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The Moon Festival 2013, the Walnut family, and the revolving door

Good souls are a comfort in the world


Growing up with my parents, there was a revolving door of house guests. Not really sure why.

I’m guessing it’s partly because my parents were immigrants and probably couch-surfed for a while when they first came here and remembered what that was like. Or maybe because sometimes people are just nice for no reason.

A brother and sister stayed with us a while, apparently. I don’t remember them well – as I said, revolving door. For years afterward, their parents would send us a huge box of walnuts once a year from their backyard. Then they moved, ergo, no more walnut tree, ergo, no more boxes.

But I still called them the Walnut family.

In any case, went home to see the rents yesterday. Was a spur-of-the-moment type of thing because my mom took the day off from work and a project I had finished up early.

When I got there, my mom said it was the Moon Festival this week and showed me a cake she got from the Walnut family.

She hadn’t heard from them in years and immediately rang them to thank them. It was then she heard that the mother had just died. Breast cancer.

F____ breast cancer.

The father said that one of the last things the mother said was, Send the Lo’s a cake this year. They were so nice to the kids.

Then my mother started to cry.

Her: I wish I knew. I would have done something for her.
Me: You were nice to her kids. That’s a lot. After all these years, she remembered it. So I think that’s a comfort, knowing that there are good souls in the world.
Her: She was a nice woman. And now (the husband’s) he’s by himself. It’s so unfair.
Me: (patting her on the shoulder) It really is.

Location: yesterday, the family garden
Mood: somber
Music: you come to me on a summer breeze, keep me warm
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The oldest thing we had was a tree called the Methuselah tree

Can’t deny feeling my age these days

Me: Should I wear my wedding ring or will you keep the women away from me?
Her: (putting on shoes) Yeah Logan, I’ll swat them away like flies.

The weather’s finally turned from summer to fall so the wife and I went out for a walk. Had to stretch my legs.

Pinus longaeva, Methuselah Walk - Methuselah G...
Methuselah Grove (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Work’s been slow because judges are usually away for the summer, as are most of my clients.

But just this week, several of them called me out of the blue so I assume that we’re back to the grind.

I did want to take advantage of the slow week to hit the gym but my old injuries acted up again. The buddy I train with had some useful insight:

Him: I think I know what the problem is.
Me: Really, what?
Him: You’re seriously old, man. I mean, really, really, really…
Me: (interrupting) That’s just mean, man.

It’s funny, I look in the mirror and I don’t think I look all that different. But I had to take most of last week off from the gym because something. went wonky in my knee.

Suppose there’s no two ways around being 40.

For years, the oldest thing on the planet was a tree called the Methuselah tree; records put it at 4,845 years. But they just found an older tree nearby at 5,062 years old.

Me? I’d like to make it to three digits if at all possible.

It doesn’t actually feel that far off for me any more. After all, the last decade seemed to go by in a heartbeat.

I figure I’ll blink and it’ll be 2073. Wonder if I’ll be able to teleport to California by then.

In any case, there’s a line from the song below that goes, I want to be the best I can. For me, for you, for every man, But I can slip, I lose my place.

But then there’s not much to do but get up and get back up and try again.

After my knee stops aching, that is.

Location: the Duane Reade on 72nd Street and the upper west side
Mood: hopeful
Music: I might ignore, just close the door before you have your fun
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Core belief 4: There’s no such thing as willpower

There’s only varying degrees of what you actually want

Just wrote two large checks to the government. It’s because, those that live in an eat-what-you-kill life here in the US, have to send in what they think are going to be the taxes every three months.

It’s a bit annoying and sometimes stressful because (a) you have to make educated guesses and (b) you have to be ready to write those checks.

Mentioned this to a buddy the other day and he said that I must have a lot of willpower to not spend the money. Likewise, when I mentioned to someone else that I was once super fat, she too remarked that I must have a lot of willpower

So, I figured now was a good time to present another core belief of mine to you: There’s no such thing as willpower.

It doesn’t exist.

What does exist are value judgments as to the relative worth of things.

For example, when I was a fat kid – whether I realized it or not – I was making a choice of choosing the pleasure of chocolate cake over the discomfort of being teased; the pleasure of sitting on a couch watching television versus the discomfort of exercise.

In other words, I was getting something out of being fat that was worth more to me than not being fat.

It was only when I went to junior high school, where there was a pretty girl named Eve, that it flipped. Suddenly, it being fat wasn’t worth the cost to me.

Isn’t it always about a girl?

In any case, had a co-worker of mine, years ago, who just complained about the work he did all the time.

He was offered a promotion and he declined, saying that he was worried no one else could do the job as well as he could. Everyone else thought this was so noble, but I realized that he was getting something out of his current job that was worth more than the higher title, more than the additional income, more than the additional responsibilities.

He liked to complain.

He was getting more out of being able to complain than he would have gotten out of all the other things.

Should note that I never did summon the courage to ask Eve out. Just as well.

There are few people who can actually put up with my idiosyncrasies.

