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A Dog-Man

In the blink of an eye

I live just north of one of the few megaplexes left in New York City, which means that I have a chance to check out a lotta movie premiers – except that I’m not a huge movie theatre buff.

There’s something about being in a dark, loud, enclosed space that stresses me out.

So, I only go if there’s a particularly good reason to do so – like when the Firecracker and I got invited to the premier of Gladiator II.

But my sister told me about a premier for the first Dogman film, which is a super popular book series for kids.

So, I managed to snag four tickets for the kids, the Firecracker, and myself.

It also included a picture taken with the author, a signed copy of his latest book in hardcover, a drink, and popcorn.

It was pretty much a perfect event for the kids.

But not so much for me.

That is, until I had a chat with an old college friend that just happened to be in the neighborhood at the same time of the movie.

Him: Hey, I’m in the UWS around 6:30. Around and available for a meal?
Me: Ack, normally yes but I’m bringing the boys to a movie tonight, literally the first time ever. Raincheck?
Him: No worries, raincheck for sure – what movie?
Me: Dogman. Don’t even ask. I’m not thrilled about it.
Him: Oh, Dogman is good choice! Now that [my son] is 13 and having dinner with his friends, I’d give anything to watch a movie with him.
Me: Oh man, that’s a good point. Yeah, I should be better about things like this.
Him: Yeah. Never thought I’d say it – [they grow up in the] blink of an eye.

So, after the kid’s guitar lesson, I went to the local Japanese takeout restaurant, picked up some Karaage Onigiri and Spam Onigiri for everyone, and off we went.

It was a madhouse.

But organizers were really cool and great with alla the kids.

And the author was just a prince. He tooks pics with literally every single kid that asked…

…signed hundreds of books and even gave a little speech in the beginning of the film.

Although, one of the more interesting conversations was with one of the fellas managing the concession storage closet.

Him: …on Mondays. And then we get two more shipments that same week.
Me: You’re kidding me – you sell outta alla these every 2-3 days?
Him: Yup.
Me: This is a closet of diabetes.
Him: (laughs, nods)

The movie itself was tolerable for a 51-year-old Chinese man, but the kids absolutely loved it.

Highly recommended for them.

Like I said, it was the first movie I’d ever taken the kid to in a theatre.

Hopefully, he has some fond memories of it all.

Me: What was your favourite part?
Him: Everything!

Location: Grey’s Papaya, wondering if I should do it
Mood: regretting not having a hot dog
Music: You’re the movie in my mind to which I know every line (Spotify)
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First Chinese New Year Dinner

In the blink of an eye

Chinese New Year is probably the most important holiday for the Chinese.

I’d wanted to go see my mom that night, but I wasn’t able to for various reasons.

But I’d mentioned to the Firecracker how important it was, and she said we should just do a celebration here.

Her: What are we gonna have?
Me: Well, traditionally, you’re supposed to have: (a) A whole fish, (b) noodles, (c) dumplings, and (d) oranges – among other things.
Her: Wait, a whole fish? Like, with the head?
Me: Yup! It’ll be great.
Her: (hesitant)
Me: Food should look like food, baby. 

Legit, Americans eat so much processed food that real food looks weird to them.

Once met a woman that wouldn’t eat fried chicken because it looked too much like the animal it came from.

That relationship didn’t last long.

In any case, because there’s a new Korean supermarket near my pad now, most of what I needed was pretty easy to get.

Plus, I had just made some chicken stock the other day when I was making White Cut Chicken for everyone so that saved a lotta work.

The kids mainly liked the noodles and the store-bought dumplings, but I was just happy they enjoyed it.

The red envelopes were the biggest hits, I suppose.

Him: Two-dollar bills!?! What are those worth?
Me: Hmmm…two dollars?

Here’s hoping we’ll get to do this for a while.

If you wanna make white cut chicken, which is essentially a very gently poached chicken, try this recipe here.

It’s pretty foolproof and what my parents used to make us kids literally once a week while we were growing up.

