Month: December 2022

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personal

2022: Whacha know about rollin’?

Some rando videos of 2022

Her: So, what’s your typical day like?
Me: Well, there’s a lotta singing.

Like I said, I’m really behind in what I wanted to tell you but I’m also behind in putting up videos.

See, through the course of my day, I record rando things that I find interesting, thinking that I’ll show you them.

But, by the time I get around to remembering that I have them and take them off my phone to upload here, the moment has long past.

Ergo, I though I’d end out this year a bit differently by posting somea these rando videos for you to see, if you’re so inclined, in no particular order.

The first is a glimpse as to what my day is typically like.

The kid likes to practice his ukulele on my bed while singing me something.

This is his rendition of Masked Wolf’s Astronaut in the Ocean – no idea where he first heard this song.

I feel compelled to tell you that he’s six in this video, which I cannot express how proud of him I am.

Speaking of my son, he’s been taking swimming classes all year, hopefully to avoid something like what happened over the summer.

But I figure that you don’t wanna just see grainy vids of my kid.

The other big part of my life is the gym, so heading there, I see some pretty interesting things, I gotta say.

Here’s a quick sampling of a busker in Times Square, albeit from last May.

Actually, there are quite a number of buskers all over the city.

These are some at Union Square in September, just a couple of blocks from Paxibellum.

As for non-musical things, there was also the time that I left the gym and caught this sight; it doesn’t look like much but what’s happening is that water is coming out of an upper floor window onto the streets below.

This means that either a pipe broke or someone left their water on in their apartment, filling that apartment with water so high that it went over the window and onto the floor below.

I’m gonna guess that the lower floor apartments and businesses were not happy that day. You can hear sirens going off in the distance

There are a ton more videos but I figure I’d just toss these up.

Now, I was torn with ending this entry with either this symbolic store display in the UWS which – if it’s 3AM and you’re two sheets to the wind – is goddamn fascinating…

…OR posting this of my son at B&H Photo, where I went to get a small server for my apartment after the last major hack.

He was enthralled by the very modern-yet-old-timey interior conveyer belt system.

Here’s hoping that 2023 is better than the past few years.

Him: What will you do for New Year’s?
Me: I’ll dream of my family.
Him: That’s boring!
Me: (laughing) Not to me, kid. Not to me.

Location: my apartment, wondering what I should do tonight
Mood: cautiously optimistic (?)
Music: See, that pain was all around (Spotify)
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Filling in some gaps

An accident I had nuthin to do with

The boy’s been away for a few days, so I’ve been out every night this week and it’s been exhausting.

I’m waaay behind in updates and this is – I think – the first time that I’m posting chronologically outta order, at least to this extent.

This is because, even before he left, I was amping up my social life for a number of reasons.

Some things, I’m keeping to myself, which is why I’ve not mentioned any of them; I was trying to figure out what I wanted to share and what I didn’t.

So, I gotta fill in some gaps.

To wit, before the kid left, we headed down to Chinatown for some food. While there, we came across his name on onea those novelty license plates.

Him: PLEASE?!?!
Me: We’re not made of money, kid!
Him: (sadly) Oh…
Me: (sighing) Fiiine…
Him: Yay!
Me: OK, but now I’m getting a haircut, then.

Man, I’m so easy.

When we walked into my usual joint, one of the women that worked there had this huge bloody kerchief on her head. Evidently, she fell down and cracked her head open.

The owner waved me in to sit down anyway and get a haircut so I did. Before long, EMT came over to pick up the other lady. It was surreal.

Him: Is she gonna be OK?
Me: I think so. If it was really bad, they wouldn’t have let us in.
Him: Ah…

The Chinese food we had downtown wasn’t enough so, a few days later, the boy and I met up with Pac, the NFL Player and my buddy Thor around the way for some authentic Szechwan Chinese food as well.

Me: Does anyone here mind spicy food?
Boy: I do!
Me: (shaking head) Besides my son, does anyone here mind spicy food?

Obvs, nonea them did so we gorged ourselves on a ton of killer dishes like this spicy lamb and taro dish below.

We ended up ordering a ton of food and a ton of drinks.

It was late when we left but school was already over, so I figured it was fine.

I’m still pretty behind in entries but I’m gonna try to get to it all. Eventually.

