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personal

Help please?

Public phones in LA

My week’s been unpleasant. Compounding matters, couldn’t go wrasslin to blow off some steam. But I’ve been teaching my fencing class I had to go to that. Which is a good thing.

After class last night, walked by this very nicely dressed old lady who sat on a milk crate in front of a small metal cart. Her clothes were neat but slightly dirty. Her hair was up in a bun. She smiled meekly at me and held out a small crumpled paper bag.

Her: Help please? (holding out paper bag)
Me: I’m sorry ma’am. I just came from the gym.
Her: (sad smile) That’s ok, thank you.

Walked back to my pad and thought of another little old lady, which is a story for another time.

Got home, took a shower, and then got dressed again. Told my wife that I was going to head back out and give her a few bucks. She told me to be careful.

I think I can handle a little old lady.

A few minutes later.

Me: Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t have anything before. It’s not much, but I thought it might help. (handing her money)
Her: (smiling) Thank you for coming back.
Me: Do you have any place to go tonight?
Her: Tonight, yes. And for for two more weeks. That’s why I’m collecting money.

She held up her crumpled paper bag that was filled with random bills. I told her to be careful and she said she would be.

Wanted to walk her home but figured that would scare her. So I stood around the corner for just a bit to make sure she was ok before I went home, feeling guilty about my dumb luck.

Didn’t give her much. Wish I could have given her more.

Of course, it could all be a scam but this rang true – even to my jaded NY ears. And it bothers me cause home is such a powerful word. It’s distinctly separate from house, apartment, pad, etc. It is safety, comfort, and belonging.

Chivalry’s dead, but repaying the aether is not. Tell me, my small but loyal group of internet friends: How can we help her?

Location: home, this whole @#$@# week
Mood: still unhappy
Music: All the lonely people. Where do they all come from?
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personal

“We’re Spartans,” he says.

Parking Lot in NYC

Him: We’re not like everyone else.
Me: Then what are we?
Him: (laughing) We’re Spartans.

My craptastic week continues with the added bonus of insomnia. My hands haven’t been shaking, so it’s not terrible yet. But I feel it coming.

Was supposed to go to my fencing instructor’s 60th birthday party last Friday as well as do some other things but we make our plans and God laughs. Spent it instead dealing with things I’ll have to tell you about someday.

A buddy came by and met up with me at my local dive bar where I self-medicated with several pitchers of cheap beer and deep fried fowl. We traded our stories of woe. Everyone has a sad story to tell, which makes sense: Life is sad.

Luckily, we have friends and readily available alcohol to help us overcome the blows.

“We’re Spartans,” he says. Yes, and I can deal with my problems one at a time. If only they came that way; if only they came one at a time.

Her: Did you have a good time?
Me: (plopping into bed) It was good to get out.
Her: Good, I’m glad you went. (sniffing) Whoa, you smell like a bar!
Me: Mission accomplished!

Location: home, waiting
Mood: unhappy
Music: see sunshine, I thought I didn’t have to run, now I’m duckin
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personal

Pride comes before a fall

Right-Handed and Proud!

Fashion Institute of Technology, NYC

Have not been having a good week.

A byproduct of this is that my insomnia’s back. At least with the advent of tablet computing, I can just read quietly in bed and hopefully fall asleep.

Last night, read that the leader of the anti-Semitic party in Hungary learned he was Jewish.

And parta why I read that was because the Olympics are over. I understand the prideful screaming and cheering there. These are people that just worked for years at a certain skill and have finally achieved something few in the world could.

I get that.

However, got a number of friends that are extremely proud to be Chinese, Irish, black, whatever. One even has a tattoo to this effect. This I don’t get quite as much.

Cause they didn’t do anything to achieve that. Me for example, I’m Chinese. Specifically, from the Luo River in the Bing province. I like being Chinese – after all, we’re a lovely people.

But the question I always think to my friends was, If you were born, say, a Bermudian, would you be equally proud of that? Would you join the Bermudian Day parade, get a tattoo that says, “Bermudian and proud?”

Suspect they would. Which just kinda shows how silly it is. It’s all just sheer stupid luck.

This always gets Chinese people that don’t know me furious cause they say that without this pride, I must be ashamed I’m Chinese. Which, again, makes zero sense to me. I’m Chinese(-American). I’m also right-handed. I don’t get a tattoo that says, “Right-handed and proud” cause it’s merely what I am.

