Category: personal

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personal

Still ever the skillest and killest, Pt 1

Burying dead things

It’s been an odd week.

Some relatively recent friends (formally) exited my Venn Diagram while others came back for a visit.

Years ago, the Devil told me, “We’re not friends. We’re friendly, but we’re not friends. There’s a difference. Don’t get it twisted, kid.”

Found myself saying similar those exact words to someone else at a Japanese restaurant this past week and – for a moment, at least – I was my old self again.

Me: For what it’s worth, it was mature of you to reach out to me to talk. I never woulda myself because it’s not in my nature.
Him: (slowly nodding) I only know you after Alison…died. I’m still getting used to who you really are.
Me: Gotta be honest, I don’t care. But, our interests are aligned: What you want and what I want are the same. Let’s just get the job done. Whatever personal feelings we have towards the other are irrelevant. (later) To be clear, I felt I owed you a debt. I consider the debt paid – in full. I don’t owe you shit. But, it cut both ways, you don’t owe me shit either. I just wanna come in, do my shit, and leave. We’re both professionals, let’s act as such.
Him: As skilled as you are with a knife, you cut better with words than anyone I know.

It was perfectly eloquent and cruel, but I suppose it was true and I deserved it.

After all, he’s right. I’m ever the skillest with my sharp objects, the killest with my blunt instruments.

Fuck it. I’m getting tired of apologizing for and hiding who and what I am.

A woman I dated briefly dropped me a line earlier this month and then again this week.

She made me laugh.

And then Rain hit me up to chat about stuff. Oddly, someone just asked me earlier today if he and I were still in contact.

There’s definitely something weird in the air. In any case, it was good catching up with him.

Me: Jesus Christ – you have hair! And it’s grey!
Him: Man, you look exactly the same. I can’t believe you still have all your hair and it’s black.
Me: I’m as surprised as you are.

We got onto the topic of buying some grass-fed beef together because…of course we did.

Weirder still, a girl I met on the train three years ago randomly dropped me a line recently as well.

What on earth is going on?

It’s was Pac’s birthday this past weekend.

Had a hangover for the first time in over a decade but I’ll tell you more about that tomorrow.

Location: earlier today, my kitchen, baking two dozen cookies and a pan of lasagna for my favourite tiny human
Mood: Same as the song
Music: Well, fuck ’em, fuck ’em, fuck ’em all (Spotify)
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Olga of Kyiv

Forgetting history

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

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

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

Must be something in the water.

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

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

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

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

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

Big mistake.

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

Holy disrespect, amIrite?

Olga thought so too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why this story?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Agreed.

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

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

Parenting’s hard

Before I went out with RE Mike, I picked up the kid from school and he wasn’t his usual indefatigably happy self because of his black eye.

Him: Some of the kids were making fun of me. (sadly) They called me hamburger face. I didn’t like that. I asked them to stop but they didn’t. (sighs)
Me: You can’t control what other kids do or say, but you can control how you react to these things. Do you know their names?
Him: No.
Me: People that you don’t know that are mean shouldn’t matter to you. Don’t care so much about people and things that don’t matter. Now, go play.
Her: (woman overhearing my conversation after he ran off) That was really good advice.
Me: Thanks. Parenting’s hard, isn’t it?
Her (nodding) So hard.

If you don’t have a kid, it’s difficult to explain how much it wears on a parent to have a sad kid; and this kid is rarely sad.

But when he is, I’m bummed all day.

While I was out with RE Mike, I mentioned the fact that I studied weapons fighting for just about as long as we’ve known each other.

He was totally shocked because I never once mentioned it.

It’s funny, people think that because I have a blog, my life’s an open book. In many ways, it is. But I also keep a lotta secrets.

There’s so much of my life I’ve not told you and I don’t think you’d believe if I told you anywho.

After all, some secrets are (quite) good and some are (quite) bad, but all are special things.

The next morning, he texted me the following – the link is to Scenic Fights:

Anywho, after I picked the boy up late from RE Mike’s pad, we took the long walk to the west side to grab the train home.

Him: I’m scared.
Me: Why?
Him: It’s so dark and people are so loud.
Me: It’s fine, you’re with me and I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you.
Him: You’re not scared?
Me: Everyone’s scared sometimes. But I’m not right now. Because these people are all like sheep, or – at most – like wolves, and papa’s neither.
Him: What are you then?
Me: (laughing) Uncle Pac thinks papa’s an old lion. That sounds about right. And lions – even old ones – aren’t afraid of sheep or wolves.

