Tag: friends

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November Rain

Just happy to be invited

I write about my college friends with regularity here and have since the very beginning.

We don’t actually see each other as a group all that often – much more often one-on-one – but we all come together when we can.

And when we must.

We chipped in for flowers.

I hate funerals.

Never went to Alison’s and barely survived my dad’s.

But, as the years go on, I find myself at them more and more often.

One of our core group’s parents passed away the other day.

Him: Can you make it?
Me: Of course I’ll be there.

So, we all met up and went to the funeral together.

One guy drove in all the way from Virginia just to pay his respects.

After a spell, we stepped out to get a drink…

…before heading out for food.

The details aren’t in my story to tell, so lemme pivot and just tell you that I count myself quite lucky that I have these people in my life.

You never really think of the value of good friends when you’re a kid and only realize it when the time comes to need good friends.

Him: Logan – always thinking of food.
Me: This is, sadly, so very true.

I have a running joke with the fellas where, no matter how many times I’m invited out, I always say, “I’m finally invited to something!”

Been doing that for over 30 years with them but the reason I say that is that I’m genuinely always happy to just be included.

As a kid growing up with zero friends, it’s nice that to belong somewhere.

What is life if not looking for where we belong? Who our tribes are?

And the tribe always shows up when needed.

Couldn’t stay the whole night because I had to get the kid from a school event, but it was so good seeing everyone, despite the circumstances.

Me: (to buddy that came from Virginia) You gotta come up more often than once every 20 years.
Him: I’ll come back.
Me: Yeah, please. Under much better circumstances.

Location: earlier today, a tenant’s apartment on the second floor, trying to figure out if I needed to bleed the radiator
Mood: grateful
Music: We’ve been through this such a long long time, just tryin’ to kill the pain (Spotify)
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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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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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It looks like me

But it’s not me

Just did my last shoot for Scenic Fights for 2024.

I’m not slated to do any more shoots until 2025, which is great, because I’m pretty beat.

Ever since we started doing these shoots, I’ve got a newfound respect for content creators; it’s pretty draining to shoot these scenes over and over again until they’re perfect.

Video Player

I just checked – I did my first shoot in the summer of 2019 and we’re now closing in on 2025. Close to six years.

Man, time is just sprinting by these days.

On that note, check out the above video – it looks like me but it’s actually not me at all!

It’s an AI generated video from my Scenic Fights producer.

Wild, right?

(The picture above *IS* of me, though).

On that note, I met up with my boss at the law firm for lunch the other day at the Bryant Park Grill.

I’ve been with the firm, in one form or another, since 2008 or so, so some 16 years.

That too reminds me that life is sprinting by.

Now that I’ve been a lawyer for close to a quarter-of-a-century, I’ve been lucky in that I can be very picky with the new cases I take on.

Him: Well, what in particular?
Me: It’s gotta be something interesting OR with a huge payout. Otherwise, my patience for dealing with other people’s nonsense is pretty thin these days.
Him: (laughing) I get that. OK, interesting cases or big check.
Me: Essentially.

Location: in front of my sink, wondering if it’s time to call in a plumber
Mood: So. Annoyed.
Music: crazy how we live our lives, we spent it all on borrowed time (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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It started off all so well

Anything from Bibigo is solid

We were supposed to meet up with the Surgeon and his family for some hot pot the other night but that shifted to a party at their pad, which was actually even better since the kids could play.

Wanted to bring something so I asked Pac if he could recommend something to buy at H Mart now that it was in the UWS.

Me: Heading to a dinner party tomorrow and don’t wanna schlepp alla way to Chinatown for Chinese dumplings.
Him: Anything from Bibigo is solid.

So, we went and got a bag of beef dumplings and a bag of pork ones.

While the pork was definitely good, the beef was killer and we chowed through a lotta that before the other guests even came.

The Surgeon was mixing drinks all night and said – at the end of the night – that we kicked an entire bottle of mezcal with the four of us (him, his wife, me, and the Firecracker).

I didn’t think that it would affect me the same way as tequila does, but it turns out, it’s much, much, much worse on me than tequila is, which is saying a lot.

More on that in the next entry.

