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Meet the Firecracker

Sweating her like a summer day

Years ago, I was chatting with a female friend of mine and she said that she and her parents were having a bit of a disagreement.

Her parents wanted her to stop bringing by every guy she ever dated home.

Me: I would think they’d wanna meet who their daughter is dating.
Her: They do. The issue is that they end up liking them and then they disappear and are never seen again.
Me: Well, stop being such a tramp.
Her: (laughing) Logan!

This pic is from this entry.

Sometimes, I feel like I do that to alla you.

I tell you about some very nice woman that I’m seeing, and I have a few entries about her and then she disappears, never to be seen again.

But, because of the nature of this blog and the nature of this Logan Lo, that can’t really be helped.

On the flip side, some women I hang out with positively don’t want to be mentioned whatsoever in the blog.

So, it all kinda works out, because people tend to come and go from my Venn Diagram alla time, and I try to leave people with their anonymity.

This pic is from this entry.

That is, until someone stays.

First told you about the Firecracker in the beginning of 2023 in this entry.

In that entry, I called her an “effervescent blonde from my neighborhood…[s]he found something familiar about me and I, her.”

Some 20 months later, that’s still true and she’s still around – I’m equally thrilled about both of those facts.

For the most part.

Her: Do you want to go on a run with me?
Me: Are you mad at me or something?

This pic is from this entry.

The longer people stay in my Venn Diagram, the harder it is for me to untangle them from my life.

And, by now, all my friends and family have met the Firecracker so there’s even less reason to keep her outta this blog.

Well, her face, anywho.

Besides, she has such a pretty face that it’s shame not to show it off.

Me: So, what do you think? Post a pic with your face?
Her: Well, I suppose your readers are mostly normal and pretty nice. OK. Let’s do it.

So, meet the Firecracker:

This pic is from this entry.

Me: I often look at couples and have a hard time figuring out if they’re dating or father-daughter.
Her: I wonder if people look at us and think that.
Me: With my youthful looks?!
Her: I’m obviously joking since you’re Chinese and I’m not.
Me: That PLUS my youthful looks, yeah?
Her: OMG, how are you this vain?
Me: Practice, really.

There’s this song I’ve been talking about with you for close to two decades now – Starsailor’s Good Souls.

Evidently, I’ve referenced it at least 31 times in this blog thus far, with the first mention of it way back in 2007 when I went on my big European trip.

While I think the Firecracker is gobsmackingly beautiful, it really is her good soul that I’m most attracted to.

After all, everything else fades but (not-being-a-) douchebag is forever.

Her quick wit and humor certainly helps.

Her: (looking at my summer wear) You look like John Travolta from the 70s!
Me: I am from the 70s!

This pic is from this entry.

We have our issues, of course, but even there, she’s uniquely kind.

For example, after a major fight we had, she bought a couples counseling session and followed up with an assignment for both of us to read: Talk to me like I’m someone you love, which is honestly a great book for any couple to read.

I mean, even that title alone would be an amazing thing to say in an argument – I know this because she has with me.

I said once before that the best description of love is by the author of The Little Prince:

Aimer, ce n’est pas se regarder l’un l’autre, c’est regarder ensemble dans la même direction.

To love is not to look at one another: it is to look, together, in the same direction.

It’s surprising how much an old Chinese man from NYC and a much younger southern belle from North Carolina sees the world in the same way.

I suppose that is a great foundation for any good relationship.

Her: Do you love me?
Me: Come on, I sweat you like a summer day.
Her: I don’t know what that means. (thinking) I wish you’d say it sometimes.
Me: (laughing) Sure thing, Firecracker. Of course I love you.

This pic is from this entry.

admin note: Taking Monday off for Labour Day so I’ll see you on the 4th.

Location: earlier today, at 68 and WEA meeting a woman for USB cards for the kid
Mood: hopeful and fulla fried chix
Music: One good day of the week, I’ll be higher than the government (Spotify)
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Two libraries and a biergarten

A tired brain and heart

Her: This is the last weekend that both kids are away before school starts. Do you wanna do something?
Me: I already planned something out.

I generally drink on May 24th and August 24th.

It just helps the day go by.