Got an issue with people that are prideful of things they had nuthin to do with. And sometimes, they take this pride to extremes like that guy in Hungary. And then they look idiotic when they realize how easily facts can change.

Him: The greatest fighter in the world was Chinese!
Me: He was one of the greatest fighters in the world cause he worked hard at it and was naturally gifted. Plus Bruce Lee was 1/4 Caucasian.

Location: waiting by the phone
Mood: unhappy
Music: I’ve had a s__t day, you’ve had a s__t day
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personal

Deep questions and a review of The Grey film

LIRR stop overlooking a street in Queens, NY

Me: How’s the spinach and Parmesan omelet?
Her: It’s good, it just smells like a fart.
Me: Thank you for your contribution to this morning’s conversation.

Last week was a major week for me for good and bad reasons. Suppose I’ll get into that at some point in the future.

The heat’s getting to me. Find this odd cause my family’s from a subtropical country. Am pretty sure that, had I been born and raised there I would have gone full-on starkers with the heat. As it stands now, I’m the guy that shows up for work looking as if I just took a shower.

It is not a good look.

What I don’t understand – and I’d really like to know the answer – is how people can run around wearing sweaters in the middle of August? Who are these people? Are they related to the people that finish exams with 90 minutes left on the clock?

While fighting the heat, caught the film The Grey, mainly cause it takes place in the winter. If you’ve seen the film, highlight the below empty white space, which I’ve hidden for those that have (luckily) not seen the film.

This movie is yet another example of Hollywood writers making crap up that make zero sense. Essentially, everyone that listened/followed Lian Neeson’s character, including Lian Neeson character, dies. This should be required viewing for anyone in the wilderness of what not to do as it violates every rule of survival, onea the main ones being stay with your vehicle cause:

  • it’s huge
  • is visible from a distance
  • provides shelter
  • potentially has food and water

This was so egregious to me that I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the film – which compounded the number of mistakes  – such as route selection and leadership selection the latter which begs the question, why pick as leader the suicidal guy with zero survival skills?

Perhaps some questions were meant never to be answered. However, if you’ve ever wondered who’s the guy that wears shorts in the winter? That question I can answer: it’s people like me and my buddy Steel. Cause we’re melting even in the winter.

Cannot wait for Fall. After all, my year starts in September.

Location: my roasting room
Mood: heated
Music: White knuckles and sweaty palms from hanging on too tight
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personal

California 2012 Travelogue: Day 3

A broken chair, ramen, and home

Jet Blue airplane in Burbank

Her: Morning!
Me: Morning – I need coffee and Mexican food.
Her: We have lots of leftover pizza.
Me: OK.

Wake up early. Damn insomnia. Sit down to chat with my brother’s girlfriend fiancee in the morning. As we’re talking about me falling down the stairs yesterday, my chair breaks and I come crashing down on that same knee.

Man, I swear I’m darned.

Broken chair in LA

After icing it for a bit more, putter around the house. Wanna keep it low-key so I give my buddy Lorin a call – we’ve not seen each other in years. He drives over and we go to a local coffee shop to catch up.

I tell him of the troubles and he tells me of his.

Him: …and then I got remarried.
Me: Good, I’m glad. You happier now?
Her: Much happier. You?
Me: Much.

Coffee Shop in Pasadena

We don’t stay long and soon I’m back at my brother’s pad. After trying to get some writing done – and hitting some really bad writer’s block – my brother, his girl, and I head out to the local Ramen joint. It’s closed.

Him: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

…but we find another joint around the way. Pretty good. Scarfed down the whole thing with a plate of fried tofu.

Bob Hope Airport, Burbank

I’m too beat to walk around so we head back early. Finally manage to get five hours sleep. We wake up the next morning and he drives me to Bob Hope airport.

Him: Thanks for the surprise.
Me: Ditto!

Pretty quiet trip. I walk out into the NYC summer heat, make it home, and call the wife.

Me: I’m home.
Her: Logan’s home!

It’s good to be home.

———-

Logan Lo and his brother in NYC in the 70s

For those of you that’ve read this blog for years, you might recall when I wrote the difference between Grace and Mercy:

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

Anywho, I always think of my brother and sister when I think of that. Could use some of both these days for reasons we’ll get into some other time.

Even as a child, I’m stuffing my face. No wonder I broke that chair…

Location: my bed, writing this
Mood: anxious
Music: two American kids growing up in the heartland
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California 2012 Travelogue: Day 2

Coffee, Stairs, and an Engagement

Coffee percolator

Him: Morning!
Me: Morning – I need coffee and Mexican food.

