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Big Apple Circus, Pt 2

44 years between shows

The rest of the acts were all equally amazing.

There was the acrobat that dangled above the hard floor without a net…

…and then reappeared later to hang off her partner’s neck.

Me: Man, my back hurts just watching that.
Him: (laughs)

Oh, speaking of backs, on the walk there, we were all getting drenched, but it was also destroying my back sitting there for a solid hour.

Me: (to the usher) Hey man, I’ve got a crap back. Can I do some squats in the hallway?
Him: (laughing) Sure. Sorry to hear about your back.
Me: (nodding and starting to do some squats) Yeah, I’m sorry to say it. Getting older stinks but is still better than the alternative.

There was only one animal act (dogs) versus what I remember as kids, but otherwise, it was still a lot of what I remember as a kid.

There were jugglers…

…tightrope walkers…

…aerialists…

…and clowns.

The boys were dying laughing with the clowns.

Walking home was absolutely brutal because the rain plus sitting for two hours destroyed my back.

But it was all worth it because the kids were so jazzed about seeing the circus for the first time.

Me: What did you think?
Him: I loved it! Can we go again?
Me: Sure, maybe next year?
Him: A whole year!?!
Me: Hey, I waited 44 years between shows.
Him: 44…?! Wow…you’re so old.

Location: about to head out to Japanese BBQ with the Firecracker’s family
Mood: beat tired
Music: sometimes the truth is harder than the pain (Spotify)
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Big Apple Circus, Pt 1

His first circus

It’s been months since it rained here in the big city but the night it began to rain for three days was the same night that I brought the kid out to his first circus.

You can see the very top of the big top in the center.

I remember my first circus – this is me with my brother and his friend.

I think I’m about seven in this – and just starting to get chunky.

I’d won four tix to the Big Apple Circus at Lincoln Center with absolutely killer seats.

The thing about the BAC is that they played in two places growing up – just a few blocks from my parents home in Queens and the literally across the street from my law school.

I remember for years walking past these signs on the way to or from Law School and thinking: Maybe someday I’ll check it out.

And last week was that day.

Unfortunately, the Firecracker and her kid couldn’t make it, so we invited one of the kid’s classmates.

To say that they loved it is an understatement.

Pretty much the whole night:

Him: WOW! How did they…?
Friend: DID YOU SEE THAT?!

The last time I was in the circus was 1980 – 44 years ago (!!).

Back then, this was my absolute favourite act – although in the version I saw the guys rode a motorcycle in it!

And the acts were pretty much all amazing, like this contortionist…

…and these guys who were doing some pretty intense flying moves.

But this entry’s getting super long so I’ll continue this in the next one?

Until then, here are two more quick videos:

Location: home, trying – very unsuccessfully – to block out the jackhammers outside my window
Mood: annoyed
Music: In the pouring rain, putting back the pieces of a broken dream (Spotify)
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It was my mom’s birthday

Parthian Chicken

It was my mom’s birthday the other day.

We were originally all going to see some other relatives before we saw her for dinner.

So, I rented a car since it was the four of us: Me, the kid, the Firecracker, and her kid.

But, at the last minute, my other relatives cancelled, and it was too late to cancel the car.

Since we had it, we just went on a little car-ride to Ikea out in Long Island where the kid had their Swedish meatballs and I got (another) planter, this time for a lemon tree that Bryson got me.

The Meyer Lemon tree that Bryson gave me. He insists that I can grow lemons at home; the jokes on him because I am incredibly bad at getting plants to produce flowers or fruit.

Afterward, we drove back and I picked up dinner for everyone – it wasn’t a lot because most of us were full, including my sis and her kids.

It was still good, though.

Anywho, my mom’s getting older but still working because her job gives her joy.

I envy her, in many ways; she found purpose in her life that inspires her and keeps her active, both mentally and physically.

Feel lucky that she’s still around and gets to see the boy grow up.

This year will be the first year that we’re doing Thanksgiving at my place – the first time in close to 30 years of my being here (!)

So, I’ve been practicing making Parthian Chicken, which is a 1,500 year-old recipe that I got from a YouTube Channel I like called Tasting History.

