Tag: discussion

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personal

Uncool me

A few weeks back:

Her: Wait, you only have one bowl?
Me: (shrugging) I only have one me.

I don’t have an iPod – don’t have an “i” anything, in fact. Someday maybe, not now.

Almost all my music, DVDs, books, papers, works, I’ve digitized and put into a computer I built myself. I watch it all through either a TV I bought seven years ago or a projector I use for business.

Got a lotta Valentino shirts and about eight custom-made suits but I bought ’em all at least a decade ago when I was young and stupid. Tee-shirts and Levi jeans for me.

Drama notwithstanding, I spend coin on:

I’m lucky because I’ve never been cool and I’m WAY too old to start now. Plus, I have zero need to impress anyone.

Where do you think the happiest place on earth is? It’s here. Not what you expect, huh? Happiness comes from community and purpose. Stuff cannot make you happy. Don’t be fooled by ad execs (I was one) – there’s no pill, shirt, shoes, phone, that will make you happy.

Working jobs you hate, to buy crap you don’t need, to impress those you don’t know – that’s just !#@$ nuts.

Connecting, man, that’s where it’s at. Ah, but there’s the rub. Another person cannot make you happy. But losing them can make you all sortsa bent outta shape.

Connecting. It’s harder than one might imagine:

Her: Can you not call me?
Me: Tonight or ever?
Her: (pause) Ever. ()
Me: (pause) Well…that sounds about right. (sighing, putting down phone and turning to fish) Yes George, I know it’s nonea my business. But still…

Location: my blue couch
Mood: throughly confused
Music: I think she’s leaving Ooh man she’s leaving

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personal

Logan’s 35

The lies you tell yourself

I submit that your misery is the sum of the lies you tell yourself:

  • I’m not good at languages, that’s why I don’t learn Italian.
  • I need a drink to talk to her.
  • I’m too old to start something like that.

My favorite: I’m not that type of guy/gal.

That’s the stupidest one of all. Following that logic: I’m not the type of guy that drives because I’ve never driven before.

It’s all horse___, you know? The lies you tell yourself. It’s all horse____.

Put another way: you’re not the person you know you could be, causa the lies you tell yourself.

I’m pensive. Turning 35 today. Halfway to getting my ticket punched, and still waiting for my real life to begin. Been thinking, maybe it begins when you stop lying to yourself. When you take that nasty truth, bite into it and swallow. Then go in for seconds.

Wish I did it a lot earlier myself. Then again, wish I bought Google at 300 bucks, kissed Stella in 9th grade, and didn’t have my life’s savings stolen. But whaddya gonna do?

A pretty lady from a sun-kissed beach just dropped me a line and another pretty lady’s heading my way for a spell. Plus there’s the weekend. Hoping for some awesome to head my way.

Some awesome, and maybe another whole wheat donut, would be nice.

Now…wish me a happy birthday, all of you bastards that read me and never say anything.

Location: 13:00 yest, Harlem
Mood: excited
Music: Coming outta my cage and I’ve been doing just fine

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personal

It’s better my way

My fear is my only courage

In Marley’s “No Woman No Cry,” he’s got a line that goes:

My feet is my only carriage.

But if you listen to it, it sounds more like:

My fear is my only courage.

Since I was a kid, I misheard it. Figures. My life as a kid was all wrong.

You know, back then, I was so poor and so fat, only really had four shirts. It’s all we could afford. All my fat ass could fit. Red. Yellow. Brown-striped. And this god-awful sky blue velvet one.

Hey – betcha I got more clothes than you.

I got more clothes than anyone I’ve ever met. Anyone. And I meet a lotta folk. Statement of fact, that’s all.

Cause when I made some scratch, I bought clothes. Like 200+ ties. Not cheap ties, the good stuff. Man, I don’t even wear ties. All I do is wear jeans and tee-shirts, now. Finally grew outta it, I guess.

But you never grow outta that deep fear, do you? That deep fear that makes no @#$ sense. The fear that I’ll wake up and be this fat, poor, lonely dork in sixth grade again.

You know, my classmates threw rocks at me? Seriously, rocks.

No lie, this latest drama’s no fun. But when you’re in sixth grade and your classmates think stoning you’s high sport, well, that preps you for pretty much anything.

Don’t want pity. Don’t want charity. I just want a sec. Just gimme a sec – catch my breath, get on my feet. If you wanna do something for me, buy me some rum when you see me. Otherwise,

I’ll share with you – you see, my fear yeah? Is my only courage.
Well, yes, I’ve got to push on through.
But while I’m gone, everything’s gonna be all right.