Next day, wake up at my brother’s and, per my usual routine, have coffee. Unfortunately, they only have percolator coffee, which isn’t my favourite but beggars can’t be choosers. At least the pot looks nice.

While going down the stairs, I slip and slide down to the bottom.

Him: You ok?!
Me: I bruised my knee but I think I’m ok. These stairs are dangerous! Do people slip on them all the time?
Him: Nope, you’re the first.
Me: (getting up) Of course I am.

Damn you stairs, my forever enemy.

Mexican restaurant in LA

Him, his girl, and I head off to the local Mexican place. It’s a place that has polite waiters, clean tables, actual silverware, and food you don’t need to unwrap.

Me: (scowling) This isn’t the type of Mexican food I wanted. I wanted food stand food.
Him: Why?
Me: It’s what I eat! Plus the wife’s not here.

Still, it’s excellent. I order the fish tacos as I told my wife before I left, that my goal was to eat as many fish tacos as I could here.

Fish tacos in NYC

After my bro clean up the house for his party. I meet a guy that does the same fencing as I do so we chat for a bit before I politely leave. I’m beat so slip off to bed as I hear my brother start to sing “Hey Jude.” After a few hours, there’s a banging on my door.

Brother: Hey, come back up. I’m asking her to marry me.
Me: Get outta here! (looking down) Suppose I should put on some clothes.

Went back and my bro did the deed on bended knee.

She said yes. It was lovely.

Afterward, went back to the room and lay in bed for five hours wide-awake listening to really drunk karaoke. This was not lovely.

If I am condemned to hell, I imagine it will involve karaoke.

Congrats to my bro!

Location: a guest bedroom, listening to more karaoke
Mood: exhausted
Music: you’ll begin to make it better better better better better better, oh
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California 2012 Travelogue: Day 1

Small world / What else?

By the time you read this entry, I’ll be on a flight back to New York.

Decided to fly out to Los Angles to surprise my brother for a party he was throwing. Left on Thursday night to spend the night at the rents. Usually pack pretty light but when my mom saw my near empty bag, she put in several pounds of homemade food into my bag.

Me: You’re crushing my clothes!
Her: Oh, you’ll be fine. (Shoving in a brick of sticky rice) Wear some of your brother’s clothes.

Even though it was pretty early, the airport was packed. Funny thing was the guy in front of me in the queue looked familiar.

Me: James?
Him: Logan?

Turns out it was a guy from my wrasslin class from a while ago. He got injured and I’d not seen him in years. Small world.

After a plane trip surround by Chinese people and one really annoying guy, arrived in LA just before 11AM.

Guy: (furious) If I weren’t gay, I don’t think you’d say anything. We’re having this argument because I’m gay.
Me: (rolling eyes) Dude, we’re not having this discussion cause you’re gay, we’re having this discussion cause you’re a high-grade moron.

My brother’s girlfriend picked me up and brought me back to his house where I stopped by a roadside drive across the street from the first Trader Joe’s and picked up – what else – some chili.

Afterward, was making some pizza for my brother when he walked in.

Me: Hey.
Him: What are you doing here?!
Me: (laughing and drying hands) Well, you did invite me to the party…

Later, met up with Caffeineguy and his buddy Paul for – what else – some rum at this place called Patterns Bar. It was for a girl’s bday and it turns out, she was a former New Yorker that I knew. Small world.

Caffeineguy: Are you still rum monogamous?
Me: It’s more of an open relationship now – just don’t run Tequila by me. She is not my friend.

Paul had to run and I was fading fast so after some hearty handshakes and a hug or two, called a cab and went back to my brother’s pad. Went to bed thinking of my wife and the California sun.

There’s more but I’ll tell you tomorrow.

Location: On a leather couch in LA
Mood: beat, beat, tired
Music: if you find me one, I’d love a picture of the California sun
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An Open Letter to Christine Quinn Regarding Chick-fil-A

New York City from Hoboken

Dear Speaker Quinn;

First of all, congratulations on your recent nuptials! Having just been married myself, I was told that my life would be the same but completely different afterward. I find that to be true.

However, I write this letter to discuss something less pleasant – which is this whole Chick-fil-A matter. Frankly, I don’t like where it’s going politically.

Specifically, you recently sent a letter to the NYU President, which you wrote on government stationary and opened with the words: “I write as the Speaker of the NYC Council.” In that letter you asked the President to break a legal agreement NYU signed with a corporation who’s view you term “repugnant.”