Although, to be fair, I’m like a weird old lion…

Location: West 77th and Columbus on a conference call trying to sound cavalier
Mood: parental
Music: devil’s on my shoulder stirring up trouble (Spotify)
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A night on Pier 17 with Mike and Andy

A wall of donuts

While the kid was away, RE Mike sent me a buncha invites but I couldn’t go to most of them because of timing. Still, one of them was too good to pass up.

It was a private party with a top-shelf open bar and the invite said, “Come hungry.”

Him: I’ve never seen an invite that says, “Come hungry,” before.
Me: Welp, I do as I’m told.

Don’t think I’ve ever taken my wallet out once for anything RE Mike’s ever taken me to.

But that’s not even the kicker, the kicker was that Andy Grammer – and I’m a fan – was going to be singing in a private concert to boot.

The last time I went to the South Street Seaport it looked completely different. They completely redeveloped it in 2017, while my world was crashing down around me.

It was almost 15 years ago when I last went there with Elle. The time before that was to catch another concert with Camera Obscura and the Grey-Eyed Texan.

So, I was looking to catch another concert there after all these years.

Mike’s wife actually grew up in the same town as Alison and they made plans to get together before everything went to shit.

She and Mike have a kid that’s younger than mine, so I dropped the boy off with her while Mike and I went out.

Me: Man, it’s like nuthin’s changed after all these years; we’re still out and about and you’re still floating me in.
Him: What else are we going to do? Just sit at home?
Me: Well, that was the original plan, but life got in the way.
Him: (sighing) I know. I’m sorry.
Me: (nodding)

In any case, the joint was packed.

Packed, I say.

Ran into people that I’ve not seen in years. Some of them asked me where I’ve been but that’s kinda why I wanted to avoid all these people for so long and hung out with a whole new set of people: Just didn’t wanna rehash things.

Her: What have you been up to all this time?
Me: Oh, you know…the usual.

Think the reason why RE Mike and other people invite me out is that I can go to pretty much any party and both be good company as well as go off and do my own thing.

Him: Where have you been?
Me: (shrugging) Making some new friends. This is Lauren. (turning to bartender) Lauren, this is RE Mike. Can you make us a pina colada?
Her: God no. But I can make you something stronger and better.
Me: Sold.

It was weird being out with RE Mike again. Like I just said, it’s like nuthin happened when so much did.

Andy Grammar didn’t take the stage until late but it was a school night and, as much as I wanted to see the show, I knew I had to get the boy and get him back to bed.

Her: Wait, you’re gonna miss the concert!
Me: I know, it’s fine. There’s a little boy on West 8th Street, waiting for me. (noticing her face) It’s my son.
Her: But you’re not married?
Me: No. Long story for another time.
Her: Take my number, I might need a lawyer in the future.
Me: (laughing) Take my number then. (hand her my card).

Found RE Mike and we were on the way out when we noticed a wall of donuts.

A. Wall. Of. Donuts. #merica

Him: You’re not having one? (reaches for one)
Me: (shaking head) Carbs. (later) Sorry to make you leave before the concert, man.
Him: (shrugging) I’m a dad too, now. It’s fine. [I can get you into these things all the time, you know that.]
Me: (nodding) Thanks for always inviting me out.

As for the kid, he was happy as a clam when I went to go pick him up from Mike’s wife.

It was bittersweet; she’s a doll (and a doctor to boot) and I know that she and Alison woulda been fast friends.

They met only once, and I didn’t even mention it in this entry because I thought I’d have time to slowly introduce her to you.

We always think we have time, and we never realize how little we have until it’s way, way too late.

I almost never hung out with them. It was too much for me to bear.

He and his wife bought another pad in a town that Alison and were going to go to. Haven’t visited yet. Not sure I ever will.

Anywho, wanted to mention that Andy Grammer gets flack because he’s relentlessly upbeat. I don’t get that.

Reality is such shit, why wouldn’t you want positivity if you can get it?

I’ll add him to the list of people to someday see in concert.

When I don’t have to pick up the kid, that is.

Speaking of the kid, the walk home with the boy was interesting but this is getting long so I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

Location: Bayside, telling someone he was about to make a terrible mistake if he swung
Mood: pretty good, I gotta say
Music: good to be alive right about now (Spotify)
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Donuts and bruises

Family of two

The pastor wrote me recently about a concert in November but it’s hard for me to plan out my schedule that far in advance.