You may wanna skip that one.

In any case, the Surgeon and I popped out so he could pick up some sushi for everyone as well.

When we got back, more people were there, including a student of the Surgeon’s wife, who’s a professor of music and pretty talented in her own right.

Somehow, we got onto the topic of Scenic Fights and he immediately connected that I was the Logan from it.

After we posted the below pic on IG, his friend wrote him and said, “What?! How!?”

I’m regularly legit shocked at how much I get recognized these days.

Anywho, the party was great but we had to leave early(ish).

We were catching a ship to Bermuda early in the AM.

That’s where the mezcal makes another appearance.

Repeatedly.

I’ll fill you in alla the grossness in the next entry.

It started off all so well but, after all these years, I have to remind myself that tequila/mezcal, is not my friend…

Location: Back in the UWS
Mood: hangry
Music: Now I’m taking sips of your potion (Spotify)
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Tacos make everything just a touch better

I’d like a roof deck too

The above was just a great shot by my friend Ricky when we went to see him the other day and I wanted to post it before the weather got too cold and it looked outta place.

I’ll never move, I don’t think, but if I ever did, I’d like a roof deck as well.

I had a friend watch the boy recently because I needed to do that Scenic Fights shoot the other day and the Firecracker wasn’t around to help out.

Although the shoot was cancelled, I still had her come by because it wouldn’t be fair to suddenly cancel on someone because I screwed up.

I’m glad I did because I found out when she came by that she just had a loss in her immediate family and if there’s anything I understand, it’s loss.

Me: Do you want to have dinner with us? If yes, I’ll pick up a buncha birra tacos?
Her: Oh snap! Sounds good!

I actually finished up everything I had to do earlier that day and was gonna head over to the killer taco truck I told you about when I figured she could use some amazeballs tacos herself.

It was a small thing but I gotta say that all the small things that people did for me added up in big ways.

I’m grateful for that.

Plus, let’s be honest, (good) tacos make everything just a touch better, if only for a little bit.

Location: somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with two kids and the Firecracker
Mood: disconcerted
Music: I howled at the morning driving rain – but it’s all right now (Spotify)
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She didn’t come this far…

…to only go this far

Speaking of advice, a friend asked me to go with her to court to help her with a case she was involved in.

Well, a case she had to restart because of things way outta her control.

I’m not a court attorney but I know enough to at least tell her where to go and what to say.

We all need help finding our way, sometimes.

It’s good to have a friend during those times.

To this end, we went down to the courthouse the other day.

Me: I used to come here with my buddy Steele when we were both clerking for the same judge.
Her: That was a while ago.
Me: A lifetime ago, really.

The building directly in the center of the main picture is where Alison and I got married.

Now that feels like several lifetimes ago.

Going to court in NYC is a bit like going on a scavenger hunt, because, invariably, you gotta go to several different offices and speak with different people to get anything done.

While she didn’t get to accomplish everything that she intended that day, she got a bit closer to her ultimate goal, which is always a positive.

Afterward, we walked over to Chinatown to get some lunch – Taiwanese food over at Taiwan Pork Chop House.

Her: I never realized how close the courts are to Chinatown.
Me: That’s why there are so many lawyers that have lunch there.

Along the way, ran into not one but two Scenic Fights fans.

The first one was on the train ride down there.

Him: Excuse me, but do I know you? You look super familiar.
Me: Do you watch Scenic Fights?
Him: Yes!

The second was after we were done with court and went to Chinatown to get food.

Stuart: I love Scenic Fights!
Me: OMG, will you take a picture with me?
Him: Sure!

In the end, my friend didn’t get everything done that she wanted to get done, but it was a (good) start.

Court stuff is difficult, for sure.

But all difficult things are overcome, as long as you start – it’s the starting that usually the hardest part.

Her: Thanks for coming.
Me: Happy to help, although I’m not sure I did much.
Her: You did – we have a contact now and a plan.
Me: That’s more than you had before.
Her: Absolutely.

She didn’t come this far to only go this far.

Location: earlier today, a rooftop with Ricky and the Firecracker
Mood: fatty-fat-fat
Music: Knee deep in a muddy trench (Spotify)
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