 

Location: my apartment, all day
Mood: hopeful
Music: don’t shed no tears

Categories
personal

Just OK

Location: 22:08 yest, running home in the rain
Mood: wet
Music: Oh, how I try to be just okay. Yeah

Gshok sent me the above for absolutely no reason. Those are the best kind of gifts.

It’s nice to open the mailbox and get something that’s not a bill or junk. Or a letter from the IRS.

———-

Seemoore thinks I’m older and more somber in this blog, yet more friendly and effusive in person.

I often wonder how I come across. I don’t mean to be somber, I assure you.

Life has been somber lately, though.

Although punctuated with the occasional chance meeting and whatnot.

Man, I live for the occasional chance meeting and whatnot.

Categories
personal

The Prodigal

Location: my own apartment for a change
Mood: anxious
Music: You’re like a favorite song to That melody, that melody I love

Was out this weekend with Paul. He got a killer Hong Kong gig lined up so if any of you are from there, drop me a line? He’s the guy I go out with the most so if you do end up showing him around, he’ll fill you in on about 40% of what I leave out in this blog.

Consider it a bargain. Plus he’s the gold-standard of wingmen.

Speaking of being out, a girlie and I got into a theological discussion at a bar recently about the parable of The Lost Son/The Prodigal Son. Yes, I like to interrupt my drinking with religious discussions. Of course, she’s a bisexual pescatarian – although not from NJ.

I always felt that the older brother got screwed. Here, the younger son blows all his coin, lives it up and comes back broke, only to be welcomed by his father. The older brother’s pissed.

He was loyal. He took care of his scratch, his family and here’s this messed up brother who gets welcomed back with open arms. A party no less. How’s that fair? Now I see it like this; the father loved all kids and so:

  • the older son will be rewarded for what’s he’s done;
  • the younger son is forgiven for what he is.

That’s what fathers do. Even when the kid a royal screwup, a father pulls for him anyway.

I think hope that’s what it says. Because I’m the family screwup; the cautionary tale for my extended family. But they’re all too polite to say it to me.

So I sigh, put on my brown shoes, my happy face and wait for the 1 train to roll in. And I hold my breath for the weekend to come again.

Hello, Monday. What do you have for me this week?

Categories
personal

Being a brick wall

It’s hard keeping it together when it comes down on you

Me: You can do this. You’ve done it before, you survived. You can do it again. You just gotta be a brick wall.
Her: What does that mean?
Me: Two things. First, a brick wall doesn’t cry, it doesn’t beg, it doesn’t plead, it doesn’t do anything. It just is. A brick wall does what it’s supposed to do – without compunction, without complaint, without contempt. A brick wall’s built for pressure; you’re built for pressure.
Her: And second?
Me: Second is it doesn’t give anything away – you can read a face, you can’t read a brick wall. Keep it together. People’re relying on you. You’re relying on you. Don’t ever let him break you down. A brick wall doesn’t break; everything else breaks against it.
Her: (quizzically) I’ma brick wall?
Me: Yeah, you’re a goddamned brick wall.
Her: (deep breath) I’m a brick wall.
Me: You’re stone.

Location: 18:30 yest, hopping onto the seven train
Mood: beat tired
Music: the only one here now is me; I’m fighting things I cannot see

Categories
personal

None of your business

Heartache or papercuts

With nods to Jaerik and my friend who cares way too much.

I figure at least 20 people hate me in this world. One of them is this old hippie that yelled at me in Cooper Union while stumbling home for having my feet up on a public seat. My feet, I said, with a wink and a smile, are probably cleaner than most people’s butts.

Ass___, she said. To which I shrugged and said, That’s merely your opinion. And why should your opinion matter to me? You didn’t even say hello.

Considering that there are 6,641,114,623 people in the world, the fact that 20 hate me, that’s pretty good. In fact, I don’t have a calculator that can compute such a tiny figure. Try it.

Whatever someone thinks of me is just their opinion. Someone’s else’s opinion should not control your life – it’s a sucker’s bet.

Frankly, it’s none of my business what people think of me. It’s none of your business either.

On a grand scale, wars are fought over opinions. People fly planes into buildings because they have an opinion. Men become stalkers because they have an opinion. Little girls commit suicide because of people’s opinions.

On a more personal scale, you’ll drive yourself starkers caring what people think of you. I wasted my youth and my 20s tilting at those windmills. In this world, you can only ever change things about yourself.

The rest is just heartache or paper cuts.

