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.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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)
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.
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.
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) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Finally emerged on day three still feeling pretty off but less like death warmed over so I ventured out with everyone to brekkie.
Him: Wow. Me: What? Him: I’ve never seen you eat so little before. And you never eat this much bread. Me: Mommy told me that, when your stomach hurts, you have to eat BRATTY foods, which are Bread, Rice, Applesauce, Tea, Toast, and Yoghurt.
And that, my non-nauseated friends, is a list of alla the foods I’d been eating up to that point.
It’s good that I was feeling better because the Firecracker booked us all a table at teppanyaki for dinner, so we went to that.
The chef we got was a nice guy, and the food was delicious, but he was obviously still in training because he messed up the egg tricks three times.
Still, it was good, and the kids were entertained.
And I, for one, was certainly happy to have something other than bread and carbs.
Afterward, the Firecracker and I separated to do our own things.
Now, a guy was supposed to play the Rolling Stones at a bar that the Firecracker and I hit up earlier.
I didn’t have any tequila, mezcal, or anything beyond soda water so my bar experience was pretty different than it usually is.
The kid was super excited to have a small, private concert.
But there was another band that was playing the Beatles, so we went to that.
The Firecracker was able to join us, so that part was pretty nice.
We also got to dress up all snazzy, like.
The next day, we arrived in Bermuda, but – like I said – there was that new hurricane developing so we were told that we only had from 9AM to 4:45PM to be in Bermuda.
So, we made the most of it and headed to Horseshoe Beach for the pink beaches.
Because the Firecracker and I had been to Bermuda (many times) before, we just hopped the bus to get there.
The last time I was in Bermuda, I was so irritated because I just wanted to remember her, but the idiot driving wouldn’t stop prattling on about nonsense.
It still makes me mad thinking about it.
This time, though, I sat with Alison’s son in the back while the Firecracker sat in another row with her son. So, I finally had my time with my thoughts and our son.
Me: Mommy and I once walked this exact route. Him: Really?! This far!? Me: It wasn’t my smartest idea, but mommy was nice enough to support me.
I won’t bring up Alison again in this because it fucks with my head.
In any case, after a spell, we finally arrived at the beach. The boy was underwhelmed but enjoyed being in the water.
Me? I was in and out of my head a lot for a bit.
But I did get to show the kids where I liked to go on the beach – years ago, I saw a tree growing outta rock there and found it again.
It was doing well and, somehow, that made me feel better.
We didn’t get too much time there but that’s fine.
I was just happy to be able to sit and read for a few minutes. And be in my head for a bit.
We made it back to the ship with hours to spare and stopped by the dockyard for a bit before the kid and chilled out on our balcony and had lunch together.
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!?”
Me: I just wanted to say thank you for working with me for this past year. Therapist: Logan! You think we’ve only been talking for a year? You mentioned looking forward to your date with the Firecracker, and that was at least 20 months ago. Me: I cannot be trusted with things related to time these days.
I had my first therapy session with my therapist, Kymberly, on 2021.06.03.
She was the third regular therapist I had but the one that I’ve seen the longest and most consistently.
That’s for a buncha reasons: On the practical side, my insurance covered alla it and I could do alla my sessions at home on Zoom.
On the personal side, I knew I needed to talk to a professional, but I suppose that I didn’t realize just how much I needed to talk to one.
The first few sessions were not great as I was pretty belligerent, but she stuck with me and I her.
As time passed, I began to notice that I was less angry – still angry, just less so.
Me: There’s this joke I heard once where a man says to the other, “What would you say if I gave you a million dollars but only on the condition that the person you hate most gets two million?” And the second man replies, “Of course, why wouldn’t I want three million dollars?” Her: You hate yourself? Me: More than anyone, sometimes. (thinking) It’s a good joke, though.
Chad once said he felt that I was clinging on to a wrong relationship with a death grip because I’d lost so much already and was loathe to lose anything else.
Think that was the most accurate and sage thing he ever said.
With the passage of time, and Kymberly’s help, I was able to accept my new reality, though.
Me: Losing Alison and my dad was a bit like losing a leg. I know I’ll never be complete again, and I’ll always remember the days when I had them both here as my happiest. I know I can be happy again, I just also know that it won’t be the same because I will never be the same. Her: But this version of Logan can be happy, can’t he? Maybe not the same as before, different, but still good? Me: I suppose that’s the hope.
Unfortunately, she’s moving to a different office and one that doesn’t take my insurance. So, we have to part ways, at least for now.
She was a good therapist – and I’m well enough now, a good deal thanks to her, that I’m not in a rush to replace her.
Thanks, doc.
I’m feeling much better now.
Her: I like that analogy of your losing a leg. But, I think you can be happy again. If you’re nicer to yourself. Me: I’ll try. It’s not easy, but I’m gonna try. I’ll never be happy like I was when Alison and my dad were still alive. But…it’d be nice to be happy again.
Every so often, I’ll hear a song, and it’ll feel as if it was written just for me.
To wit, here’s a song called Decide to be Happy by a band called Misterwives.
There are several lines that I feel I’ve said here myself in some manner or another:
Been feelin’ like a stranger in my body. I haven’t been myself in a while, I’m sorry.
Got to decide to be happy ‘Cause it don’t always come naturally.
…because I’ve been on my knees so much since you’ve known me.
You know what?
Here’s the whole song and alla the lyrics – it’s worth a listen, I think.
Music, it saved me
But it drives me crazy
‘Cause it forces my eyes, to take a look and see
Got to decide to be happy
‘Cause it don’t always come naturally
Been feelin’ like a stranger in my body
I haven’t been myself in a while, I’m sorry (I’m sorry)
Got to decide to be happy (happy)
‘Cause it don’t always come naturally
‘Cause flowers, don’t grow without the rain
And goodness, don’t grow without the pain
Flowers, don’t grow without the rain
Goodness, don’t grow without the pain
I’ve been down on my knees
Prayin’ things I don’t believe
Hopin’ that it’ll save me
So I decide to be happy
I’ve been down on my knees
Prayin’ things I don’t believe
Hopin’ that it’ll save me
So I decide to be happy
My mind, it can be a scary place at times
So I hide under my bed and close all the blinds
And I cry (and I cry)
And I cry (and I cry)
Waste the day away, so I turn on the lights
And I search for a sign or a rhyme or a reason
Why I’m unsteady as the seasons
‘Cause flowers, don’t grow without the rain
And goodness, don’t grow without the pain
Flowers, don’t grow without the rain
Goodness, don’t grow without the pain
I’ve been down on my knees
Prayin’ things I don’t believe
Hopin’ that it’ll save me
So I decide to be happy
I’ve been down on my knees
Prayin’ things I don’t believe
Hopin’ that it’ll save me
So I decide to be happy
If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands
If you’re sad and you know it, well now’s your chance to dance
If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands
If you’re sad and you know it, well now’s your chance to dance
Well now’s your chance to dance, now’s your chance to dance
(Now’s your chance to dance, now’s your chance to dance)
I’ve been down on my knees
Prayin’ things I don’t believe
Hopin’ that it’ll save me
So I decide to be happy
I’ve been down on my knees
Prayin’ things I don’t believe
Hopin’ that it’ll save me
So I decide to be happy
Location: not where you might expect; a tiny room with the kid practically on top of me
Mood: soooooooooo sick – you would not believe how sick I am
Music: I decide to be happy (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