This comes on the heels of similar letters by the mayors of Boston, Chicago and San Francisco that have threatened to treat Chick-fil-A differently than any other person and organization for no other reason than that you find them “repugnant.”

While I too find them repugnant, as a citizen – and a minority – I also find this all even more unsettling.

A while back, I wrote about this judge 100 years ago named Stephen Johnson Field that hated the Chinese. Absolutely hated them. While sitting on the bench, he was called to judge the constitutionality of the Pigtail Ordinance. Without getting into the specifics of the law, suffice it to say that it was meant to make life hell for a group of people he personally despised.

In other words, he found us repugnant.

I’ve always found this odd because we’re a lovely people but that’s neither here nor there.

In any case, everyone expected him to uphold the law precisely because they knew his personal opinion. He did not. Instead, he struck down the law as unconstitutional.

His reason was simple: As much as he hated the Chinese, he respected the letter of the law more.

His office trumped his personal opinions.

A more recent example is the so-called Ground Zero Mosque. You stood with Mayor Bloomberg when he said that cancellation of the mosque would be a “sad day.” I assume because, in that instance, the party singled out you felt personal sympathy with AND it was on the right side of the law.

Here, you don’t feel personal sympathy with Chick-fil-A yet, like the mosque, it is on the right side of the law.

In both examples, the law is clear: An organization cannot be discriminated against because of its beliefs.

Speaker Quinn, integrity means that one is the same person in public as one is in private. It requires consistency.

It demands that if you defend the constitution for a white person you must defend the constitution for a Chinese person.

The judge in the Pigtail Ordinance, while racist, had integrity. 100 years later, that means something.

I humbly submit that you’re letting your personal feelings interfere with your respect for the law. It’s easy to defend the defenseless and sympathetic; it’s harder to defend those that you personally find repugnant.

  • The law allows a mosque to rent a space without concern that the government does not like its opinions.
  • The law allows a corporation to rent a space without concern that the government does not like its  opinions.

As a life-long New Yorker, I admit had conflicted feelings about having a mosque so close to where 9/11 happened. But in the end, the law is the law. And in the end, I supported it being there.

I would not want someone saying that I cannot live someplace because I am a Christian, or Chinese-American, or terribly clumsy.

I support citizens boycotting Chick-fil-A. I support citizens marching. I support citizens ripping them to shreds online.

But I draw the line at government telling us that its opinions supersede the law.

It’s dangerous when government officials use their positions of power to further their own personal agendas. To think otherwise sets a dangerous precedent.

History has shown, time-and-time again, that a world ruled by someone’s personal opinion is not a safe place for Chinese, gay, black, Jewish, Muslim, disabled people to live.

Imagine a world where Michele Bachmann’s personal opinion ruled it.

We put up with opinions that are different than ours – even repugnant to us – because it’s what we do. The word is “tolerance.”

One doesn’t tolerate things, people, and opinions one finds lovely. One tolerates things, people, and opinions one finds repugnant. It’s what we do.

Sincerely,

Logan Lo

Location: in front of my first cuppa joe for the day
Mood: curious
Music: if everybody looked the same we’d get tired of looking at each other
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business personal

Red Belt – The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little

Lottery tickets

Me: It’s 9:15 PM. Would it be crazy for me to run out and buy some lottery tickets?
Her: Do it. You’ve had a great week so far.

Last week, wrapped up several projects that I’ve been working on for months.

Then at 9PM last night, found out that another project I was working on came through AND I got a completely unsolicited five-star Vine Voice Review for The Men Made of Stone saying it was a Damn Good Novel.

For those of you that don’t know, a Vine Voice is an invitation-only accolade from Amazon that is for “the most trusted reviewers on Amazon.”

Between that and the Olympics last night, could barely sleep. Speaking of accolades and people with great weeks, watched as swimmers Dana Vollmer and Brendan Hansen broke two world records.

In my insomnia last night, thought of Sir Roger Bannister, the first person in recorded history to run a four minute mile.

Also thought of pancakes but that’s neither here nor there.

In any case, the thing about Bannister is that he could only train 45 minutes a day because he was studying to be a neurologist – in fact, he’s the author of the book on nervous system diseases.

This other fella named Pedro Valente Jr. is one of ten people on the planet that has a red belt (aka a 9th degree black belt) in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. That’s impressive enough. However, he’s also recognized by the New York Times as one of the top 5 plastic surgeons on the planet.