Girl-with-yellow-eyes: I found your blog.
Me: Well, that was bound to happen.
Her: Why do you even have it?
Me: Such a long story. OK, so, there was this reporter…

Location: 18th Street, hoping K wouldn’t stab me in my eye
Mood: so tired
Music: I hate myself, I wanna party, pretend I’m part of something (Spotify)
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The new office

A holiday dinner

Went out to eat with my office the other night over at Benjamin Steakhouse again.

They just moved offices so it was the first time seeing the new space.

The building it’s in is actually connected to Grand Central itself so I literally didn’t even leave the station to get to the office.

Which is probably for the best because winter’s here in full force these days.

I wonder if this is my last move with them.

Boss: Bloomberg News wants to talk to you about the blog entry you wrote for the company website.
Me: Get outta town!
Him: (laughing) No, seriously. We can talk about it more after dinner.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to ring them until a few days later and, by then, they’d already spoken to another IP lawyer on the matter.

Her: Logan, you’ve got to be the most interesting person I know.
Me: I wouldn’t mind it being a little less interesting, honestly.

It’s funny, before everything started going to hell in 2014, I woulda killed to be interviewed in a national press like Bloomberg News and I woulda called that night if I coulda.

It’s part of the reason why I was able to lecture in Paris and Malaga – I got in touch with people right away.

Nowadays, though, all that seems to be less important to me. Other things occupy my mind.

Me: I’m so sorry I have to run. I gotta get the kid.
Her: Oh, we all understand. He’s so cute!
Me: (nodding) I’m legally required to watch over him until he’s 16 but his being cute helps.
Her: Oh Logan, you’re all talk.
Me: Yeah, the day he moves out, I’m gonna be a wreck.

Him: Papa! You look nice again!
Me: (laughing) Glad to see you’re always surprised by this, kiddo.

Location: five hours ago, outside Alison’s apartment, remembering
Mood: conflicted
Music: you call my name and it feels like home (Spotify)
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Christmas 2022

The one with the nut in the cookie

Friday was a weird day.

It had a high in the mid 50s but then a low of 7 degrees. It was so cold that we contemplated closing the gym but decided to just keep it open.

Speaking of gyms, the kid was great all week – he got another stripe on his BJJ belt to boot – that I relented when he asked if I could get him a Happy Meal before we went to the gym.

Damn, that company knows how to work kids.

In any case, it was good that we kept the gym open because it was 19 degrees outside that night but inside was pretty comfortable.

I had these ideas to improve the R-values of our insulation and it was nice to see that what we implemented did the trick.

Me: Considering that we’re all not wearing shirts, I’d say this was a success.
Him: Or, we’re right by the showers.
Me: Don’t take this from me. It’s the holidays.

Speaking of the holidays, I’d been meaning to spend time with my mom but I didn’t like the thought of Alison’s parents spending it with just the two of them, so we made the trek out there.

It was so cold, not even the pidgins wanted to be outside.

Son: Will you stay overnight?
Me: Do you really want me to stay?
Him: Of course! You’re my papa.

Usually, we have a pretty nice meat dish – like a prime rib or something – but this year we had homemade meatballs and baked ziti.

I wasn’t complaining.

Plus, when my MIL picked me up from the station, she brought this:

Me: God, you know me so well. Thanks!
Her: If it’s ok, I wouldn’t mind having a chicken breast.
Me: I’ll consider it.

Although, the kid’s dessert had more iron than we were expecting.

Me: I think it’s a nut – and not the kind you eat!
Her: How did that get in there?
Me: You’re asking me?

Luckily, the kid was fine and didn’t break a tooth like I did on that olive pit all those years ago.

There were a buncha things I’d been meaning to read/watch, including this one documentary called Fish & Men, which I found interesting.

Read the kid a book that my sister-in-law bought us years ago with a single dad and his son. Gotta say, it almost made me cry.

But I was surprised when the boy started to cry.

Me: Why are you crying?
Him: I don’t know…I miss mommy.
Me: (nodding) We can stop. How about a hug?
Him: (nodding)
Me: Sweeeeeet, cm’ere you…

I woulda stayed over longer but the heat stopped in my building and I’m the only one that understands how to work the boiler.