On that note, I’m reminded that he stopped by with some high-class donuts the other day for some coffee and conversation.

I’m wearing the glove because I had some cuts on my hands for reasons we don’t need to get into.

Gotta say, there was a world of difference between my usual whole wheat donut and these bad boys.

Think I’m gonna have to hit the gym hard again.

Although I did have it with my portable peanut butter because I like to ruin things.

Still, I might have a problem going the gym as much as I want. I’ve had some health issues pop up recently, on top of tearing my meniscus.

The first is that Pac dropped me on my head in a recent Scenic Fights shoot. He was injured and tired and so was I so that wasn’t a good combo as I essentially got pile-driven into the mat.

Thank goodness that we recently just got gifted a crash pad because it woulda been seriously bad without it.

The doc said he didn’t see anything major to be concerned about but did ask me to take it easy.

But then some routine tests came back…weird. Need to run a few more tests to figure it all out.

Of course, there’s always something.

Finally, I’m not the only person in my two-person family with unexpected health issues; the kid was running in an afterschool program in the second week of class and then went face-first into a pipe.

1/2 an inch lower and he coulda lost an eye.

Alison once said that, the night before you become a parent is the last night you get a good night of sleep.

Man, that’s so true.

Him: It hurts!
Me: I know, kid. I’m sorry.
Him: Don’t touch it!
Me: I gotta. I’m sorry.
Him: Noooo!
Me: I need you trust me, ok? Do you trust me?
Him: Yes?
Me: Good enough. Deep breath.

Location: last night ~11PM on 8th St, telling him about sheep, wolves, and lions
Mood: concerned
Music: wish that I could build a world for two (Spotify)
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Precisely the opposite

Weapons are force multipliers

For those of you that have been reading this blog for a while, you may have noticed a recurring theme, which is, What does it mean to be human?

It seems like a silly question but we’re all essentially imperfect; physically, mentally, and emotionally, we’re all lacking in something that makes us fully realized human beings.

On that note, I had an interesting exchange with a young visitor at the gym the other day.

Him: I never knew that there was such a thing like knife and stick fighting, I just thought people picked these things up and used them.
Me: All fighting is skill-based. Some require more skill than others. The argument against weapons fighting is that it’s unnatural, because we’re not always armed, and I think that’s precisely the opposite of reality.
Him: What do you mean?
Me: It’s empty-hand fighting that’s unnatural; the nature of being human is that we use tools.

Imagine you’re alone in your home and you hear a noise in your living room. Do you just saunter out to check things out or do you grab a bat, stick, or lamp first?

Or, google any uprising and lemme know how many unarmed people you see? Or any mob action, including the January 6th riot – how many people are completely unarmed?

The nature of human violence is that we want something – anything – in our hands, in times of stress. Because we all instinctively know that weapons are force multipliers.

Fighting someone without any type of weapon is unnatural, precisely the opposite of what most people think.

And that’s why I think everyone should have some weapons training.

Here’s the kicker: If you’re unarmed, you don’t get to decide if you’re in a weapons fight or not. Only the armed person gets to decide that.

On a somewhat related point, we had to cancel the children’s classes at our gym because the kid’s coach we were using got an offer we couldn’t match.

So, I signed up the boy to the local gym around me.

I’m probably a bit biased but…man, he’s so damn cute, I can’t stand it.

This is in addition to alla his other afterschool activities like swimming. He’s the lime green blur in the photo below.

Trying to get into the new rhythm of the school year. One unexpectedly sad thing I realized was that every year for the past three years is that I’m the only emergency contact for him.

I had someone as a second contact when he was pre-4K but that was a long time ago.

It’s annoying, these little heartaches that randomly crop up.

On a much happier note, while I was there at the gym signing the kid up for his new class, this young man – very excitedly – waved to me:

Him: I’m so sorry, but are you Logan Lo?
Me: (laughing) Yes! Do you watch Scenic Fights?
Him: YES! I’m a subscriber! This is so cool!
Me: For me too!

I’m a solid D-list celebrity at this point, now.

Eh, I’ll take it.

Location: out in the village with RE Mike
Mood: concerned
Music: I can’t do this again, do this again (Spotify)
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Two unexpected silent dance parties

He’s in second grade

Think I’ve been to one silent dance party – where people dancing wear headphones to music by a DJ, but spectators generally don’t – in my life up until about a week ago.