Me: (dropping something) CRASH!
Her: I’m really worried about your ability, as a rational person, to hold onto things.

 

Core belief 3: You are what you decide to be
Core belief 2: You’re not who you could be because of the lies you tell yourself<
Core belief 1: I’ll judge you for what you do but never for what you are

Location: the start of a new week in an old chair
Mood: sore
Music: like a dream, make me feel crazy
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Everyone believes very easily whatever he fears or desires

There’s a difference between real knowledge and junk food knowledge

I find Facebook and other social media to be a really enlightening look into the lives and workings of people I kinda know.

Not a day goes by when I don’t think about a quote from poet Jean De la Fontaine, who said that Everyone believes very easily whatever he fears or desires.

Every morning, I know that there will be a conspiracy theory from at least a dozen people on my list about how the NSA is trying to read my email to my mom, Monsanto secretly controls the world, or we’re all about to die from ______.

There’s also going to be the conservative rant from someone that says that Obama is ready to take all our guns and force us into hospitals next Thursday and the liberal rant that says that if we ignore the world’s problems, the world’s problems will ignore us.

More interesting to me is how often people mistake junk food intelligence for actual intelligence. They mistake some kernel of data for a self-proving fact, knowledge for intelligence.

The issue for me isn’t the spread of seriously questionable “knowledge.” It isn’t the childish simplification of seriously complex situations. It isn’t even the almost pathological willful ignorance.

It’s the fact that these people are bores.

Good god, stop being such a bore. It’s exhausting.

And it’s akin to walking around with spinach in your teeth and refusing to get rid of it. See the video below.

So why do I bother keeping them on? Because the danger is becoming one of them. To exclude opinions not in line with my own because I find them so ridiculous. It’s ignoring the balanced meal for the Happy Meal. After all, convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.

Moreover, who am I to say anything?

Me: (putting on shoes) I’m heading up to Harlem.
Her: Why?
Me: It’s the only place with a KFC.
Her: You’re going all the way to Harlem to go to KFC?
Me: (thinking) Yes.

Location: heading to the gym shortly
Mood: enjoying the fall-like temps again
Music: Sometimes I wish I could Calm the storm
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What’s the margin of error?

I try and have a scheduled life to avoid things like this

Me: (holding stomach) Just wanna let you know, there’s a 35-40% chance I’m going to be sick on you.
Him: What’s the margin of error?
Me: 5%.
Him: That’s still less than 50%. I’ll take my chances!

With how my schedule is involved, most days I have to eat and drink at very specific times. In the mornings, I have something at 8:30AM, again at 10AM and then not again until 3PM.

The reason for the gap is that I try to hit the gym three days a week in the middle of the day while also trying not to have something in my mouth or hand while I’m talking to clients during the other hours.

Every once in a while, I’ll have a long winded client or something that makes me miss my window. The other day, I missed it, but also already had a huge mess of bacon and eggs. So I downed it all with strong coffee and hit the gym.

Ultimately, nothing ended up happening although there were times I came close.

Vigorous exercise, the smell of dude in a sweaty gym, the heat, plus that breakfast was … ill-advised.

And I regularly work with the same guy so he, unfortunately has to deal with all my little eccentricities.

Me: Did you just buy that shirt?
Him: Yeah, I forgot to bring another clean shirt with me today and I know how you are about that kind of stuff.
Me: God, thank you.

Location: finishing up breakfast two
Mood: tired of summer
Music: Don’t run, stop holding your tongue
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Accomplishment is fish in the freezer and going paperless

Had, what I consider to be, a productive weekend

Him: Are you around? I went fishing this weekend. How much stripped bass do you want?
Me: Sweeeeeet!
Him: Want to meet me in front of MSG near the taxi stand around 4?

Went down to Madison Square Garden this past Sunday, fighting off tourists, and met up with my buddy Steele for what could easily have passed for cocaine transaction but instead involved striped bass. We chatted about lakes and rivers, exchange some advice, he told me about https://www.reelchase.com and then I was on my way.

As I stood in front of the queue for taxis and watched people come and go with their luggage I thought it pretty funny that I was probably the only one there for a fish-related transaction.

Well, it is NYC, I could be wrong. You never know.

As for the rest of my weekend, when the guy came to fix the radiator last week, realized that I have boxes and boxes of old files and books still.

So I I bought this scanner and went to town on them.

In all, I filled three 30 gallon recycling bags full of paper.

Now I’ve got fresh fish in the freezer and 90 gallons less paper in the house. Not quite paperless but close.

A pretty good weekend if you ask me.

You may disagree but when you turn 40, these are big accomplishments. Big.

Location: in a room with -90 gallons of paper
Mood: accomplished
Music: But I know my lines and my graphs and my math
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Woodwork and a stay in Manhattan

We’ll take any excuse for a staycation

Had some carpenters come into the pad to fix some flooring. They were supposed to come at 8:30 on Saturday but instead they showed up at 11:30.

