Of course, I found myself in front of Alison’s apartment.
Remembered when I first visited there and the day we moved her stuff out. It seems like both yesterday and a lifetime ago.
Wanted to ring the bell because there was a tiny (crazy) part of me that hoped maybe she’d answer. But the saner bits of my brain won out.
Barely.
Probably for the best, otherwise, I’da been arrested.
As for the girl, we met up at a restaurant I’d never been to.
It was a nice night. She was easy on the eyes, which helped.
Her: I wore this for you. Me: Trust me when I tell you that I appreciate it.
We ended up hanging out and chatting for about five hours and hit up a few different places before she gave me a lift in her whip.
It was after midnight when I finally went to bed.
To be honest, it was a really fun and interesting night. But, like the narrator says in Fight Club, these are all single-serving friends; her for me and me for her.
It was a one-and-done, like most of these nights go.
Lviv dropped me a line the other day as well to wish me a Happy New Year.
She and her fella moved outta state and they seem to be doing well. I wonder if things would be different if we met now instead of then.
It’s strange, you never can tell who stays in your Venn Diagram and who leaves.
Her: I’m sure something good is coming your way 🙂 Me: Thanks, Lviv! Here’s hoping…
Here’s hoping.
Location: earlier tonight, on West 94th Street, playing Taboo
Mood: hoping
Music: I been looking for a new ride (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Me: I have to be careful with what I say and do around him. Him: Of course, you’re his father. Me: (shaking head) More than that. He’s a little kid. I’m god to him. I provide him love, a home, food, everything he knows about the world. I’m his god and I have to be careful because of it. All parents are god to little boys and girls.
Before Alison got sick and died, I went to church most Sundays. I believed in God and Christianity, most likely because my mom did. If she was Muslim, I’m sure I woulda believed in Allah. But that’s how it goes.
Then Alison started losing babies and I quietly clung on to the hope that there was a merciful god and he would show her/us some mercy. And then she got sick and died in May of 2017.
Exactly 90 days later, my father died in August of 2017.
This whole time, another relative of mine was sick that I never mentioned because I was asked not to mention it.
There’s so much I tell you about; imagine if you knew alla the things I don’t tell you about. But we all have our three lives: Public, private, and secret.
All three losses were devastating to me. Imagine if your spouse, father, and close cousin all died within a few weeks of each other, how would you fare?
In all of this, I also lost my career that I spent 20 years building. An entire portfolio of clients gone – poof. Because I didn’t give a shit about it anymore.
Me: (to a different woman) What happened to your last fella? Her: (shrugging) His family wanted a nice Catholic girl and I’m … definitely not that. What are you? Me: Oh, I’m a devout atheist. If there is god, he can go fuck himself.
In the New Testament, when Jesus is on the cross, he cries out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” He’s in pain, dying on some wood, and his father is nowhere to be seen or heard. And that’s when the son just gives up.
He says, “I’m thirsty. I’m done. Take it.” And he dies.
Because imagine if you’re dying and your dad knows this and you call him.
He picks up and says, “I know you’re dying, I know you’re in pain, but it doesn’t matter, I’ll never speak to you again, you’ll never see me again.” And then silence. Pure silence.
Now that’s pain. I’d give up too.
But that’s what happened to me. Times four.
Now, this fella named William Makepeace Thackeray once said, Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.
But the kid never knew her. So that leaves me and me alone.
Still, with all due respect to Mr. Thackeray, my dad was my god as a little boy because I think it’s fairer to say that parents are gods to their little children. He and my mom were mine.
As an adult, my god was the god of my church and Alison – there was no sin I would not commit to keep her alive.
My minor god, but something I worshipped nonetheless, was my career. I think most people, if they were honest, would say that the thing that bring them income and security, they worship, to some degree.
But in 2017, I was hollowed out because I lost all my gods – everything I ever fucking believed in – all between the months of May and August. Alison, my dad, my religion, my job.
Poof. Gone.
And I filled those gaping holes with rage, women, and varying forms of pharmaceuticals. Not a single woman from that period speaks to me.
Because I was just rage and sadness and they were all unfortunate enough to be swept up in it all, hoping that I could possibly be normal.