Then I went to two within a week or so.

The first was when I went to the biergarten last week, which I didn’t know would be happening but my buddy Katrina did…

…and the second with another friend when we went to get burgers and beers around the way…

…and we ended up staying so long that it became yet another outdoor silent dance party – again, I didn’t know that this would be happening at all.

Or, rather, the food took so long that the whole thing became yet another outdoor silent dance party.

Think that’s the coolest thing about living in New York City, though; you can go out for one activity (dinner/drinks) and end up in a completely different activity (dancing/singing) with zero effort.

Check that: The weirdest/coolest thing about the night was that this fella walked up to me and asked, Excuse me, do you have a YouTube channel?

It was actually the second guy in two days to recognize me. I’ll tell you about the first one later.

Pretty flattering, I gotta say.

Her: (after) I think his friends were encouraging him to talk to you.
Me: That’s so funny.
Her: You’re a celebrity!
Me: (laughing) A D-list YouTube celebrity, but yes.

I’ve got a buncha smart devices all over our pad and, when the boy’s here, he generally wakes me up by saying, Papa, good morning! It’s time to wake up.

Well, one day when he was away, I woke up to that same sentence. (!?)

For a moment, I wonder if I’d somehow forgotten that I’d picked him up and leapt out of bed to see if he was in his room. He wasn’t.

It turns out that he figured out how to log into the family account on his tablet and made an announcement. From his grandparents’ home in NJ.

He’s definitely gonna be a handful as he gets older.

In any case, I picked him up for real last week and the pad is noticeably more joyous now.

He just started second grade. Isn’t that a kick in the head?

Him: Papa, good morning! It’s time to wake up.
Me: (groggily) Five more minutes…
Him: That’s what you always say!
Me: Because I always need five more minutes, kid.

Location: this morning, pancake brekkie with my favourite little human
Mood: tired, but oh so happy
Music: You’re my little piece of summertime (Spotify)
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A Bohemian Biergarten Bday

I joke that this is how most people react when I arrive places.

Great skin

The thing about Scenic Fights is that I actually like alla the people involved in its production.

And there are a lotta people involved in it; I think you’d be surprised if you actually saw the entire crew. I suppose that’s why it looks so polished.

In any case, Tom is the main cameraman and he turned 30 this past weekend so, after the gym one night, I went to Astoria to the oldest biergarten in New York to celebrate.

The last one I’d gone to was with my college friends but I actually came to this one with other friends from my gym a while back. This time, I went with my friend, Katrina, from my current gym.

Me: (at the gym) Wait, what on earth is in your bag, lady?!
Her: Broccoli. What?! I needed to get groceries.
Me: OK, you’ll need to stay 10 feet behind me at all times.
Her: Are you serious?
Me: Kinda.

The train took forever to get there so we just chatted. One thing I learned about her is that she has 200,597 unread emails.

Me: How is that even possible?
Her: Well, a lot of them are junk mail and…
Me: (interrupting) Jesus Christ, I don’t even know where to start. First of all…

Getting back to her groceries, once we got to the joint, the guy at the door wouldn’t let us in.

Him: No outside food.
Me: It’s groceries, man.
Him: No outside food.
Me: It’s raw broccoli! Trust me, we’re not gonna be whipping this out to eat in a bar.

He was grumpy but ultimately let us in.

I would totally whip that out and eat it in a bar.

Immediately bumped into Tom’s best friend, who works for Scenic Fights as well, as soon as I walked in.

Me: Which group is ours?
Him: This whole section is ours; all of these tables are for Tom.
Me: Whoa, we own this joint.

I was starving so the first order of business was buying some fries and a kielbasa plus drinks for me and Katrina.

In terms of just the food, this is what $19 will buy you in NYC.

For serious.

For some reason, I was in the mood for a cranberry vodka but she wanted the hard seltzer.

Me: Can I try that?
Her: Sure.
Me: Oh, that’s pretty good. I’ll have that later.

After we had gotten some food into us, we started to relax and socialize.

Tom’s super tall so I always joke for him to not be taller than me. He obliged, as the good friend he is.

Him: Honestly, there are a lot of drawbacks to being tall.
Me: Oh, yes, tell the old, short Chinese man how awful it is to be 30, white, and tall in America.

Also met his girlfriend and another buddy’s wife. After a while, they started offering to set me up with their friends, which I found both funny and flattering.