Me: OK, with the data you now know: There’s no heat in the downstairs units, but heat in the upstairs units, what can you conclude from this data, kid?
Him: (thinking) The heat is stuck on the top and can’t come down.
Me: (laughing) That’s not bad, actually. It’s something like that.

It’s weird, up until a month ago, the kid and I were the only males in the building; a fella just moved into one of the units but the rest of the building is all X-chromosomes who were decidedly cold.

So, I left a lot earlier than I planned because (a) I didn’t want them freezing in the single digits but (b) I also didn’t want my pipes freezing.

Because heat and pressure are closely linked, I had to increase the temp of everything to increase the pressure enough to force all the accumulated cold water in the radiators down the pipes but not so much that the whole thing…explodes.

Dying wasn’t high on my list of to-dos this holiday season (this time) so I kept a pretty close eye on the pressure gagues.

In the end, managed to fix it in just a couple of hours, so that was good and rewarded myself with some Korean soju that I had in the house.

All-in-all, it was a pretty nice Xmas, as my Xmases go.

Hopefully yours involved less fixing boilers and metal shards in your food and more time with your loved ones.

Him: I wish you could stay.
Me: People need me to help them. We always try to help if we can, right?
Him: I guess.
Me: I’ll see you again before you know it, kid.

Location: earlier in the boiler room, with a portable speaker, a glass of soju, and a rubber mallet. I didn’t use one of those things.
Mood: frigid
Music: I can live off of your body heat, yeah baby (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, 1973 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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Mind. Blown.

Super impressed

Starting from 1996, my busiest times were always the period between Thanksgiving and the day after New Year’s.

Before 2015, it was always the happiest time for me. Conversely, after Alison got sick and then died, it was the worst time.

Like I said, it’s still not great but not quite as bad as it’s been.

Before 2015, I would literally go to 4-5 parties a week to get food, drink, and meet new potential clients/women for the upcoming year.

Alla that stopped hard in 2015 and it’s been quiet since then.

This year, though, I’ve had an unexpectedly full social card for reasons totally unrelated to my doing anything.

Trying to figure out which ones I should tell you about.

After alla the tragedy, hacking attempts, and random people mad at me with social media everywhere these days, I’m trying to be more cautious about what I post and what I keep to myself.

Because of how the space was laid out, people gathered at either end of the office but not in the middle.

Having said that, I will say that I went to another party over at Recalibrate PT, which is owned by a buddy of mine, and a member of my gym.

Went to a party there over the summer that I told you about.

Her: (laughing) You’re funny. You should write.
Him: He does, in a manner of speaking. He has a blog.
Me: I do. But no one reads it.
Him: I read it. Sometimes.
Me: So, yeah, one.

Suppose the main reason I’m telling you about it is because my buddy’s sister is a professional magician and did a show for us and, man, my mind was blown.

Her: As you know, a deck of cards has 52 cards…
Me: I do now!

She goes by the name Lau and she had one pretty impressive magic trick after the other.

Right before she took the stage, she asked me to think of my favourite city and write it on a piece of paper that I was to put in my pocket.

I did exactly that; she never saw what I wrote – although my handwriting is so atrocious that, even if she did, I doubt she coulda read it.

Told no one any of this.

 

Later, when she got to my part of the show – and in front of everyone – she asked me three or four questions before scribbling the above on a pad of paper and showing everyone.

Me: GTFOH!

It was super impressive, but not as impressive as what she did with the next guy.

See, she asked who he’d go on a trip with and she asked him another handful of questions.

Then, she drew a picture of a trees and showed it to him.

He politely shook his head, confused. But she had a picture of a guy next to the trees and wrote the word, “lumber” next to the trees.

After a few moments, my buddy’s eyes grew wide as Lau continued:

Her: Wait, lumber..lumber…jack? Jack?
Him: (mouth agape) Get the fuck outta here!

By that time, he and I killed a solid 1/3 of a bottle of vodka (there wasn’t any rum), and we were pretty impressed and highly intoxicated.

But then she did a hypnotism trick that blew everyone’s mind, essentially having one of our buddies, Dave doing things that none of us could figure out was possible.

Anhywho, I don’t wanna give away too much, but if you ever get a chance to catch a show by her, it’ll be worth it.

It was pretty late when I staggered home, me deep in thought and two sheets to the wind.

Thought I saw someone that I knew as I left but I think it was just the alcohol.