@177milkstreet Perfect chicken is a joyous, lifelong pursuit, and there are many paths to success. Start at Chinese white-cooked chicken, which appeared in the very first issue of our magazine. Chris Kimball deems it “idiot-proof” (for this is social, after all, and we gotta get the views), but it really is a must-learn fundamental in your change the way you cook repertoire. Get the recipe for Chinese White-Cooked Chicken with Ginger-Soy Dressing via the link in our profile → @177milkstreet #milkstreetrecipe #poachedchicken #chickenrecipe #dinner #dinnerrecipe #easyrecipe #chicken #cooking ♬ original sound – Milk Street

Location: earlier tonight, a Japanese BBQ after the kid’s recital
Mood: frozen again
Music: you know I care but it’s so cold (Spotify)
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Not everybody

Two good samaratins pulling a guy off the tracks at Times Square the other day.

Joan Murray survived a 14,500 Foot Fall

Last year, I saw a guy fall into the tracks at Times Square.

Two fellas immediately hopped into the tracks to save him, which I thought was pretty admirable.

But whenever I see something like that, I think of an old joke that goes something like this:

A songbird was flying one winter day when it got so cold that he dropped right outta the clear blue sky onto a farm.

The bird lay there helpless and injured until a horse walked by and, not noticing the small bird, dropped a huge steaming pile of hot poop on him.

The poop, however, was warm and made the bird feel much better – so much better, in fact, that he started to sing. But then a cat heard him sing, found him, and dug him out.

The bird was happy to be outta the poop, but the cat didn’t give him a chance to thank him because the cat gobbled him up and went on with his day.

There are three (shitty) morals to his story:

    1. Not everybody who shits on you is your enemy.
    2. Not everybody who digs you outta shit is your friend.
    3. When you’re in deep shit, shut up.
This is a picture of when a bird pooped on the Firecracker – which happens with alarming regularity.

Now, there’s actually a real life version of this joke about a woman named Joan Murray who survived a 14,500 foot fall, which is almost three miles of free fall straight down.

See, she was sky diving and BOTH her parachutes failed.

Normally, this would be just a death sentence, but she ended up crashing into a huge ant hill – but not just any ant hill, a fire ant anthill.

If you don’t know what a fire ant is, it’s a venomous ant that can these intensely painful stings.

Normally, if you fell onto a fire ant hill, that would be at the very least, an incredibly painful experience – most likely you’d end up in the hospital.

In Joan’s case, however, the softness of the mound coupled with the intense pain of the venom kept her alive with the former softening her impact and the latter keeping her heart beating.

She ended up in a coma with shattered bones on the right side of her body and a few lost teeth, which required 20 reconstructive surgeries, 17 blood transfusions, a metal rod into her right leg, and 5-inch spikes grafted onto into her pelvis.

But she survived.

And she survived precisely because these fire ants were trying to kill her.

Joan actually died in 2022, 23 years after her accident, of cancer (unfortunately – fucking cancer…) with nary a parachute nor fire ant in sight.

(c) Unilad

I’m telling you this story because I see how the kid sees the world: In simple terms of black and white.

Children and the stupid see things so simply binary.

It’s difficult for me to figure out how to explain these subtle nuances in the world, especially in light of world events, to him and, well, generally stupid people, who are uncomfortable with grey.

Soupy grey is never appealing, but it’s still more realistic than stark black-and-white.

Him: If Donald Trump lies all the time, how did he become president?
Me: (whistling) Hoo-boy. That’s gonna take a little while to explain. Not now though.

Location: downright balmy 40+ degree NYC
Mood: not completely frozen
Music: it’s your heart, it’s alive, it’s pumping blood (Spotify)
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It only took 27 years

Everything takes forever

Me: I need a weapons area.
Her: You totally need a weapons area – you have so many!

Around late 2013, because Alison and I kept losing pregnancies, our lives just stopped.

It’s part of why I stopped blogging for a bit in 2015; because it was getting too hard to hide all the sadness and bad news that we kept getting.

Maybe one day I’ll tell you some of it.

Probably not, though. It still fucks me up to this day.

My kid helping with some baking I was doing; next to him are two of the three vacuums we had.