Girl1: What about her? (shows me her phone)
Me: Super cute. How old is she?
Girl1: 27.
Me: Oh, man…
Girl2: Wait, here’s my best friend. You’d love her.
Me: Also super cute. How old is she?
Girl3: Younger! 26.
Me: Wait, [that’s the wrong direction] how old do you think I am?
Girl2: I dunno. 33?!
Me: (to friend) MARRY THIS GIRL! (to her) You are my favourite person at this table. The rest of you can go pound sand.

Tom’s girlfriend and another girl took my phone because they wanted to give me suggestions on my dating profile.

Me: Anything you don’t like?
Her: Honestly, that’s a really good profile and good picture choices. And you’re lawyer? I thought you were a martial arts teacher.
Me: Ivy-league educated lawyer. And you should see me cook, lady.

Tom sat at another table with some other people, and motioned me over.

Him: Come meet some of your fans, Logan.
Me: Wait, my mom’s here?

The people at the table also thought I was about 33 and when I told them how old I was, two women immediately asked me what my skin care regime was.

Me: I dunno. I stay outta the sun and eat mostly protein, fat, and fiber.
Her: You don’t moisturize?
Me: No. I’m a dude.

Now that I think about it, women that find out my age generally ask me my skin care regime. I should have a better answer.

In any case, Katrina and I stayed out pretty late. There’s a funny(ish) silent dance party video I need to dig up to show you.

Now, I have an app that tells me when the next train is and it turned out that that one was coming in 5 mins and the next one was gonna be 23 minutes later so we made a mad dash for the station.

Me: (running, then stopping) Dammit, I dropped your broccoli. Again, who buys…
Her: (running) NOT NOW, LOGAN! LET’S GO!

It was a fun night and nice group of people. But the kid’s back soon, so I’ll be back to daddy duty this week.

Which is fine, cause I miss him like crazy.

Location: Penn Station, yesterday, off to go get my treasure
Mood: happy
Music: I’m starting to forget all of the ridges of your spine (Spotify)
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Two Pizza Joints, an Indian Restaurant, and a Park – Pt 3

The Cavalier’s dream

After Blond Banker left, I walked past the station and ended up walking down that, somewhat familiar, street. Vaguely remembered how to get to the GBA’s old pad.

Last I heard, she had a kid or two and is living in the City with them and her fella.

But 20 years ago, she lived around here. Somewhere. And this was the street I walked down to get to her then pad.

Walked by this Indian restaurant and remember that this was maybe our first date place? I don’t remember.

My memory’s like Swiss cheese these days. But it was definitely this restaurant where we went on one of our earlier dates. I think she paid.

Had just bought my apartment a little before I met her – maybe a year or two earlier?

Was looking into possibly getting a second place at the Majestic Theatre Condos, which was a theatre that just turned into condos. Don’t think it was open yet at the time.

But back to my story; I was still kinda lit so I just went with my instincts and ended up outside Van Vorst Park, which is where we used to hang out from time-to-time.

Couldn’t – for the life of me – remember which apartment building was hers but I knew I was on the right street.

Oddly, I remember the address of a nearby building, 285 Varick Street. This is because the owner wanted to sell us the building, which had a deeded parking spot, for $800,000.

It seems she sold it for $895,000 back in 2006 and it’s selling again for a cool $2 million now.

Wonder what my life would be like right now if GBA and I bought the building and just stayed there. We’d probably be divorced.

Because we weren’t each other’s person, obviously.

Never did figure out which one was her exact building. That’s 285 Varick Street, above, not her actual old pad.

I taught myself how to forget because of her and it seems that it’s worked like gangbusters.

Still, I do remember that, the week I met her, there was a snowstorm when I’d gone to visit her for the first time and we ended up getting snowed in that weekend.

I remember that we had a snowball fight but I don’t remember much else.

For this entry, I dug up a picture someone (her roomie?) took of us that day. I was 29, almost exactly two decades ago.

Have almost no pictures of her because I wasn’t yet into photography and no one’s camera on their phones were worth a damn.

There’s a song by Pink Floyd called, The Gunner’s Dream that has the lines:

Floating down, through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now
But in the space between the heavens
And the corner of some foreign field
I had a dream

Suppose that’s what I was expecting: To walk down the street and have my memories come rushing up to meet me.

All I could remember was that she had two cats. I forgot their names. She liked scarves and adrenaline. Struggled to remember anything else.

See, when I decide to do something, I go all out. I wanted to forget her and she’s almost completely gone from my head.