 

View this profile on Instagram

 

LAU (@lau4magic) • Instagram photos and videos

Location: earlier today, finding out that she doesn’t own her apartment, she owns the entire building
Mood: anxious
Music: tell me why my gods look like you (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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As popular as I was not

Whose kid?

Been baking a ton lately.

The major reason is that the kid – like all kids – loves things like cake, cookies, and pies.

But I don’t want him to have alla the junk and empty carbs that that stuff entails.

So, the only soultion is for me to bake everything. So far, in the last couple of months, I’ve baked:

        • Four pumpkin pies
        • Two chocolate cheesecakes
        • A batch of 60 double-chocolate oatmeal chip cookies
        • A batch of 60 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies
        • Four chocolate cakes
        • Two banana breads (which are just cakes)

Alison was always the baker while I was always the cook but she’s not here so I gotta do this.

It’s a different skillset than cooking but it’s still enjoyable.

It’s always been the cleanup that I hated; that’s what made Alison and me such a great couple – she loved to clean, I loved to cook. It was a good yin-yang.

Now, I do it all, for better or worse. But he’s happy and eating well, and that’s all that matters.

Everything’s made with high-fiber, high-protein flours like carbquick or almond flour, monk-fruit sweetened chocolate chips, oatmeal or nuts, and erythritol or coconut sugar for sweeteners so everything’s actually not-bad for him and some are actually good for him.

But he doesn’t know that, he just knows he likes them.

And I try to play the role I need to play to make sure he keeps wanting more.

Me: How is it?
Him: Sooooo, good. Can I have another?
Me: Well…
Him: Please?!
Me: (mock sighing) Fiiiine, I suppose you can have ONE more.
Him: YAY!

The kid’s ability to be innately social is something I find endlessly fascinating – only because it’s such a foreign thing to me. I’m very social but by design.

He’s just naturally social in a way that Alison and I were not. Not sure where it comes from but, like I said, it’s so interesting to me.

For example, the kid went to a birthday party last week where he met another boy that invited him to another birthday party, which was this past Sunday.

And then he had another birthday party on Friday – in a building that I sued once that went all the way to trial and decision, which is a whole ‘nother story – where yet another boy invited him to a birthday party on Saturday.

One party was at Medieval Times, someplace that Alison always wanted him to go to so I’m grateful for the experience.

Him: I’m hungry.
Me: How is that possible? You just came back from a birthday party at Medieval Times.
Him: (shrugging) I didn’t like the food. I just had the cake.
Me: (stopping everything I was doing) You didn’t like the food?! Whose kid are you?!
Him: YOURS!


Honestly, this kid is as popular and social as I was not at his age.

Not sure how I feel about this but I’m hopeful we can manage it so that he doesn’t make it into a burden nor burn out with it early.

Me: You had THREE birthday parties this weekend. I think that’s as many I’ve gone to my entire childhood.
Him: I know, I’m tired.
Me: (laughing) Awww, poor popular you.

Put up the tree. Finally.

I remembered where every single ornament came from.

I’d forgotten so much and it’s too much to remember all at once. Way too much.

Him: Why are you looking…? (makes a face and stares off into the distance)
Me: I’m just…papa’s in his head again.
Him: Oh. It’s ok, papa.
Me: Thanks, kid.

Location: tonight, covered in flour but happy to see the kid happy
Mood: so. full. of. cake.
Music: got too many friends (Spotify)
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Modern communications

Pretty things

I was texting with my brother throughout the whole colonoscopy prep ordeal and thought it was pretty funny.

 

Now, I’m finding that, despite my best efforts, texting/messaging is the main way I communicate with people these days.

Although, I much prefer email; it’s just the nature of modern day communications.

Anywho, I’ve saved a buncha texts meaning to write about them but never have.

Like this exchange between me and one of my 30-something friends, who is not Asian.

 

A lot of the funny texts I have are with women that I’ve dated in the past that are now friends of mine.

I’m always rooting for them to succeed in life, even if I’m not their life partner. Although for many complex reasons…

 

 

OK, maybe not that complex.

A buddy of mine asked how to be good on text with women and I told him that honesty is a major component of it.

It’s not so much about being yourself, it’s about being your authentic best self.

For example, this girl had to reschedule but we ended up meeting at my newest fave dive bar the other day – she was worried I thought she was standing me up, which I thought was rather cute.