Of course, the bad news kept getting worse until it was the worst news we could ever imagine.

Our lives, just like the blog, was off schedule. All the plans we had and suspended, were suspended indefinitely.

One little thing was that, for 27 years, the radiator in my back bathroom wasn’t working.

The old owners disconnected it for some reason and Alison and I always said we were gonna hook it up again at some point.

As usual, life kept getting in the way.

But the other day, I decided to remove two of the three vacuums that I have in my pad, mounted on a wall – why I have three is a wholly separate story that I may or may not tell you about down the line.

Didn’t match at all.

Unfortunately, the paint that I thought would cover up the removal damage dried out after 15 years of sitting in my basement.

Me: Dammit!

So, I went to my local paint store and had them match the paint. It didn’t match well at all.

Me: GODDAMMIT!!

Cutting off a chip of the drywall, the second time around, they were able to match it relatively closely.

This then led to a chain of events that ended up with a plumber coming in the other day and hooking up the radiator in the back room.

Here, this 40 second video of Hal/Bryan Cranston more adequately explains what happened, as well as why everything takes forever around here:

There’s a lot more to it but lately I’ve doing stuff around the house that’s been waiting to happen for between 10-27 years.

Told Buckley – the fella I first bought the apartment with some 20+ years ago – about what was going on.

Me: Hola! I just had the radiator fixed in the back bathroom TODAY. Can you believe that I never changed it?
Buckley: Guten tag! I recall it didn’t work. Are you telling me it stayed broken until today? If so, that’s impressive.
Me: Yup, broken for 27 years until this morning at 11am.

Hopefully, 27 years’ll be my maximum time for letting things sit broken around here.

Then again, I suppose I’ve been broken for some 51+ years…

Location: my warm back bathroom!
Mood: warm!
Music: Feels like home (Spotify)
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Sticking, for some reason

The algorithm I came up with

Did you know that Mark Twain was instrumental in the creation of the bra?

Or that Charles Darwin invented the office chair?

Or that Brian May, the guitarist and co-founder of Queen, is also a celebrated astrophysics that helped NASA land a rocket on an asteroid?

People that reach high levels of achievement in disparate fields have always fascinated me, with my personal hero being Hedy Lamarr.

The question is whether this kinda thing can be taught. Like, can a parent teach someone to be successful in many areas?

Long before the kid came into existence, I was trying to figure this out for whatever kid I might eventually have.

The algorithm that I came up with:

Lifetime curiosity + the ability to properly research + discipline = success in various fields

Because, at least for me, I try to keep my childhood curiosity alive.

With the internet and all the tools out there for research, it’s a lot easier than it used to be to find out information – although separating the wheat from the chaff is more difficult than ever what with the sheer amount of information out there.

Have no idea if this is correct, or if it’ll work with everyone, but I believe hope it will.

Suppose only time will tell.

Me: Try it. Nothing beats beets.
Him: I don’t like beets.
Me: Well, if you like candy and cake, you should like beets.
Him: What? Why?
Me: Well, most American sugar comes from beets.
Her: Is that true? How do you know all this stuff?
Me: (shrugging) I always wonder things. So, then I look it up and a shocking amount of it sticks in my head for some reason.

Location: home, trying to make sense of things
Mood: annoyed
Music: suddenly I see why the hell it means so much to me (Spotify)
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For sale: Family clothes, never worn

The purposes of this conversation

There’s a cool little subgenre of writing called flash fiction, where people try to write impactful stories with only a handful of words.

The most famous one is a short six-word story that’s frequently attributed to Ernest Hemingway, which goes:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

There’s so much sadness, pain, and loss in just six words.

Thought about that the other day as I cleaned out some more of Alison’s things.

Every year or so, I toss some things of hers that I finally make peace with.

In this latest episode, found three shirts that Alison and I were excited to wear one day; grey shirts with a graphic of a black bear on the chest, each one with a single word on the bear:

Papa
Mama
Baby

Think we got them as a gift. Don’t remember.

We never got to try them on.

Everything went to shit too fast.

The Firecracker, because she saw how distressed I was and is just awesome, gave them away for me.

