Tag: discussion

Categories
personal

Aether Apologies

 

Her: Why do you always get so mad when I apologize?
Me: Cause you should only ever apologize for what you do, not who you are. You should never apologize for being what you are.

 

People used to believe in this thing called aether, which was an unseen gas that was supposed to envelop everything in the universe. No such thing but the literary concept of it still exists.

Heartgirl went on a date not that long ago and said the guy immediately apologized for being Indian. That irritated me so much.

I’m acutely aware of people apologizing for who they are. And when you put that out into the world, into the aether, it’s hard to kill it. The moment you let out a breath of, I’m not good enough because of what I am, or I’m so XXXX, it’s so very dangerous. Cause you can never be tall enough, thin enough, smart enough. And you are what you believe you are.

It’s subtle isn’t it? The idea that you’re not worthy of your three feet of space in this world. Here’s the thing, you gotta be. If you’re not, the world’ll roll right over you. Then again…

Her: I thought you said you weren’t broken.
Me: Maybe I’m just bruised.
Her: That makes me sad.
Me: Don’t be. It’s why I have the rum.

PCD’s…gone from this blog, per her request. But she said we’d stay in each other’s Venn Diagrams. I hope that’s true. Cause I could never tell if her eyes were grey or blue and would like to know.

I hear Caligirl’s laughter my head – wondering for a second if she’s right and I’m all just hot breath and lies. I gotta believe I’m not. Gotta.

Otherwise, I know the world’ll roll right over me. So I gotta believe I’m not. I just gotta.

Location: the basement of my brain again
Mood: pensive
Music: sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

Categories
personal

Public Service Announcement

How to do well in college

 

Had quite the weekend involving PCD, WM, a pool in Jersey City and copious amounts of charred meat and meat products.

But enough about me, let’s chat about you. Realized that I’ve got a lot of younger readers – which isn’t too hard as I’m ancient. School’s about to start so, thought I’d let you know about how I did college. Graduated cum laude from an Ivy League; this is not to brag but to let you know that what I’m about to tell you worked for me and might for you:

  1. Took mostly lecture classes.
  2. Crammed all my classes into M-Th.
  3. Never missed a class and wrote down almost everything the teacher said. (1x)
  4. At night, transcribed all my notes into a computer, rearranged and sorted. (2x) Any questions I had, I cleared up with my TA and rearranged my notes again. (3x)
  5. Printed out all my notes Friday morning, and headed to NYC. Read notes on bus. (4x) Used time to write any reports that needed to be written.
  6. At Penn Station, put notes away and meet girlie. Work. Go to clubs. Limelight, Paladium, Red Zone, Mars, Nell’s. All gone now. So sad. I digress.
  7. Sunday, took bus back to school, read notes again on bus ride up (5x). Watched Simpsons.
  8. Last weekend of month, reread all notes from the month. (6x)
  9. Weeks before finals, read notes again. (7x-100x)
  10. Repeat for remaining semesters.

Man, I knew that stuff cold. It’s what happens when you re-live a lecture class 7-100 times. Still remember that the acceleration of a free falling object under the influence of gravity is 9.8 meters per second, per second.

Added bonuses

  • Always had a three-day weekend.
  • Always had those weekends free.
  • Didn’t read the books. Stopped buying textbooks when I realized that teachers just wanna hear their own words when they read essay exams (be careful with this one – I dunno what your teachers are gonna be like).
  • Didn’t do the homework. If it wasn’t graded, I didn’t do it. Just knew my notes, cold.
  • You actually learn what you’re supposed to learn.
  • Could sell my notes for $50 a pop.
  • Can have interactions 17 years later like this:

Me: Did you know that the acceleration of a free falling object under the influence of gravity is 9.8 meters per second, per second?
Her: I’m sorry what?
Me: Ah, nuthin, just geeking out. But enough about me, let’s chat about you….my name’s Logan. And you are?