I’m just starting to feel normal now, five years after the fact.
My buddy Jaerik commented in 2007 that I was never angry. Cause I always felt anger was the most useless of all emotions and I was pretty anti-emotion as a whole.
During NYE, one of the sisters remarked that there must be some part of me that believes in the Christian god somewhere and that’s when I realized why I was so fucked up for so long. Because this whole time, I thought I was grieving the loss of my wife and my dad, and – to lesser extent – the death of my old life and career.
That’s when I realized that I lost my religion as well.
Man, I lost all my gods at once. Losing one would be enough to drive anyone starkers. I lost everything that I felt made me…me.
To answer my friend’s question: The god I knew and believed in is as dead and gone as Alison and my dad is. The only thing with any spark of life is my career and even that takes a massive backseat to raising the kid.
Somehow, realizing that that night was the missing piece in my head and I felt my head quiet in ways I’ve not felt in over a dozen years – not since at least November of 2011.
Glad they asked me out for a drink, I gotta say…
And that’s why I decided to upgrade my OS. Or rather, replace it altogether.
It was originally built on ideas, people, and things that no longer exist, save for things about Schopenhauer that I still believe to be true.
But I’m tired of the anger and the rage. I miss being the quiet grey man no one knew could fight or knew experienced the devastating losses I did.
Then again, I wish alotta fucking things and I’m tired of wishing for shit that’ll never happen, people I’ll never see again, gods that never existed.
I just want things quiet again. In my head. In my life. I want it quiet, peaceful, and calm.
I think I’m at like 5% now in the upgrade process.
Him: Papa, I got a golf game. Do you want to play golf with me? Me: I’ve never played…sure, kid. Lemme finish this email while you set it up, ok? Him: OK! There’s a blue ball, a yellow ball, a green ball, and a red ball. Pick two. Me: Red and yellow? (thinking) No, wait. Blue and green, please. Him: OK, I’ll be red and yellow. I’ll get it ready. Hurry up with your email and let’s play! Me: You got it, kid. I’ll be right out.
It was totally last minute; we were supposed to just meet up for drinks at 6:45 and I was gonna see RE Mike, but the food was good…
…the drinks were solid, and the crowd and company were great…
…plus, there was live jazz so, before you knew it, we were toasting 2023.
Sister1: It’s 10:50PM! Me: Welp, I guess we’re staying here. I need another drink.
The two of them are in the growing group of people that don’t want to be in this blog, which I get, which is why I’m trying to keep the conversation as non-identifiable as possible.
Still, the first sister had a list of really insightful questions which led to some pretty deep conversations I wish I could share with you.
One of which ended like this:
Me: I’m thinking 2023 might be the year I finally lose my virginity. Sister2: (laughing) Did you go to church summer camp? Is that why? Me: No [to the second question] BUT I did go to summer camp, once actually. Of course, because it was me, it was because of a girl, but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Her: I think that Christian boy in you is still there, somewhere. Me: And that’s where you’re wrong. He died the day my wife died. But we can change the subject…
Because of that, I came to a realization the next morning – and a pretty wild one at that, which deserves its own entry.
It’s part of the reason I decided to upgrade my OS in the first place.
I spoke at length with my therapist about my realization today.
Me: An acquaintance of mine told me a little while back that, in all the years he’s known me, he’d never seen my level of rage that I am these days. He said that, when it comes out, I’m a completely different person. I didn’t realize how long I’ve been angry for. Therapist: And now? Me: I’m still angry, of course. At the unfairness of it all. But, it’s not blinding rage anymore. Her: I hear it in your voice. Me: What? Her: The quiet.
Her: I’m sorry about your wife. Me: So am I. All my gods look like her. Her: What does that mean? Me: Nuthin. (brightening) Let’s play a game…
It’s the first day of 2023.
I’m writing this on a computer that I first built when Alison was still alive and upgraded repeatedly, such that there’s nuthin left of the original computer, just like I talked about in my Ship of Theseus.
One thing that I did after the hack was to upgrade the operating system of that computer from Windows 10 to Windows 11, something I did with great reluctance.