It’s unlike any other chicken dish I’ve ever had because it has this spice called Asafoetida (“hing” in Indian groceries) and…well, it absolutely stinks.

As does the garum/fish sauce that is used to season it.

I bought this one. It does not smell good.

But the taste is just killer, and the smell essentially transforms into this really lovely thing after an hour of baking.

The Firecracker and I love it; her kid likes it, and my kid is less than thrilled.

Still, I think that it’ll be a nice change up from the usual Turkey and stuffing.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Location: standing in front of my desk because my back is absolutely killing me
Mood: guess
Music: Say you’ll be there, when I need you (Spotify)
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Hot pot with a buncha hapas, Pt 2

What’s a Hapa?

I’m hard pressed to say which of my friends are the better chefs.

For my money, Steele’s probably the best but that might just be because I’ve had his food the most.

Bryson and Pak are both close behind, with Pak working in restaurants practically his whole life and Bryson just taking it seriously like Steele.

I will say this: Before my dad died, Steele and Bryson both came by so he could show them how he made sushi.

It’s one of my fondest life memories, ever.

As for me, I’ve been trying for some two-plus decades to get invited over to Bryson’s for a meal and, earlier last week, it finally happened.

Because the Firecracker and I had such a great experience at the Frenchman’s for dinner last year, we all decided to have hot pot again, but this time at the Brysons.

Their pad was absolutely ginormous – four bedrooms in Queens, which isn’t very common.

With an outdoor area to boot.

Me: Man, this place is just tiny.
Him: (laughing) Come on, I’ll give you the tour.

Bryson moved a lot in the past few decades but, like me, stayed in the same building, just moving from one unit to another.

The last time I visited Bryson and his wife, Nikki, they were both sans kids; this time around, they had three, with one a freshman in high school.

Her: I saw you on YouTube and told my friends you were friends with my dad, that was fire.
Me: Sweeeeeeet, I’ll take it. Tell your friends.

Bryson wanted me to just sit and chill but it was just him prepping for this small army of people.

So, I rolled up my sleeves and got to chopping, first deboning and cutting the chix and then the flat iron steak.

Bryson took the chicken and made some Karaage – which my dad used to make for me alla time (god, I miss him) – for the kids, although we ate some as well.

Firecracker: OMG, that is so good.
Me: That’s for the kids! The hot pot’s the main attraction.
Her: I’ll try…

But Bryson didn’t make it easy for her anyone to pace themselves because he kept bringing out these delicious dishes that we all loved.

Like, I mentioned how much Tess and I liked spam and how much the Firecracker had grown to love it and so he made a bowl of musubi for us to all enjoy (which is what the kids were eating in the last photo of the last entry).

By the time the hot pot rolled around, we were all already pretty full.

Which is not to say that we didn’t kill that all as well.

On that note, Bryson bought a slab of wagyu beef which, being the absolute animals we were, we devoured before Bryson got to try any.

Me: So sorry we killed the wagyu before you had a chance to try it.
Bryson: Whatever. Super happy you guys were able to enjoy. That’s my happiness

Afterward, we all had some of the tart and chocolate cheesecake that the Frenchman and Tess brought over.

Oh, I suppose I should explain the main pictures of these two entries: My back has been absolutely killing me these days.

I’ve been doing this back PT called the Mckenzie Method but you gotta do it like every 60-120 minutes all day for it to work.

I’d be slacking for a while so my back’s not been improving.

Ergo, I gave myself a goal of a minimum of eight times a day and – because these were all good friends of mine – I asked Nikki for a yoga mat and did them.

It was fine – it was my comedic contribution to the night.

Well, that and alcohol.

It was a great night, as always, with good friends.

We took an Uber back and the boy was beat tired when we got back.

Me: Did you have a good time, kiddo?
Him: Yes. I’m so full. I’m so tired. Did you, papa?
Me: Good. Yes, I did. Bryson’s one of my oldest friends and the Frenchman and his family are nice aren’t they?
Him: (nodding as he dozes off)
Me: Good night, kid. Papa loves you.
Him: (smiles with his eyes closed)

Location: a train to the Morgan Library and Museum from Newark
Mood: starving
Music: if we go down, at least I’m in good company (Spotify)
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Hot pot with a buncha hapas, Pt 1

What’s a Hapa?