I was in my head all day and all night.

Alison never got to wear anything like that.

I never got to wear anything like that.

And now, we never will.

Her: Are you ok?
Me: For the purposes of this conversation, I’ll say I am.
Her: But you’re not?
Me: (deep breath) For the purposes of this conversation, I’ll say I am. I just need a sec.
Her: (nodding) I’ll take care of these this for you and drop them off at Goodwill.
Me: Thank you.

Location: the basement of my brain (again)
Mood: waiting to be okay (again)
Music: This feeling never leaves me (Spotify)
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Fire and Ice

Bone-chilling

Her: Have you seen my cow slippers? It’s freezing.
Me: Since meeting you, I’ve heard sentences I’ve never heard ever in my life. Which is saying a lot, because I’m over half-a-century old.
Her: You told me I bring joy and light to your life.
Me: I say a lotta things.
Her: (glares)

It’s been bone-chillingly cold out here lately – and not just between the Firecracker and me.

Like, seriously bone-chilling:

But that also meant some snow and sledding out around here, which is a welcome thing for the kids.

Both kids were excited to get their snow on, so we were up insanely early to let them do it.

There was hardly anyone there when we first arrived.

But that was relatively short-lived.

Which is fine because the Firecracker and I were both freezing.

Her: I’m glad we’re leaving. I can’t feel my toes. (starts laughing).
Me: I can’t either. What are you laughing at?
Her: (pointing) That. Every time I come here, I see the remains of sleds that gave up the ghost.

My brother hates the snow and winter, which is why he lives in Pasadena.

But he and Paul have been dealing with the opposite problem of ice and snow, and that’s fire and ash.

Which sounds a lot like what we had to deal with here two years ago.

This is a pic of his backyard…

…usually, those pools are pristine.

Smoke and ash notwithstanding, he knows that he’s among the lucky ones, at least so far.

Paul and one of the Scenic Fights producers had to evacuate and one of them is just a few blocks from my brother’s pad.

Me: Can I post these pics?
Him: Sure, though what’s there is of course trivial compared to the sorts of calamities that befell houses up the way in Altadena. Those pics were from the morning of Tuesday the 8th, I think. The night before there were winds like I’ve only seen/heard maybe once before here in LA, it was nuts.
Me: Man…
Him: You know, I’m not sure I’ve used the word “befell” in a sentence befall.
Me: Are you proud of yourself here?
Him: It’s like Albert Shakespeare said, “Pride is a many-sided mirror.”
Me: (sighing)

Location: my living room, after the kid accidentally dropped his entire spaghetti dinner on the white rug
Mood: blargh
Music: You pulled the rug right out from under my life (Spotify)
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A mini-celebration

Dinner at The Mark

Him: Let’s get a date for dinner. With beautiful WAGs.
Me: Works for us!
Him: I was thinking The Mark?
Me: I’m more of a Grey’s Papaya kinda guy but that would work for us. We can’t do any earlier than 6:15, though, because of the rug rats.
Him: You can just leave them outside by the curb. OK, 7PM The Mark. More appropriate to the occasion.

The NFL Player and Thor dropped me a line the other day. They wanted to take me out to celebrate our getting engaged – wives and girlfriends included.

So, one cold evening, we bundled up, got our passports, and headed over to the east side of town to meet up at The Mark Hotel Jean-Georges restaurant.

I’d never been although I’ve driven by it dozens of times.

It was gorgeous inside.

It’s funny because the three of us were among the older people at our old gym; so, we immediately got to talking about alla our injuries.

Me: How’s your shoulder?
Thor: Eh, ok. How’s your back?
Me: (shrugging) Same.

On top of that, could barely read the menu because of the small print and the darkness of the restaurant so the NFL Player lent me his reading glasses.

Me: We’re hitting a new level here, fellas.

The NFL Player’s wife also deals with some back issues.

Her: You know, I could get you a pillow for your back. These seats will be difficult.
Me: OMG, I’ve reached this point in my life.
Her: (waving her hand) It’s fine. I’ll have one of the staff get you something.

And she did. And it was glorious.