The Firecracker wanted to keep me company but also wanted to enjoy the beautiful day, so I brought her down to the roofdeck of the Stavros Niarchos Foundation Library.

If you’ve never been, you should stop by – it’s part of the NYC Public Library System and free.

So, bright and early on Saturday morning, we went there.

There was almost no one around when we got there.

It was gorgeous – both the place and the weather.

But, unfortunately, we could only stay for a little over an hour because there was so much construction going on around there.

This is what it used to look like, ages ago.

We were planning to walk down to Koreatown to get some Korean fried chix, but we didn’t make it too far because we took a detour at West 37th Street to check out Reichenbach Hall, a beer garden.

We got a liter of hard cider to split between the two of us…

…and ordered some brats and a schnitzel.

It was perfect.

Afterward, we went back to the main library on West 42nd.

Me: When I was studying for the bar, I came here a few days and just spend the day studying here. Feels like a million years ago.
Her: It’s gorgeous here!

I sat, roughly, where I sat some 28 years ago when I studied to pass the LSAT.

Afterward, we decided to try and walk home, which was good because we ran smack dab into a street fair.

Unfortunately, one of the pigeons took a liking to the Firecracker.

Her: I think it pooped on me.
Me: Sorry, baby. (brightening) Wait, we should buy a lottery ticket!

So, we walked over to Columbus Circle, where she got cleaned up, and then we took the train home.

Another year and another May 24th to August 24th, done.

I think it’ll always be hard, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

I’ll tell you why sometime but not today.

My brain and heart are tired.

Location: videochatting with the Professor, refusing to believe we’re in our 50s
Mood: better, thanks
Music: you and I will be alright (Spotify)
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Tigers with different stripes, Pt 2

The best five days of my life

The other thing about my dad/family was something else that I also learned in Cornell: When I took my first Chinese language class, the teacher asked how to say “maternal grandmother” in Chinese.

I confidently said, “阿婆 (ā pó)” but was corrected, it was “外婆 (wàipó).”

I’d never heard of 外婆 (wàipó) before, we never used that term nor had I ever heard it before.

Me: I was so embarrassed that I got that wrong. Why didn’t we use the right way of saying it for [mom’s mom]?
Father: Do you know what 外婆 means? It means “outside grandmother.” That’s what you call the wife’s mother because, in Chinese culture, the mother’s family and side doesn’t count – they’re outsiders and not really part of the family. That’s wrong, I think, and offensive. Your mom’s family is as much a part of our family as mine is.

For all my dad’s traditions and pressure, he was a decent and fair man and that story perfectly encapsulates him.

It was a simple but profound thing, which makes sense as he was both a simple and profound man.

And I think that a major reason the three of us – my sister, brother, and myself – have been so successful in life.

Moreso than the education and the accolates.

Because I suppose we always knew that, no matter what, our parents loved us and always would.

That’s a powerful comfort in an uncomfortable world and something that I hope I give my own kid.

Yeah, if there’s one thing that I’d like to pass on from my dad to my own kid, it’s that.

My dad died August 24th, 2017, seven years ago this week.

I love him every bit right now as I did seven years ago and always will.

Even though, at times, I wonder if he knew.

Me: (angrily) Yeah, well, you wait. My kid is gonna be successful and happy. It won’t matter to me if he goes to an ivy league or not.
Him: You’re threatening me with a happy and successful grandkid? (laughing) Go ahead. Because that’s exactly what I want too. When you’re a dad yourself, you’ll understand. I’m trying to keep you all safe.

And, of course, I totally care if he makes it into an ivy league or not.

Just maybe – maybe – not quite as much.

Did you know that no two tigers have the same stripes?

A tiger’s pattern is as unique as human fingerprints AND not only is a tiger’s fur striped, but its skin is also striped as well.

It has hidden beauties you wouldn’t know about while it was alive.

This also means that every tiger is different from every other tiger, despite all outward appearances.

My dad may have been Chinese, but he was so different in many ways and uniquely mine.

I wish he was still here.

But I suppose you already knew that.

The picture above is the day my parents met my son.

It’s one of only a handful of pictures I have with all three of them.

The main picture is another of the few – precious – images I have of my father with my son.

I have none with him, Alison, and my son. Zero fucking pictures.

Not a single goddamn one.

And everything went to shit after that picture.