A hapa, in Japanese, has traditionally meant someone that is half Japanese and half something else.

Other Asians, like myself, have co-opted this term to mean anyone that is half-one race and half-another.

So, my son is not technically a hapa but I call him that.

In any case, after a lotta back-and-forth – and because alla our significant others got along so well – Bryson, the Frenchman, and I finally agreed to meet up for another dinner, this time at Bryson’s.

There, I marveled how the hapas completely outnumbered the only three people there that weren’t hapas – namely, myself, the Firecracker, and the Firecracker’s kid.

What I found the most interesting was that the Frenchman (French/Japanese) married another hapa, Tess, (Chinese/Caucasian), while Bryson (African-American/Okinawan) married another hapa, Nikki, (African-American/American).

And Bryson and Nikki have three hapa kids, while the Frenchman and Tess have two hapa kids.

The kicker is that some of the hapa kids were dating…other hapas!

Me: How do you all keep finding each other?
Bryson: We’re everywhere!

I’m finding this to be true.

Always wondered if the kid was gonna end up with an Asian like me, or a Caucasian like Alison, or something else entirely.

It never occurred to me that he might end up with another hapa.

Based on what we were seeing with the kids, that seems more likely than I had originally thought.

In any case, the food was so amazeballs that I felt it deserved its own entry, so I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Oh, and I’ll explain what’s going on in the picture above as well.

Her: Everybody point at Logan!
Me: That’s really not…ok, I see this is happening.

Location: my apartment, showing the boys how to escape an American lock.
Mood: parched
Music: We ‘bout to elevate, getting up and getting down (Spotify)
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The kid’s getting older

It’s been nine years since that day

The kid’s birthday just passed.

It sucks because I can never just have it be a joyous thing. Like Mother’s Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, the kid’s birthday is a complex affair for me, and probably others.

Alison collapsed just five days after he was born, and that was the beginning of the end.

He turned nine, which means that one of the worst days of my entire life happened nine years ago.

So, it tough being in a celebratory mood.

Having said that, I just wrote that I try – as best as I can – to shield the boy from what I can. This is no different.

I had his friends over for a pre-birthday party of sorts because it was Diwali this last Friday and his school was closed so that was fun.

Then we met up with the ABFF for a dinner of gyros and chix sandwiches (that was his choice).

 

Then we had a proper party with his friends and, just like last year, the Firecracker baked him a homemade cake with homemade frosting – low-carb(-ish, because I’m not a complete monster).

I don’t think he knows how hard I try to seem fine on his birthday.

That’s a good thing.

Pic from last year.

Location: earlier today, sleeping on my sister’s couch in the burbs
Mood: nostalgic
Music: I’m just tryinna make it last (Spotify)
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Swimming in Hoboken

Plus BBQ

My SIL invited the kid and me, plus the Firecracker and her kid, to head to her place this past Sunday because there was a trick-or-treat event happening in her building AND there was also a pool party to boot.

So, bright and early on Sunday, we packed up and headed out to the wilds of Hoboken

Unfortunately, we went right smack into the Trump rally that was here so, after 10 minutes of wandering, the police told us the only exit was on 8th Avenue.

We figured it’d be easier for us to go back into the subway, head back to Times Square, and then head down to the PATH station on 32nd.

Him: We haven’t even started and we’re already on an adventure!
Me: Evidently.

After a bit, we made it onto the PATH train and out to Hoboken, where my SIL picked us up and brought us back to her pad.

There, the kids immediately changed, and we went to her gym, which was ginormous!

This is just like a 1/3 of it. It was insanely big.

The kids were mainly interested in swimming, which is what they did for the next two hours, while the adults just chatted.

It was really lovely to me that my SIL and the Firecracker got along so well.

My back was still hurting so my SIL told me to check out the sauna there.

I wrote the Firecracker while I was in there.