Location: 15:00 yest, Port Liberte, NJ
Mood: accomplished
Music: Oh academia you can’t pick me up

Categories
personal

Lukewarm

Location: 9ish yest, 23rd and Broadway
Mood: excited
Music: love me or hate me, it’s still an obsession

Me: I’m not that guy – I don’t pine after people.
CaseyI: “I don’t pine?” Logan, darling, your whole blog is one big long pine.
Me: OK, I pine a little….wait, what? No it’s not! Is it?
Her: Have you read it?

Onea my favorite quotes is So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. My pastor just spoke of it. Said the word earnestness in that passage is the Greek word zēlos, from which we get zealous. Funny, right? Earnestness and zeal are related. In other words, honesty and passion are related.

I submit that we love sports because of that passion. Champions fight with every fiber in their body for what they want. Step into a ring distracted and you get your block knocked off. And I’m no longer distracted. I know if I’m the button, needle or thread again. It’s such a relief.

Y’know, Heartgirl once said we’d never get along cause I’m dispassionate about certain people and things. But, I’m only dispassionate when faced with the lukewarm. If you look at the quote, lukewarm is nauseating – even to God.

I’m tired of feeling lukewarm about everything. I wanna be hot or cold again.

And y’meet so much lukewarm in the big city. The random boring conversations in the random blue nights. Whaddya do? Whodoyaknow? Blah, blah, blah. Man, just keep your lukewarm to yourself. Gimme some hated or love. Some passion, some zeal. Something. Hate me? Then wind up and swing. Want me? Then throw me down. Don’t talk me to death.

Fall’s around the corner and I feel my teeth again. I’m excited. Maybe there is a SING or a girl on the east side missing a heart. Might happen. Give it to me. Gimme some honesty and heat.

Knuckle up and swing like y’mean it. C’mon…hit me already.

Categories
personal

Broken and Bendy

There’s a vast difference between broken and bendy

Him: (joking) No offense Logan, but if I were a hot chick, I’d wanna be with an I-banker or doctor. Why would she pick a guy like you?
Me: (laughing) Cause I may be broke, but I’m not broken.

About six years ago, a blondie lived in my building. She was broken. Bad job, bad relationships, etc. My roomie and I tried to be nice to her but she took that to mean something else. Before we knew it, we’re ducking in and out of our own home. Took about a year, a lotta drama, the sheriffs and the courts to get her out.

Fast forward to this past weekend, to this old guy, who coincidentally took the same room as the blondie. He’s certain everyone and everything is against him. Tried to be friendly with him with some recent issues with his apartment but drew the line when he turned to his Chinese wife (he’s Caucasian) and said, “Talk to him in his native tongue.” To which I said, “I’m an American, this is my native tongue” which really bothered him for some reason. Like he was gonna stab me, bothered him. So I bounced.

The next day he calls me a queer when the owner and I try to take pics of repairs to his room. Luckily, he’s not just old, bitter and crazy, he’s also racist and homophobic.

You know when they say about a whacked out young person, Oh he’ll grow outta that? That’s not true at all. Young, broken people grow up to be old, broken people. It’s like a bullet going on a trajectory, a degree off center from the barrel means yards from the target down the line.

As an aside, you might not think it’s much, but I’m realizing that not being broken’s a HUGE selling point as a single-guy in NYC. It’s better to be an old 6 and not broken than a young 9 and broken – I should know.

And as an old guy, a word of advice: don’t ever think you can fix a broken person. They gotta fix themselves. It’s the only way. All you can do is avoid.

On a completely different point, met another gymnast this weekend. the ex, SX, Blue Jean Eyes, and PCD, were all of that bendy ilk. Broken is quite uncool. Bendy, however, bendy’s quite cool.

Location: bed
Mood: irritated
Music: Now you’re broken and you don’t understand

Categories
personal

The button, the needle or the thread?

Location: 21:00 yest, getting stabbed in the throat
Mood: contemplative
Music: Walking by myself down avenues that reek of time to kill

No 6 landed this book deal a while ago and I helped her edit it – she gave me a credit on the acknowledgment’s page. When her book came out, I was traveling a lot so I’d stop by the local BN in town and buy up a few copies. Ended up buying ’bout 50 $!#@$ copies.

