead, I’d eat a ton of fried chicken – minus the skin (mostly).

      • The KFC near me on 103rd closed last year, but I’d been going to the Popeye’s on 94th. I went there first before the gym. It was closed.
      • After the gym, I went to the Popeye’s at 252 8th Ave, New York, NY 10011 because Google said it was open. It was not.
      • No problem, I would go to the one at 240 W 40th St, New York, NY 10018, which Google also said was open. It, too, was not.
      • Then I decided that I should just go to Jollibee at 609 8th Ave, New York, NY 10018. That was also closed.
        • God clearly doesn’t like me and doesn’t want me to have fried chicken.
      • I gave up and went home via 8th Avenue. On the way home, I saw that Taco Bell on 840 8th Ave, New York, NY 10019 was open. I went in.

Her: What can I get you?
Me: What’s the smallest party pack?
Her: 10 tacos, do you…
Me: (nodding) Yes. God, yes.

I went home and ate eight of them.

Brother: You’re doing what?
Me: I *was* eating 10 Taco Bell tacos. But, after eating eight, I need a nap. Eating is now winding me.
Him: Well, I think most people would get tired after eating eight…
Me: I’m not most people. I’m gonna nap and then wake up to finish the last two. Later.

I crashed for 15 minutes, got up, and finished the last two tacos. It’s all about dedication.

The next day – my birthday – I wished that I had some tacos. But I still had a hankering for chix, so I spatchocked some chicken and fried that up under brick.

I burned the skin slightly, so I was bummed. I mean, I still ate it but…

To cheer myself up, I made Chocolate-Covered Katie’s keto cheesecake in fat bomb form.

Man, Alison loved Chocolate-Covered Katie.

I ended up video chatting with a buncha people for my birthday.

But really, spent most of the day drinking by myself.

Which sounds about right.

Still, I did have cheesecake and cheesecake alone is still cheesecake, yeah?

Location: my empty apartment, now with lots of cheesecake
Mood: just fine
Music: don’t want your stupid shit, you can have it back (Spotify)
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personal

Logan’s 47

Human Interaction

My gym’s shutting down our location for a number of reasons, COVID-19 being one. Ideally, it’s only temporary.

The owner posted that he, his wife, and Chad would be cleaning the place up that afternoon so I decided to finally venture out.

Took my electric scooter down Broadway and it was glorious. The city’s still mostly empty.

Made it to the gym in less than 30 mins. Woulda been sooner but I kept taking pictures and gawking at things. I’d not been outta the house in a meaningful way for over a month.

Walking into the gym felt exceedingly normal.

Owner: Logan! How you doing? Hey, do you smell something?
Me: (cautiously) Yes? What is that?
Him: OK, right before you walked in, I found this bottle in this locker. So, I shook it…
Me: Oh god…

Chad was there along with the other owner helping out.

Chad: How’re you?
Me: (laughing) I think this is the first time I’ve heard my own voice in about two days. Definitely the first time I’ve had any real human interaction in weeks.

Presently other people showed up.

Me: I gotta ask, did you find a bat in your apartment?
Her: (laughs) Yes. I’m the cause of this whole thing!
Me: I need to know more.

I’d gone out after a few minutes to get beer for the guys but I left my face mask at the gym, not thinking it’d be too much of an issue.

Store 1 staff: Sorry, we can’t let you in without a mask.
Me: S’ok. I respect your putting the safety of your people before short-term profit.

Store 2 staff: Sorry, we can’t let you in without a mask.
Me: While I respect your putting the safety of your people before short-term profit, I just wanna get a six-pack.
Staff: Sorry.

Store 3 staff: Sorry, we can’t let you in without a mask.
Me: WhileIrespectYourPuttingTheSafetyOfYour PeopleBeforeShort-termProfit, I just wanna get a six-pack.
Staff: Sorry.

Store 4 staff: Sorry, we can’t let you in without a mask.
Me: (walking quickly past guard to beer section) WhileIrespectYourPuttingTheSafetyOfYourPeopleBeforeShort- termProfit,IJustWannaGetASix-pack. Here’s a 20, keep the change.

I’m not (terribly) proud.

Owner: (looking at beer) Why’d you get watery-beer for us?
Me: First of all, I’m watching my weight, second of all, shut up, you wouldn’t believe what I went through to get this beer.

Just shopping made me run out of breath. This sickness really took a lot outta me.

More people came and left. Everyone practiced safe social distancing.

Soon, it was my turn to go.

Had an interesting ride back but it’s getting late so I’ll tell you about that some other time.

Right around when I got in the door, got a message from the owner:

Him: You classy bastard. You left those last two beers here. That shows good breeding and manners. You’d be surprised how many people don’t have that.
Me: Ha, really? Who takes the last two beers they brought for the group? My parents didn’t raise me that way, homie.
Him: You’d be amazed.

I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost tripped over a box on my doorstep.

Mouse sent me a gift for my birthday. She hadn’t contacted me in weeks, not until I got sick, anyway. Suppose that’s her story to tell.

I picked up the box and brought it home. When I opened the door, I yelled out:

Hey, I’m back!

But got nuthin in return. Harold’s still not speaking to me and the boy’s still away. Still, hope – and madness – springs eternal.

I’m 47 years-old by the time you read this sentence.

One, holy shitballs.

Two, hooray.

Location: my empty apartment, now with a box and lots of taco wrappers
Mood: empty also
Music: been roaming around, always looking down (Spotify)
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