Her: Wait, did you wear your jeans?
Me: Nah, I just stripped bare and sat there.
Her: You’re not even wearing underwear!?
Me: (laughing) I’m joking. I’m at least wearing my underwear.

It was honestly great but I didn’t stay all that long.

Afterward, we were all hungry, so we went to a local Hoboken joint for some BBQ.

Before heading back so the kids could trick-or-treat while we killed two bottles of white.

We stayed until late and then took the train back – we were home in less than 40 minutes, which is pretty impressive.

Not a bad way to spend a sunny Sunday.

Location: earlier today, FedEx, binding 1100 words for the kid
Mood: ache-y
Music: I said I’m alright, but maybe in the day, and no way in the night (Spotify)
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Harold is the worst Tan Hua plant ever

Crazy Average Asians

My mom gave me a cutting from her Tan Hua plant waaaaay back in 1993 – it’s the plant that was featured in Crazy Rich Asians,,

Here’s a super grainy part of that scene from the film.

Anywho, I named him Harold for no particular reason and he’s been with me all over New York City from my first apartment off Times Square to my son’s bedroom as of right this moment.

Like Leon in The Professional, Harold’s been with me everywhere I go.


Yes, I realize this is Natalie Portman’s character here, but I thought it was a better video.

Anywho, in Crazy Rich Asians, two things that they mentioned in the film is true: (a) it only blooms at night, and (b) it rarely ever blooms.

Harold? In 31 years, he’s never bloomed.

However, I’ve given cuttings of him to a few friends like Lviv, but – AFAIK – none of them have ever bloomed either.

This is Lviv’s plant from a while ago.

My mom, who’s got a phenomenal green thumb, has had her original plant bloom dozens of times and the fragrance is both amazing and indescribable.

Now, years ago, my buddy Brandon – the owner of Evolution Muay Thai, which is a great gym if you’re visiting or looking – is not only an amazing fighter and instructor, he’s also ridiculously good at cultivating plants.

He gave me a single leaf of his pothos plant and this is what it looks like now.

It’s been growing so aggressively that it grew through my lamp!

In any case, Brandon wrote me outtta the blue the other day to (a) show me a picture of his cutting, which looks spectacular:

…but also, (b) to tell me that it blooms so much that he finds rando blooms littering his floor.

I am sick with jealousy and a little irritated with Harold.

Here’s a timelapse of someone else’s plant blooming:

Me: I don’t get it; essentially, Brandon’s plant is you since it’s a cutting from you. He blooms, why can’t you?
Harold:
Me: You’re 31 years old and what have you done what do you have to say for yourself?
Him:
Me: Fine. Whatever.

Location: the kid’s room, looking at Harold and wondering what went wrong.
Mood: annoyed
Music: I’m holding on tight – someday we’ll get it right (Spotify)
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Travelogue: Bermuda 2024 Pt 1 – The Grossness

Mezcal is not my friend either

Since both the Firecracker and I like cruising, we were keeping our eyes out for any last-minute trips that worked with our schedule since we didn’t get a chance to bring the kids anywhere over the summer.

Well, we came across the MSC Meraviglia, which left just from Brooklyn.

Interestingly, it was the very same ship we saw when we were on Governors Island, last.

Unfortunately, all the mezcal from the previous night hit me HARD the next morning.

It turns out that mezcal affects me even worse than tequila and I woke up feeling like death.

And that’s when I started my hourly trips to the bathroom.

Imagine your worst trip to the tiniest room times 16.

And then place at least half of those trips took place in very questionable public bathrooms.

Literally, every hour, on the hour, I had to scramble – heavy with luggage and feeling as weak as water in the rain – to find a bathroom and do my (very gross) duty.

Her: Listen, you gotta rally. They’re not gonna let you on the ship if you look like you’re sick and they won’t believe it’s alcohol poisoning.
Me: I’m not unaware. (pause) Annnnnd, I gotta go again.

Somehow, we made it onto the ferry where I tried my level best not to leave my DNA.

I was resolutely unsuccessful, although I did manage to leave it in the proper area within the bathroom.

The boy, however, was completely unfazed and still pretty excited for his second cruise.