I’ve not been sleeping so I’ve been reading it. It’s weird cause I never read the finished product. It’s like I hear her voice and some words of mine in the pages. But it’s not bad. I know how the stories all end.

Diogenes the Cynic was this whackjob that used to walk around in the daytime with a lamp looking for one honest man. Never found one. Honesty’s easy when you got nuthin on the line. Y’find out who’s honest and who’s honeytounged when you do.

Now, even when I don’t wanna hear the truth, I wanna hear it.

Me: Why do I feel you’re not being honest with me?

Her: (pause) Because I’m not. I’ve got to go. (pause) Don’t be angry. I wish everything were easier.

Man, who doesn’t? With the exception of Heartgirl, I never know if I’m making time, killin time or spending time. Can’t be a hypocrite, it cuts both ways. Still, never know if I’m the needle, the thread or the button til it’s all over.

Speaking of Heartgirl, she’s going away for a bit. I’ll miss her. Interestingly, she may actually have said something nice to me recently.

Me: It’s not like you like me for my brains.

Her: It’s why I like you.

Me: For the first time ever, I’m confused as to whether or not you’re being sarcastic.

Man, I wish I knew how my stories end.

Categories
dating personal

Waiting for the Right Scene / Hardest way to Travel

 

 

PCD: (turning to me) That’s not true, I haven’t kissed anyone else in a long time.
Me: Really? How long?
Her: A whole week.
Me: (quizzical look)
Her: (turning back to TV) When you stop kissing other people so will I.

My friend Joanne said once that dating past your 30s is like that board game Scene It. In the first part of the game, if you get something wrong, there’s no penalty. In the second part, you’re penalized for each wrong answer. She said that dating up to 30 is like the first part and dating past your 30s is like the second part.

Spoke to Heartgirl recently. Like HEI, she’s become what I’d consider a close friend. Well, as close a friend as I guy like me has. She thinks I’m going about this wrong, the random dating and whatnot. But I’ve done the serial monogamy thing for 16 years. It doesn’t work for me.

Without a hint of arrogance, I believe that whomever ends up with me is a lucky girlie. Cause I’m whip-smart. Given lead time to prep and the right jeans, I’m easy on the eyes. Have fairly good manners. Can cook.

Most of all, though, I’m loyal. For that girl, I can say, I’m yours. I’ve gotten it outta my system. 130+ dates later, I’m good to go. I choose you.

And yeah, I’m old, weird, clumsy, nerdy, insominatic – the list goes on. No lie, whenever there’s money left over for rum after a mortgage payment, it’s like Christmas morning.

But I know what I bring to the table. SX once asked me what entertainment I’d provide and responded, “I am the entertainment.”

One should know one’s value. Cause if your cup of self worth is only half full, why would anyone else see any more than that, y’know?

In other news, the woman I love the most in the world is on a plane to bury the woman she loves most in the world.

There’s no harder way to travel than with a broken heart. It takes 22 hours to get from here to there. That’s a long time to spend with your thoughts. If I could take that cross from her, I would.

 

Location: in front of a glass of rum
Mood: sigh
Music: Got no place to go but there’s a girl waiting for me

Categories
personal

Useless / Outta time

I feel so useless these days

Sorry, those of you that read me know I’m pretty regular about my postings but this week’s been…hard. Don’t think I had one sober night this week. Heartgirl took me to a fine restaurant, PCD took me out and made me carrot cake, and BEG rang me. They’re all such good people. It’s funny who contacts you and who doesn’t. Slept about four hours a night.

Told you before that A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own.

I think I’m fairly quick-witted. Rain’s faster on the draw but I hold my own. S’what happens when you read as much as a nerd like me. But I dunno what to say to my own mother. Isn’t that a kick in the head?

Sucks when you realize a particular talent you have’s only good for entertainment purposes.

The irony of this whole thing is that my mom just came back from Taiwan two days before my grandma died. Now she’s gotta go back.