But, for a moment in time, that was the happiest I ever was because my entire family was alive and happy for five days.

I didn’t yet know that would be all I would ever get. Ever.

Those were the best five days of my life.

What a shitty truth it is that the lucky never realize they are lucky until it’s too late. 

Location: yesterday and today, bars. Drinking it all away.
Mood: cautious
Music: I’ve got memories and travel like gypsies in the night (Spotify)
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Tigers with different stripes, Pt 1

My parents told us they loved us

My father and I used to argue a lot.

My 20s and 30s were particularly acrimonious and again when he died, just because I loved him so and yet we were at odds over so many things.

I also wasn’t exactly right in the head back then, but I’m guessing you knew that.

Both my parents were stereotypical Tiger Parents in that we never played sports – ever – and instead spent every single summer and afternoon studying; we studied for school, for the SSHATs, then the SATs, AP classes, whathaveyou.

In one particularly bad argument, I accused my dad of stealing our childhoods.

Me: That was crazy that all we did was study.
Him: When you have three kids that made it into Stuyvesant and an ivy league, then you can tell me that I did something wrong.

Having a kid of my own, I realize how impressive what he did was. After all, he came here not speaking the language, with almost no money, and – within a generation – had three ivy league-educated Stuyvesant grads.

That would be an accomplishment for everyone.

This picture was taken a half a century ago when I had just turned two.

But in two distinct ways, he was radically different from most Chinese fathers.

The first was when he dropped me off at Cornell and both he and my mom told me they loved me and were proud of me.

After they left, my Chinese roommate came up to me.

Him: Were your parents born here?
Me: (laughing) What? No, they’re both from Taiwan.
Him: I’ve never heard of any Chinese parents that told their kids they loved them. (thinking) My parents have never told me that. (pause) They’ve never told me they were proud of me.

Didn’t know what to say.

If anything, my parents would go out of their way to scream that they loved me on the top of their lungs when they dropped us off someplace just to embarrass us.

This is such a stereotype that this Asian comedian has a whole bit on the subject:

But that wasn’t my experience at all.

I’ll tell you the second thing that made him very different – at least to me – on Monday.

Location: my basement, being told that the building’s electrical wiring all needs to be pulled out
Mood: nostalgic
Music: Can’t go back to the place I’ve been. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I been away too long (Spotify)
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Bad letters

Needing a drink

Her: What’s wrong?
Me: I got a letter from the city.
Her: And…?
Me: That’s never a good thing. (opening it) Annnnd…it definitely isn’t.

Looks like it’s gonna be bread and water for me and the kid for the forseeable future.

That’s not entirely true.

He’s back at his grandparents, my in-laws, for the last couple of weeks of summer.

So, he’s probably eating like a prince.

Which is not to say that things are that bad around here.

Her: The kids are away and the weather’s beautiful, you wanna go for a walk?
Me: [After that letter] I could use a drink.
Her: What about The Wallace?
Me: That works for me.

So, off we went.

The place was perfect; we were early enough that there were only a few people there.

The waitress was sweet and comped us some fries.

Me: So much for me trying to avoid carbs.
Her: Just don’t eat them.
Me: We both know that’s not gonna happen.

And then afterward, we took a leisurely stroll back.

I’ll start with the bread and water tomorrow.

Location: at H Mart, looking for kombucha with the Firecracker
Mood: pensive
Music: No time to stress; leave it all behind (Spotify)
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PSA: EWG.org and safe soaps

The humblest, even

Her: Well, there’s shampoo, conditioner, leave-in conditioner, pre-heat treatment spray, anti-UV spray, dry shampoo, hair oil, mousse, and hairspray.
Me: I have a single bar of soap.

I’m pretty obsessed with cancer, for obvious reasons.

Don’t know what is leading to this huge rise in cancer cases in our lives but I gotta think it’s a combination of lifestyle and environment.

And for men, a report just came out this week that by 2050, the cancer rates will double. That’s insane.

It’s tough not going off the deep end on this kinda stuff, but one thing I try to do is check my household products against The Environmental Working Group’s website.

Since Alison and my dad died, pretty much the main soap that I use in the house is Dr. Bronner’s Castile soap, which are so safe that they’ve all earned EWG’s coveted “verified” rating – their rating system is basically from 1-10, where 1 and 2 are super safe and 10 is decidedly not.