And, if you’re a long time reader of this blog, you know my idolization of Heady Larmarr who was not only a gorgeous film actress but also an inventor that patented the frequency-hopping technology we use in today’s mobile phones.

These people’re my idols cause they show that one can excel at numerous disparate things. They dispel the myth that one can be the best at only one thing, if anything at all.

It’ll take time, but I think I can be King of two things and Jack of four things. Put another way: The biggest human temptation is to settle for too little and these are people that refused to settle.

Or to quote yet another philosopher named Eminem:

Yo I won’t tell no lie, not a moment goes by
That I don’t pray to the sky, please I’m beggin you God
Please don’t let me be pigeon holed in no regular job
Yo I hope you can hear me homey wherever you are

———-

Lottery tickets

If you haven’t picked up a copy of my book yet, here’s the first ~60 pages of it just to see what you think:

Location: home
Mood: ambitious
Music: got every ingredient, all I need is the courage
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My Experience with Kirkus Indie Book Reviews

Did not have a pleasant experience with Kirkus

For those of you that don’t know, Kirkus Reviews was a book review magazine known for having very harsh reviewers, rarely giving a positive review to anything.

In 2004, they launched a service whereby someone could pay for an honest review. In theory, this sounds great because it fulfills a need; few ebooks by unknown authors are given a chance to be read by a reputable house.

Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to help them enough financially and they announced that they would close at the end of 2009. However, a man from the Indiana Pacers swooped in and saved them so that they were able to continue their business model (as Kirkus Indie Reviews).

That’s the backstory.

A few months back, I wrote this post which I can tell you now was about Kirkus Reviews.

I sent them The Men Made of Stone, because: A real artist ships, otherwise you’re just a nutcase with a notebook. Putting my money where my mouth is, requested a review.

And as I said, I got a scathing review of the first 30 pages of my story. Almost half the review – 102 out of 304 words – is spent talking about a minor character that’s killed on page 24 out of a 296 page book.

The hero of the book is given 13 words in the review and called a “minor character” by the editor. The antagonist wasn’t mentioned at all.

That’s like writing a review of Hamlet and saying it’s about the witty banter between Bernardo and Francisco and some punk kid named Hamlet. With no mention of Claudius.

Put another way, that’s writing a book review on The Godfather and saying that it revolves around Bonasera and Fredo.

And if you don’t know read crime thrillers to know what that means, that’s fine, because neither did the Kirkus reviewer, who called the story “completely unrealistic.”

But just like The Godfather, The Men Made of Stone, while fiction, is a roman a clef; the scenes that the reviewer said could not have happened, actually happened.

In any case, I exchanged emails with the editor and asked him to just refund my money, which he refused to do. He essentially said, “We’re Kirkus, our reviewers are anonymous and you can’t do anything about it.”

After countless emails back and forth, I just opened a complaint with the credit card company, printed up the emails we had, and sent in my side of the story.

After about three months, my credit card company said that after hearing from Kirkus and reading everything, they decided that Kirkus Reviews did not, in fact, provide what they were supposed to provide: an honest review by a qualified reviewer who read my book.

Logan: 1
Kirkus: 0

Now, logic would say I should just pocket my returned funds and keep quiet.

But it was never about the money. It was about the unfairness of it all. I can brook a lot but I can’t put up with bullies. If I didn’t just get a refund, I woulda just gone to court.

Moreover, I believe in my story and my editors. Enough to write this entry.

For those ebook writers that ask, “Is a Kirkus Review worth it?” For me at least, the answer is no.

I’m not saying that this is going to be your experience with Kirkus – but it is my experience. Moreover, my opinion is that in order to make money at that model, you have to churn quantity. Assuming an average reading speed of 250 words a minute, skimming is an attractive option. Since it’s anonymous, all the more so. As I neither get paid nor am anonymous in my reviews, I know of what I speak.

So take this post as you will.

Kirkus Editor: I’d hope you could appreciate the subjective nature of reviews. [If you go to court, you’ll lose].
Me: Your review make it seem as if my book is about a guy named C and a guy named TT. My position is simple – that is not what my book’s about. I’ll take my chances. Thanks.

———-

I did get a positive review on the San Francisco Book Review but more on that next week. Or just read it for yourself:

The Men Made of Stone - Logan Lo
 

Location: getting dressed for work
Mood: vindicated
Music: takes more than what you got to frighten me
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