Still working through the pros and cons of that, but I note that I went through Windows 7, 8, 8.1, and 10 on this machine before finally arriving here.
Just like the philosophical exercise of the Ship of Theseus, the question remains if there’s anything left of the original computer that I originally built all those years ago.
Speaking of philsophy, this blog has, more than anything, been my own personal repository of how I see the world, kinda like Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations.
Suppose my operating system has always been based on German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who was introduced to me in my 20s by the Devil.
One of my earliest blog entries spoke about a quote that served me well my entire life: With increased intelligence comes increased capacity for pain.
When Alison, my dad, and another relative got sick – all at the same time – and I essentially gave up my career(s) to try (and fail) to save them, then lost Gradgirl and Mouse, I think that the truth of that statement is why I’m here writing you now.
Schopenhauer’s worldview was that life is, at its core, suffering.
Life swings like a pendulum backward and forward between pain and boredom. – Arthur Schopenhauer
At no point in this blog – through all the highs and lows – did my baseline OS change; it was always run on some variant of Schopenhauer.
And you know my feeling about those who’s worldview never changes. I can’t be a hypocrite.
All this, despite the fact that some baseline beliefs of his contradicted directly with my own heart’s desire.
For example, I’ve always wanted family and family, by definition, requires children. Yet Schopenhauer, like my billionaire buddy, feels that “Bearing children into this world is like carrying wood into a burning house.”
Schopenhauer, as the base operating system of my life, was ill-equipped to deal with the overwhelming sadness and despair of it all, for various reasons.
For example, Schopenhauer’s world view of Wille zum Leben respected love like one respects a dangerous animal, but it doesn’t deal with love, which I both respect and submit to.
To Schopenhauer, love is an illogical means to an important end: The extension of our very species.
I understand that but, having loved and lost in the profound ways I have, I think it’s an idealized version of what humans are actually capable of.
While it’d be nice to live a life purely pragmatically, the way humans are designed, it’s not practical. Because emotions exist and aren’t going away.
I need an OS that reflects that reality.
The Devil’s gone from my life and, while I appreciate all that he’s shown me in the world, the OS he helped build for me doesn’t work with who I am now, especially given all that’s happened.
Moreover, I want more for my son. Assuming that Schopenhauer was correct, and our universe is only what we experience through our mental facilities – our operating system – then I plan on giving my son the best one I can.
After close to 30 years of working on myself, I think that answer lies in Stoicism. Not “stoicism” with a lower-case “s,” rather the full philosophy of Zeno, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca.
The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts. – Marcus Aurelius
I don’t think, at all, that Schopenhauer was wrong, or that the last three decades of my life were wasted. Rather, I think that it’s served its purpose for what I needed for that time and that version of me. Now, I have a new purpose – the boy – and that requires a new way of thinking.
We suffer more often in imagination than in reality. – Seneca
It’s still early yet in all this. Just like it’s early in the new year.
But I spent the last month reexamining my life and need to discard the things that aren’t working for me anymore, if they ever did, and find things that do work.
Don’t think you’ll notice any drastic changes here, per se. Just little things for myself as I try to give myself and – by extension, the boy – the tools I’ll need to be the best version of myself.
Man conquers the world by conquering himself. – Zeno
I’m still me, but I wonder how much of who and what I am/was is still there or if I’m a completely new being altogether, just like this computer I type alla this out on.
On that note, let’s start the new year off with a song.
This is by a young woman named King Princess that my brother introduced to me a little while ago.
Can’t put my finger on it, but it always makes me dream that my life might be better than it is.
Maybe it’s the line that goes, “I will keep on waiting for your love,” which goes directly against Schopenhauer’s distant respect of the concept of love.
Because love’s not only something I respect, but also something I want – to both give and receive – so it’s worthy of patience and time.
Even if it never comes my way again.
Here’s to 2023 and changing for the better.
Her: (surprised) Why did you do that? Me: (shrugging) Seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Her: (laughing) OK. (pause) You can do it again.
Location: in the first hours of 2023, on W 97, wondering if we should sell our apartments and move to NJ
Mood: new(ish)
Music: I love it when you try to save me (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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…
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.
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?
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