We had something-a-lot-like-love but not actual love.

Because true love is a self-proving thing; it either stays with you forever, or you struggle to remember anything you did together.

Spoke to my therapist about it today.

Her: But, it’s what you wanted isn’t it? To forget her, completely and move on?
Me: Yes, but I thought maybe they’d still be there, somewhere in my head. My memories.
Her: But it worked, didn’t it? You forgot her so was able to move on and meet Alison.
Me: Yes, but, now I’m forgetting Alison. I’m forgetting so much.
Her: You’re surviving. That’s why you do it. Because it works.
Me: Suppose you’re right. But what are we, if we’re not our memories?

In any case, I walked back to the station and headed home. I felt like I visited a ghost. It didn’t feel good, at all.

Started remembering things of a friend from years ago who disappeared. And nuthin made sense.

In the first entry of this brief series, wrote that my past came to visit me and I went to visit my past.

Suppose it would be more accurate to say that my past came to visit me and I went to visit someone else’s possible past.

Because, while I know it was mine, it didn’t feel like mine at all.

My memories are all copies-of-a-copy-of-a-copy.

Just realized now that, perhaps, I’m a copy and the real me is out there somewhere.

Man, wouldn’t that be something?

Location: Penn Station this afternoon, to go get my treasure
Mood: fake
Music: Night after night, going ’round and ’round my brain, his dream is driving me insane (Spotify)
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Categories
personal

Two Pizza Joints, an Indian Restaurant, and a Park – Pt 2

The Girl Before Alison

Used to take the PATH all the time to see the ex before Alison.

You know, I started this blog 16 years ago because of that ex. How silly it all seems now.

After all these years, I never gave her a name so let’s call her the Girl Before Alison.

Anywho, I used to go to the GBA’s house alla time. Like every weekend, she’d head over to mine or I’d head over to hers. For years.

But walking up the stairs out of the Jersey City Grove Street Station, I didn’t remember a single time I did it to see her. Not a one.

Then again, I didn’t remember heading there in 2013 with Alison and I desperately wished I did.

This time around, I walked down the streets to meet up with Blond Banker, marveling at all the buildings but remembering none of them.

It’s like I peeked into someone else’s life, not my own.

Arriving at Barcade, I saw Blond Banker and immediately started chatting with her and some other people there.

Woman there: Here’s a [blank] name tag for you to write your name.
Me: Do I have to put my real name?
Her: …no?

Two women I met that night both lived within two blocks of my pad on the UWS; one lived some 300 feet from my pad.

Me: NO WAY!
Her: I’m serious. I used to live XXX.
Me: Wait, next door is where I took kali for 17 years.
Her: Really!?

Everyone was very nice but I was too in my head. After a while, Blond Banker and I were hungry so we decided to get something to eat.

We were headed to a Thai joint when she asked if I wanted to eat at the rooftop bar at Porta so in we went.

Honestly, while John’s of Times Square is cool, Porta was gorgeous and looked better than John’s. That’s something.

We ordered a plate of meatballs…

…and a pizza.

Her: You’ve never had an arugula pizza?
Me: They just put a salad on top of a pizza? (shrugging) Actually, it’s fine. I’ll eat it.

It ended up being pretty good. She only had a slice or so and half a meatball so I ate almost everything and was still hungry afterward. Of course.

We chatted about life in general and dating in the city.

Me: Honestly, as an attractive blond woman, I feel you could have your pick of men.
Her: (rolls eyes) I hate the apps.

There’s more but I’m trying to keep things to my story alone, where possible.

She called an Uber after a bit and  we sat on a bench looking at yet another pizza restaurant and chatting while we waited.

It was late when she hopped into the car to head home.

I was right at the entrance for the Grove street station to head back to my world when something compelled me to walk down the street I used to walk with the GBA.

Y’know…I don’t remember what the GBA looks like anymore. I don’t think I’ve seen a picture of her in well over a decade. I do remember her voice though.

I’d been drinking so it was a bit like sleepwalking, but I started walking down Grove Street past the station and found myself in 2002 again; two decades ago, when I was a much younger man

I wasn’t yet the story that people whisper to each other, “Oh, did you hear about what happened to Logan?!”

But I’ll tell you about that tomorrow because this is getting long again.

Location: last night, Astoria, celebrating a buddy’s 30th birthday at a beirgarten until late
Mood: so tired
Music: I wish I could hit rewind (Spotify)
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