Managed to put on a stoic face long enough to make it onto the ship where I entered my room, despite being told it wouldn’t be ready for another three hours.

Attendant: I’m sorry sir, your room isn’t ready yet.
Me: Is it possible for you to just clean around me? I just want to nap on the couch.
Him: OK, sir.

I was hoping he wasn’t gonna narc and he didn’t.

The Firecracker took care of both kids the first two days as I just stayed in the bed and went to the bathroom.

Again, every hour, on the hour for 48 hours.

She did manage to enjoy herself without me, which I found shocking.

I literally ate nuthin but bread and water those first 48 hours.

Boy: I’ve never seen you eat this many carbs.
Me: (eating another roll) This is how papa’s gonna be for a while.

This is pretty much all I ate for the first two days. It was carbtastic!

Well, I did try to have some French onion soup.

That was ill-advised.

Now, I thought that I did a pretty good job hiding how rotten I felt.

Me: (weakly but proudly) I don’t think anyone could tell.
Her: (laughing) Are you kidding me? The waiter immediately asked, once you left, “Is your husband feeling ok?”
Me: And there I thought I was doing some Oscar quality work. (shaking head) I’m a terrible liar.

The next night, I felt ok enough to hit up a show…

…or two…

…but it was a struggle.

I’ll write more tomorrow but not mention the unpleasantness.

Until then, enjoy the Firecracker almost killing the second performer; prior to this, the kid was the star of the show – the emcee selected him to talk about his trip to the ship and, man, did he have a lot to say – but I didn’t record it because I was laughing so much.

Shame really…

I’ll end with a sunny shot of the Firecracker.

Still felt like death while taking it.

Location: back in the hood
Mood: less gross
Music: Sick of rainy weather but I know we’ll be fine (Spotify)
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SAFE on a rooftop

She and her granny cart

Me: Why don’t I just carry everything, so we don’t have to bring your granny cart?
Her: I LOVE my granny cart! Besides, how are you gonna carry everything.
Me: Hold on. (thinking) If I have seven cans of oil-based paint, and a gallon of oil weights approximately 7 pounds, that means I’m carrying around 50 pounds. (sighing) Fiiiine, bring your granny cart.
Her: You’re gonna be so happy I brought it when you realize how much we’re gonna be carrying.

The Firecracker proudly using her granny cart to haul away a hoverboard and a buncha paint cans.

The first time I went to the Firecracker’s pad, I asked her why she had a vacuum cleaner and a kid’s hoverboard in her bedroom.

Her: They both have batteries in them that I have to wait until the city will take them.
Me: How long have you been holding onto them?
Her: A year?

I understood.

I’ve had paint and tar in my basement for at least the last 25 years and some were there when I moved in, meaning that two or three cans were like 35 years old.

We kept waiting for the next NYC SAFE (Solvents, Automotive, Flammables, and Electronics) Disposal event – something usually came up each time, so she was closing in on three years of holding onto the hoverboard and vacuum.

This is what the SAFE Event looked like.

This latest one was right by my gym BUT we were filming on the day of it, and I had to carry a whole boatload of costumes down from my pad for it, so we figured we’d miss this one too.

That is, until I got whacked in the face by my buddy Prin.

Her: Hey, we can go to the SAFE Event now!
Me: OMG, you’re right!
Her: See! Always look on the bright side.

So, we packed up her granny cart and headed downtown to do just that.

That was pretty quick, so we hit up a clothing store as the Firecracker needed some new gear.

Afterward, I rang up my buddy Ricky – as we were near his pad – and he said he was actually in a cafe just around the block from where we were.

We ended up walking over to his pad and chilling out on his gorgeous rooftop deck.

I brought some pork rinds, and he brought a bottle of sweet Moscato.

Honestly, I’m not sure life in NYC gets better than this.

Me: That’s what we like the most, random cool meetup with friends.
Her: Especially friends with roof decks!
Him: (laughing) Well, I’m glad you called then.

Location: this morning, an early ferry to Red Hook with the fam
Mood: excited
Music: You and me is more than a hundred miles (Spotify)
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