 

 

I’ve only ever been stood up once, by the Heiress. People with a ton of money think that money buys them the right to be douchebags. It doesn’t.

Now, can’t tell you how many first dates I go on…second dates are another matter entirely.

Although, the likelihood of a second date happening rises exponentiality if there’s food and an open bar to be had.

Case in point, a while back, I essentially had to run interference on this girl’s very handsy coworker/ex-fling (who was definitely breaking some HR rules) which, I was happy to do because (a) she was easy on the eyes and (b) the alcohol was comped and top-shelf.

 

Honestly, there’s not much I won’t do for some free, top-shelf alcohol.

And running interference is fun.

Him: I run the division. What about you?
Me: Oh, I dabble in this and that. Mostly, I drink.
Her: (interjecting) He’s a lawyer that owns a gym in Union Square and has a YouTube channel where he teaches people to fight with knives.
Him: Ooooh, should I be scared?
Me: Not yet, no…

So, if you’re a woman that needs someone to run interference for you – and there’s food and drink involved – I’m your guy.

I should start a business or something…

Him: Why do you look so nice, papa?
Me: Well, I think I look pretty good most days.
Him: (laughing) Nooooooooooooooooooooo…
Me: (shaking head) Everyone’s a critic.

Location: earlier today, a penthouse apartment near my pad
Mood: busy, busy, busy
Music: Ain’t it such a good life that we live? (Spotify)
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Categories
personal

Ur famous bruh

Massive Imposter Syndrome

 

About two Fridays ago, the short below had about 92,000 views, which was pretty good already.

The very next day, that number somehow jumped to 1.5 million. Two days later it was three million on Sunday and four million on Monday. It’s now our best performing video with 6.1 million views.

And we have zero idea why.

The internet’s a strange place.

Him: Well, your face is covered in that one.
Me: Thanks, Pac.

Speaking of Pac and the internet being a strange place, he went out to Seattle for a business meeting and was chatting with a higher up there when my name got brought up.

But just my first name.

Evidently, there’re not a lotta Logans in New York City.

It turns out that she was going through her own tragedy a while back and, through Googling, came across my blog. She and her sister kept up with me and Alison while Alison was sick.

She told Pac that it gave her some comfort.

To say that made my day is like saying that the sun is hot.

Years ago, I met Ray Liotta and I told him I was looking forward to seeing Killing Them Softly. He seemed really pleased that I knew about it.

Read somewhere that actors get tired of talking about the films that they’re famous for – in his case, Goodfellas – but are happier talking about their latest project.

In this sample size of one, I’d say that’s true.

I bring this up because, as cool as Scenic Fights is – and it’s hella cool – it’s never what I wanted to be known for.

The fact I could fight was something I kept to myself for 30 years. It was just my own personal little joy.

I only did Scenic Fights as a favour to one of the producers and, while I’m glad I did, I do miss the anonymity of being just a grey man from time-to-time.

I’d have been happy to have died an old man keeping that a secret, amongst all my other secrets.

Having said that, I’ve always wanted to be known as a good writer. Unlike fighting or cooking or the law anything else, it’s the one thing where I don’t feel massive impostor syndrome.

I feel I can actually write well, and my hope is always that I can connect with someone through time and space through these squiggly lines.

Pac went further though.

He told me that a group of people overheard the conversation and asked about me.

Before Pac could respond, the woman – whom I never met – turned and told them the story of how Alison and I met, got married, and how she got sick, and ultimately, how she died.

Pac was surprised that she knew so much about me without having known me.

Him: (laughing) Crazy, complete strangers from the other side of the country know you. Man, your ego must be HUGE right now.
Me: It’s always huge but…it’s more than that. Alison’s biggest fear was that she’d be forgotten. The fact that people remember her and think fondly of her, even after all these years, means the world to me.
Him: Well, your blog did that. And she’s definitely not going to be forgotten by you or anyone else that’s read it.
Me: Well then, it’s worth every moment I put into it then. She deserves to be remembered. Even though, I’d like to forget things.

I’m remembering things. This is both good and bad.

I’ll tell you about it, when I sort it all out.

Location: home, chatting with a friend about the people we loved
Mood: flattered
Music: Lets build a big little life. All we need is each other (Spotify)
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