The rest of the night was more highly inappropriate conversation, which I won’t repeat here.

Thor’s wife: …so lucky.
Me: (shocked and laughing) Jesus Christ, you barely had anything to drink yet.
Her: (dismissing it and laughing) Oh, I don’t need alcohol to be like this.

The food was absolutely killer – I ordered the steak…

…and got one of those tiny bottles of tabasco that I find so cute, to boot.

The Firecracker also enjoyed her dish and got dessert, which we shared, even though I really shouldn’t have.

Also tried some of Thor’s desert as well.

Afterward, we made our way back to the Upper West Side and civilization.

Her: Your friends are really nice.
Me: Agreed. I have no idea why they like hanging out with me.

Location: a winter wonderland(ish)
Mood: tired
Music: a middle aged man settled down on my soul but I’m not that old (Spotify)
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Tawk!

When it comes out

Me: He’s so dumb. Talking to him is like having a conversation with a goldfish that can tawk.
Her: OMG your Queens just came out!
Me: Dammit!

My Queens accent has come out twice with the Firecracker and she’s astute enough to catch it when it does.

To paraphrase Amy Ryan – who came from Flushing, Queens, same as me – from The Office: You can take the boy outta Queens…

One of the things that the Firecracker and I have been doing is digging through the dozens of board games up in here that I’ve literally never played.

They were either rando gifts or items that old tenants left in my building, and I was loathe to throw out.

Her: Wait, you own this and have never played it? How long have you had it?
Me: (thinking) Jesus Christ, like 25 years?

Case-in-point, The Firecracker pulled out a board game of Yahtzee the other day that I probably had since the 90s and yet never played.

Not once.

So, she and I did just that.

We both managed to roll some pretty insane things, such that our first round was pretty impressive.

It was all downhill from there.

Exciting times here in Casa Lo.

Me: I think we should never play this again, we’re never gonna top these rolls.
Her: (nodding) This is very true. No one is gonna believe us that you just rolled a full house.
Me: (shaking head) Nope.

It’s not Miami, or the Bahamas, or a nice cruise but it’s something.

Post engagement is non-stop excitement.

But it’s also exactly what I wanted.

Location: heading out for the sixth time to try and paint my wall.
Mood: desperately needing a nap
Music: I know, I know, I know, this is all I want (Spotify)
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Travelogue: Bahamas 2024, pt 3

Tastes like a hangover

After we got back from the Bahamas, we pretty much just ate and hung out at the ship.

We did manage to head to one of the nicer restaurants, even though I could barely taste anything with my stupid cold.

And we also caught a few shows, alla which were pretty good.

Oh, and we made friends with our sever, Harry, who comped us like $200 worth of drinks.

Me: I feel like a leech. I’m gonna give him a few bucks.
Her: Good idea, do that.
Me: What do you think [of the pina colada]?
Her: (shrugging) Tastes like a hangover.

The weather was super windy for some reason.

The Firecracker felt like she would be blown overboard…

…but that meant that we were the only ones outside, which is always a plus.

I don’t know what I’m doing here.

And because we didn’t have some Chinese food on the island, we decided to have some on the ship in one of their specialty restaurants.

Her: What do you think?
Me: It’s good. It’s not Chinese food, but it’s good.
Her: What does it taste like if not Chinese food?
Me: (thinking) It’s what I imagine a Panda Express to taste like.

While Harry kept plying us with free booze, we also hit up some of the other bars for a change of pace.

And drank the rest of the way home.

Her: What about your cold?
Me: I tell myself that alcohol kills germs.

Before we knew it, we were back in Miami and heading back to NYC.

Unlike our trip out, we made it to the airport with a ton of time to spare.

We didn’t fly Spirit, this was just a good pic. Although, they’re actually the safest US carrier, legit.

Arriving in NJ, we were immediately reminded that it was winter back here.

And that’s the story of how the Firecracker and I got engaged.

Again, flip-flops on a ten-mile walk is a terrible idea.

Location: stuck in front of my desk doing work
Mood: still brrrrrrrrrrrr
Music: Got me tripping out like the sixties (Spotify)
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