In other news, I’m sick again. I’m always getting sick. Dammit.

Location: 5:30 yest, going to bed
Mood: sick again
Music: Love me or hate me, it’s still an obsession

Categories
personal

Postcards and Peanut Butter

Location: 9:00 yest, the subway platform, waiting
Mood: yep, still sick
Music: I’ll get over you, I know I will

I think Life’s talking to me again. The Grey-Eyed Girl and Berlingirl told me I should listen. I’m trying.

I blog less these days so it doesn’t become a daily bitch-fest (Let’s see what minor disaster befell Logan today).

From 1994 to 2001, I pretty much disappeared. I made a sick amount of money, worked out constantly, traveled everywhere and wrote like you couldn’t believe – like Ted Kaczynski on crack. Somewhere between page 1 and 972, I squeezed in law school, a fairly successful nightclub business, a few published works and 3.5 relationships.

Through it all, my family was there, but I expected that. But I was a bit surprised that my friends always were too. There’s this old joke that you have friends because you can’t pick your family. I can see that.

I bring this all up because some college buddies called me outta blue last week to check up on me. Bryson also stopped by last night to buy me dinner. And The Laura, Betts, someone that doesn’t want to be mentioned and Daiseefut all recently sent me postcards.

Plus, my church was talking about Job again, the ‘rents are strangely insightful and I’m having these deep philosophical discussions in the weirdest joints. Odder still, two people I’ve not seen in at least 14 years randomly reached out to me; one today when I was eating my dinner of peanut butter outta the jar with a metal spoon. I was so surprised, I dropped the spoon.

So yeah, I think Life’s telling me something and, like I said, I’m trying to listen.

I’m trying awfully hard.

Categories
personal

Australia

A Frog in a Well Knows Nothing of the Ocean

You ever hear of the saying, A Frog in a Well Knows Nothing of the Ocean?

This frog meets a turtle one day and the frog says to him, Dude, you gotta come check out my home in a well. It’s got it all: cool mud in the summer, protection from the wind in the winter, the whole nine.

The turtle checks it out and says to the frog, Man, have you ever been to the ocean? The water goes down deeper than a thousand of your wells. And you could swim forever and never see the land again if you didn’t wanna. And there are things of every color in the rainbow that you couldn’t imagine of in your dreams.

Y’only know your well, the turtle finished, but there are oceans you know nothing about.

Prior to 2001, I was the frog. Then I met this girlie…but that’s not really the point. Sometimes, I think I still am the frog. I told someone recently that I learned to ride a bike here. That kinda stuck with me. Anyway, remember how I’ve said, There’s no such thing as a line?

It’s true. Pretty much everyone I’ve mentioned in the past month or so, I’ve been asking, You know what we need to do? We need to go to Sydney, Australia. I’m actually interested when they say they’ve been there before. I spoke with one girl about traveling for hours the other night.

At some point, someone asks, But why Australia and why Sydney?

And I answer, truthfully, Australia because everyone’s got that cool accent. And Sydney – well, it just sounds pretty.

Doesn’t it though? We should go. It’s freaking cold here. And it’s not just the weather.

Location: 9:00 yest, driving crosstown
Mood: restless
Music: Break, eject, eject, eject, break, eject, eject, eject
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personal

Gossip Folk / More advice

Location: 16:02 yest, looking at the new office
Mood: contemplative
Music: he went about his business and devised a plan


Continuing from yesterday, someone asked me if there was a lesson to be learned from what happened to me. Here’s my answer:

Avoid gossip folk.

The woman that took my scratch was the local gossip. I thought she was harmless. Lesson learned.

When I’m out and about, I constantly see guys call a girl a hottie one second and a bitch the instant their game goes south. And that’s always when static starts and I get gone. People always cut you down with words before they cut you down with anything else.

Before it became part of WWII, the beef between China and Japan was called the Sino-Japanese War, Shina being being a racist word in Japanese. In fact, all of WWII can be seen as step-by-step escalations of evil starting with simple words.

In this blog, the only person I criticize (relentlessly) is myself. I’ve now made it a point to avoid gossip-folk, even cutting an entire raft of friends. Cause if they gossip about others, they gossip about you. And if they gossip about you, they don’t respect you. And if they don’t respect you, well then…

I think evil people can’t help it. They can hide everything else, but the gossip. The one scene I remember from JHS reading Julius Caesar was where Cassius starts it all up by leaning over to Brutus and whispering, The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

I should have known better. I should have paid attention in seventh grade English class.

Avoid gossip folk. That’s my advice.