I try not to get anything above a 2 in the house where ever feasible but EWG’s “verified” rating is essentially a 0, meaning it has absolutely nuthin of concern.

Unfortunately, Dr. Bronner’s bar soaps are like $4.50 or so, which is 3X the price of a normal bar of soap and I take up to three showers a day in the summer if I’m hitting the gym.

Still, it’s a small price to pay for safety.

Having said that, I was searching for something else when I found out that Irish Spring Icy Blast is – somehow – a 1 on the EWG rating chart and costs exactly the same as any other mass-market soap, about $0.66 a bar.

I do note that it seems to contain titanium dioxide, which I’m not a fan of, but that’s pretty much it.

So, while I still have Dr. Bronner’s pretty much everywhere here, I’ve been showering with the Irish Spring for the past month, which has been pretty nice, I gotta say.

Her: You smell great!
Me: Don’t I?!
Her: (rolling eyes) So humble, Logan Lo.
Me: The humblest, even.

Location: W 63rd, picking up a white printer for the kid
Mood: irritated
Music: They say it’s our fate and we’re too late, I know (Spotify)
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Pier 72, 11 years, Kossar’s

A kindness I’d never forgotten

Almost exactly 11 years ago, on August 6th, 2013, I went with Alison to a cafe a few blocks south of me called Pier 72.

We went there a couple of times but, really, hardly ever went there because it was a bit older than other joints in the area, but the food was good, the people nice, and the prices pretty cheap.

I don’t think we went there again after that; well, she didn’t, for reasons you already know.

I did because, when she was sick and losing all that weight from the chemo, she turned to me one day and said, randomly, “I could eat a patty melt.”

So, I asked her what that was and she told me.

Then I ran to Pier 72 because it was certain it would have it.

I was wrong.

Him: Sorry, we don’t sell that here.
Me: Please. It looks like this (shows him a picture). My wife…she’s…sick. She hasn’t eaten in days and I’m worried she’ll die. I can pay whatever you’d like for it.
Him: (gently) It looks like a cheeseburger on a sliced bread. I can do that for you.
Me: Yes. Please. I mean, thank you. I’ll pay whatever you think is fair.
Him: (shaking his head) It’s a cheeseburger on toast with onions. Just pay what we charge for a burger. Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it for her.

Went there a few times after that, always getting a patty melt and maybe a Reuben for me. Alison only ate a little each time.

It was a kindness I’d never forgotten. It was one of the only things Alison would agree to eat.

They shut down after COVID.

For years afterward, it was empty.

But, one day recently, the joint opened as a Kossar’s Bagel and Bialys.

The kid’s been asking to go for ages, and I finally brought him the other day.

We couldn’t sit where Alison and I last sat when it was Pier 72 because that became the cream cheese display.

So, we sat across from it and I looked at the corner of where we sat, almost exactly 11 years earlier and I could hear her voice in my head.

Something about the fact that I was sitting there with her son but not her hurt me in ways I can’t fully express nor explain.

Then the boy’s voice cut through my thoughts.

Him: I love the everything bagel! Can we come back here again?
Me: (distracted) Oh…sure. Of course.
Him: What’s wrong? You look like you’re crying.
Me: (clearing throat) Oh, it’s the summer. Allergies, you know…
Him: I’m sorry you have allergies, papa.
Me: It’s ok. I’m always ok when you’re around.
Him: Yay! Me too!

Location: at H Mart, looking for kombucha with the Firecracker
Mood: pensive
Music: You’re the movie in my mind to which I know every line (Spotify)
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Doing the right thing

Two different kids

Went to see my mom and sister for my nephew’s birthday the other day.

We went to Flushing first to get some dumplings from White Bear,…

…some Taiwanese from the local mall, and to get a little shopping done before heading to their place in Queens.

We didn’t eat all that much because my sister was going to get ribs and pizza for everyone for the bday.

It was a small affair, just some of my nephew’s school friends and us.

But, in the middle of it, a neighbor’s kid that stopped by for a brief bit and he was…just awful.

Obnoxious, loud, rude, etc. But I found out afterward that his family life was pretty rough and then I was torn.