That’s the thing with a lot of service people; they’re very flaky. I find that if they’re very responsive, I’m their customer for life.

Having said that, they did a seriously bang-up job on the floors. Essentially, part of it was damaged a long time ago by a previous occupant. They came in, tore up that entire section, replaced the wood, and stained/sealed it so that it looks exactly like the old wood.

Because we weren’t really sure that they’d get it all done in a day, the wife and I booked a hotel a few blocks south of us called On the Avenue.

Turned out that we didn’t need to stay there since the work was done so quickly but we like being tourists in our own city neighborhood. We had an early dinner at Serafina, an early night at the hotel and were back at home with our need wood floors the next day.

And more pizza the next day to boot.

Her: Oh, did you put that slice of pizza into the oven for me?
Me: (pause) Yes?
Her: (suspicious) Really?
Me: (pause) Yes?

When I’m hungry, common sense is the first thing to go.

Location: waiting for the summer heat to return
Mood: anxious
Music: everybody’s gotta get there somehow and I won’t wait
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Waiting for the chime that tells me to get back to work

Either insanely busy or not-at-all and little in-between

Her: Do you want some ice cream?
Me: Nah, I’m good. (five minutes later) Actually, that looks pretty good, can I have a few bites of your…
Her: Touch it and I’ll kick you in the face.

Finished up with this massive project last week so I’ve had a bit of downtime again.

With how my work is structured, I’m usually either insanely busy or not at all. There’s scant in-between.

I’m also at a age/position in my work life where I don’t actually have to show up anywhere as long as the work’s done. It’s a plus of being 40, I suppose.

Because of that, it takes me a little while to get used to having time to myself; feel almost guilty that I’m not doing something work related.

But then as I finally get used to downtime, I’ll get an email from a client that goes, Logan! Hey, I have a question for you.

Still, for the next three days at least, my plans are meeting up with a friend for drinks, working on some rapier/dagger fencing, some wrasslin, and a stack of magazines.

All the while, I’m listening for that sound that my computer makes when that email inevitably comes in telling me to get back to work.

!Ding!

Location: my apartment, waiting for it
Mood: rested
Music: Maggie advances to the final. Who knew that she had the goods?
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A daiquiri is not a frozen daiquiri

A daiquiri is completely different than a frozen daiquiri – also a pic of me with a hi-top fade

Her: What the…?
Me: Well, I did ask for a hightop fade.
Her: You did?
Me: Of course I didn’t! Look at me! I look like Kid from Kid ‘n Play.

Because of the insane heat in New York the past few weeks, been trying to do whatever I could to keep cool.

One thing was to go out with my buddy PB to a place around me called the Gin Mill and ask for a daquiri.

Like always, the waitress said, “We don’t have a blender.”

For pete’s … let’s clear up something right now: A daiquiri is as different from a frozen daiquiri as a yogurt is from frozen yogurt. As different as chocolate is from hot chocolate.

They’re completely different things.

Don’t know when it started that people think that the only daiquiris that exist are the frozen kind. At it’s most basic, a daiquiri is limeade and rum. That’s it.

Caipirinha, a Brazilian daiquiri
Caipirinha – essentially a daiquiri with sugercane rum.

Here’s my version of it:

  • Shot of light rum
  • Juice of one-half lime
  • 1/3 to 1/2 shot of sugar syrup or agave
  • Ice-filled glass
  • Top off with seltzer or water

And when it comes to beating the heat, that plus a fan is the classic way to do it.

A recent Esquire article titled, In Defense of the Daiquiri had the exact same issue with the blender and noted that, “It’s one of those cocktails that’s hard to make well because you can’t hide.”

I’ll tell people that’s why I drink them.

But that’s a lie.

You and I know that the real reason is that I just like to get rum into my fat belly.

Her: Oh, it doesn’t look that bad. Bring your big head over here.
Me: Hey…
Her: (hugging my head) It’ll grow back. (thinking) What’s the circumference of this thing?

Kid 'n' Play

Location: 21:00 yest, thrust, parry, thrust on the UWS
Mood: tired
Music: Pretend the water is champagne and fill my glass again and again
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Picasso and his napkin art

Effortless things take years of effort to accomplish

Female client: This bill is outrageous! Who do you think you are?
Me: I think I’m someone that needs to get paid for the work I do.
Her: For four pages of work?
Me: Let me tell you a story: Picasso was sitting in a cafe one day when someone asked him to draw something on a napkin. He did and asked for $12,000. Like you, the man said that it was outrageous because it only took him a minute, to which Picasso said, “Actually, that took me 40 years.”
Her: So you think you’re Picasso?
Me: No, but I did spend the 15 years learning how to write that four page document you’re holding in your hand. If you could have done it, you would’ve. You came to me, not the other way around. You don’t work for free, why do you expect me to?

It’s a never-ending thing in the service industry: explaining the difference between value and price.

Igor Stravinsky and Pablo Picasso collaborated...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Location: back from the gym
Mood: irritated
Music: my brush would take me there But only If I were a painter
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