Her: I didn’t know she was gonna go. (pause) I woulda stayed if I knew.
Me: One of us (kids) should go back with you.
Her: No, it’s useless. She’s gone. You called her all the time. That meant a lot to her. (pause) You’re a good kid.

She doesn’t know that I stopped calling her after the theft cause I didn’t want her to worry. Stupid. I thought we had time. Goddamit, I thought I had time. No one told me we were outta time.

Gonna add that to my list of ten thousand regrets.

Gonna need more damn paper.

Location: my office, beat tired
Mood: beat tired
Music: you wake up in it One fine day

Categories
dating personal

All good things come to an end

 

Him: What’s the point of dating her if it’s not going anywhere?
Me: All relationships end. Some just end sooner than others.

Anthropologist Ernest Becker once said that Everything that man does in his symbolic world is an attempt to deny and overcome his grotesque fate.

All relationships end. And all relationships that matter end in tears. It’s just the way it goes. There’s nothing you adore now, that you can hold now, that you won’t lose at some point down the line. Either because it goes – or you go. It’s all ashes and dust and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

And it doesn’t matter how you go, yeah? Someone’ll wish you didn’t.

Writers try and cheat the end we know is coming. It’s our sad way of staying longer than we should. Because I’ve tricked you, you see. I’ve made you think of me.

My grandmother passed away. I’m heartbroken.

Please don’t say, I’m sorry. Tell me something funny or interesting. Cause I gotta go home and dunno what to say to my mom.

I’m a crap writer. I’ve run outta words.

Location: my office
Mood: heartbroken
Music: the sun was wondering if it should stay away for a day til the feeling went away

Categories
personal

You are a soul

You can’t sell your soul, you are a soul

Me: I’m sorry, come again? How old’re you?
Her: 18.
Me: (turning to WM) Yeah, I’m leaving.

Spent Friday out with Gio and WM around the UES. Not my scene.

Saturday morning, spoke with Heartgirl; that’s a post for some other time. Saturday night, saw PCD. She did NOT heed my advice and was hung over so we spent a very nice quiet night in the UWS.

Unfortunately, while writing this, I just found out that my grandma’s in the hospital. Was supposed to see her when that woman stole all my money.

You know when someone talks about selling your soul, or whatnot? That irritates me. Cause you’re not a body with a soul. You are a soul. You just happen to have a body.

My grandmother is no dainty grandma; she’s tougher than DeNiro and smokes more than he does.

But her body is betraying her and there’s nuthin I can do about it. She gave me my eyes.

I wanna hit something.

Location: in front of three computers
Mood: worried
Music: No need to say goodbye You’ll come back
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Blessed are the forgetful

Her: I forget a lot of things.
Me: I envy you. Nietzsche once said, “Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.” I never forget anything.  But I’m working on that.
Her: I’d never want to remember everything. That’d be terrible.
Me: (nodding) It’s why I’m an insomniac.

Caligirl’s getting married.

For my longtime readers, she was also the girl in this entry. She’s everything I’m looking for in a girlie. Yet I don’t love her. Least, not in the way she wants. Dunno why that is, but that’s as it is.

As a kid, I remember reading about Soma in A Brave New World and wondering why anyone would wanna forget stuff. Not a kid anymore. There’s no Soma in NYC. There’s no River Lethe. That part I knew. But I’m also finding that there’s no SING. No girl on the east side missing a heart.

There are, however, any number of fine (and not so fine) drinking establishments in the big city where they’ll serve me my favorite poison on the rocks with a big slice of orange for $14 a glass.

I know cause I went to two of them Wednesday and Thursday nights with any number of girlies, some very random, some very specific. The weekend forecast looks similar. They’ll have to do.

Suspect I’m not invited to the wedding.

I’m an insomniac cause I lie awake remembering. I’m so talented at it that I even remember things that never happened, people that never existed.

Location: 10:00-14:00 yest, all over Manhattan
Mood: calm
Music: Why so scared of romance?