Like, people are the way that they are because of their upbringing.

Then, on the ride home, we were in a packed subway car, and it was the NYC Dominican Day Parade.

Well, it was like half the parade was trying to be in our subway car.

In the middle of it, a teen girl turned on music, began dancing inappropriately, and then started vaping in front of my kid.

Me: (tapping her on the shoulder) Hey, can you not do that? My kid is right here.
Her: OK, sorry.

And she stopped. Also heard her say to her friends – that had packed the car and were also vaping, “Hey, there are kids here!”

When we left, I tapped the girl’s shoulder again.

Me: Hey, thanks for doing that.
Her: No worries, mister. Sorry about that.
Her friend: Yeah, sorry mister.
Me: You did the right thing here, so…thanks.

Martin Luther King Jr’s in the news again lately, for the most ridiculous reason.

But he had a quote on the topic that I’ve always liked that seems appropriate to this situation: The time is always right to do the right thing.

As we walked home, the kid talked to me about it all.

Him: They were really loud and scary. Why did you thank her?
Me: Because she did the right thing in the end. Yes, she should have been quieter and yes, she shouldn’t have vaped in the first place. But when someone recognizes they did something wrong and try to fix what they did, you have to give them credit for that.
Him: She was still really loud and scary.
Me: (nodding) Yes. But she was trying to do the right thing in the end. And we always hope that, even if it takes a long time, ultimately, people do the right thing. Maybe next time, she’ll be even better.

Location: a playground, watching a mouse explode
Mood: nauseated
Music: This is a moment in the prime of your life – you better own it (Spotify)
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Ketchup and the best kid

Not a big secret

Her: Just ketchup, please.
Me: What? How about I put on mustard and onions?
Her: No thanks, just ketchup.
Me: Chili?
Her: Nope. Just ketchup.
Me: You know, according to the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council, if you’re over 18 years old, you shouldn’t be using ketchup.
Her: I’m a lot younger than you and I’m doing it.
Me: (grumble)

I gotta say, I agree with the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council; ketchup just makes everything taste like ketchup, which is exactly why I don’t like it and kids like it on everything.

Me: I secretly judge you.
Her: (rolls eyes) It’s not that big a secret.

The kid finished up his camp this week and is going back to grandma’s for a few weeks before school.

He wanted to go and his grandma wanted to have him, so win-win there.

We had hoped to go to either Taiwan or another cruise this summer but changing gyms and some other expenses changed things for us.

But the Firecracker and I were chatting the other day and I came across a cruise for a cruise line that I’d never been on before and it left from Brooklyn.

We actually saw it the last time we were in Govenors Island, as well as the time we went to Red Hook.

Since it left from Brooklyn, the savings from not flying and having a hotel meant that it was in our budget, so we booked it.

Was gonna surprise the kid with it in a few weeks but I couldn’t contain my excitement, knowing how good a time he had the first time he went.

Me: Hey, I wanted to ask you: What was the best thing you and I ever did together?
Him: Oh, that’s easy – the cruise. Why?
Me: (smiling)
Him: Wait, are we going on a cruise?!
Me: (shrugging shoulders)
Him: (eyes widening) ARE WE GOING ON ANOTHER CRUISE!?
Me: (shrugging again) I dunno…mebe?
Him: (loses his mind)

Mission accomplished.

I don’t think there are words that fully encapsulates the feeling when, as a parent, you get your kid precisely the thing they want the most.

He was on cloud nine all day.

And so was I.

Him: You’re the best papa ever!
Me: Ha, you haven’t met them all but I’ll take it. And you’re the best kid.

Location: Flushing, showing the kid the old hood
Mood: excited
Music: Let’s hit the road, friend of mine; wave goodbye to our thankless jobs (Spotify)
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No such thing as inclement weather

Only poor clothing choices

Her: The artichokes were good. But they’re just too much work.
Me: They’re the crayfish of the vegetable world.

It’s been quiet around here for a change. Most exciting thing was that I made the Firecracker artichokes for the first time.

Did get stuck in the rain the other day though.

It wasn’t that bad.

After all, there’s no such thing as inclement weather, only poor clothing choices.

Location: bed, waiting for the sandman
Mood: sleepy
Music: no music, just the rain
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