Me: (after dropping something) Sorry, I can’t get it up. Her: (bursts out laughing) Do you… Me: (sighing and holding up hand) I heard it when I said it.
My collection of injuries seems to be growing every single day.
About a year ago, I started getting these weird wrist pains. They’d come and then go, no real rhyme or reason.
For the past month, my wrist has been bugging me non-stop; I don’t go to the gym anymore without a wrist brace on.
This is just an old pic of mine after some party.
Then, about a week ago, I started getting these shooting pains in my lower back.
Him: Are you ok? What happened?! Me: That’s the thing – nothing happened. No major event. It just started hurting one day.
A buddy of mine is a doctor, and I mentioned it to him. He asked me a few questions, which I answered.
Him: Sounds like you have a herniated disk. Me: What?! You’re kidding. What do I do? Him: (shrugging) Wait and try not to injure it more. It takes about two years to resolve itself.
The Firecracker started digging around and found something called The McKenzie Method for back pain.
Essentially, it’s about seven exercises that you do every 2-3 hours; it takes about 15 minutes to do from start to finish.
Man, I hate it.
But I hate feeling like an old man more so…this is what I’m doing for the foreseeable future.
Blargh.
Her: (to a friend) I’m glad that Biden dropped out. I can’t vote for him again. He’s older than Logan. Me: That was uncalled for.
Location: my floor, doing these $@#$@#$ exercises
Mood: grumpy
Music: I just keep pretending I’m okay (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
In the red bag that my mom brought to me while I was in Flushing was my Junior High School yearbook, that my sister found and told her to get to me.
The reason I was thrilled to get it was for one reason and one reason alone – I wanted to figure out the name of my English teacher.
See, the most influential teacher I had was a Ms. Meltzer and for years I always meant to find her and let her know that, but life got in the way.
Plus, I had no idea what her first name was.
But with the yearbook, I immediately looked for her and was disappointed to find that it only had her first initial was “B” and that led me – well, really, the Firecracker to a search and we found “Binnie Meltzer’s” obituary.
I’m certain it was her.
It made me both happy and sad; happy in that I found her, in a manner of speaking, and – of course – sad that I was too late.
She died in 2006. A lifetime ago.
She was the first teacher that I was always happy to see and that made me think that I had any type of talent for anything at all.
If she was still alive, I woulda told her what a profound and positive influence she was on me – I write because she told me once that I was a good writer and I believed her.
That’s the power of a good teacher.
Goodnight, Ms. Meltzer.
You were an amazing teacher and human, and I’m forever grateful we met.
On a much more mundane note, because of alla my injuries, my sleep’s been crap lately, so the Firecracker suggested that I get some nature – well, as much nature as NYC provides.
To that end, we had a little picnic in Central Park near Sheep’s Meadow, which was pretty great, I gotta say.
Her: Honestly, this is all I really need. My person, a picnic, a park, and my pup. Me: I could do without onea those things. Her: Oh, stop…
Location: supermarket for tea, which I forgot to buy despite it being WHY I WENT IN THE FIRST PLACE
Mood: annoyed at myself
Music: I got an open mind so, tell me where you wanna go (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
That pretty much says it all; evidently, if a wife gets cancer a husband is six times more likely to leave than the other way around.
Put another way, if a husband gets sick, the wife is six times more likely to stay and help while the husband is six times more likely to peace out if the wife gets sick.
What. The. Fuck.
That made me so mad that I couldn’t sleep. The inequity of it all.
I stayed for one reason alone, which was that she was my wife. We were a team. Sickness and in health and all that shit. That was the deal. And I knew, in my heart-of-hearts, that she would have done the exact same for me.
She would never have left me.
And it never once occurred to me to leave her. How could I? She needed me. Plus, she was my wife, and I loved her.
Full stop.
I’ve seen this firsthand.
Have a scumbag relative that cheated on his wife and divorced her while she had cancer.
I have zero to do with him and plan on having zero to do with him ever again.
And Newt Gingrich divorced his first wife Jackie when she had uterine cancer and his third wife Callista after she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.
All this to say nuthin of Trump and his multiple marriages, rapes, and affairs.
Party of family values, folks.
What a fucking joke.
Think the reason this whole thing bothered me so much is that I knew how much Alison suffered with her cancer and the thought that someone out there in Alison’s situation has to deal with her same horror AND also have to deal with the pain of being tossed like a piece of garbage by the person she pledged her life to makes my blood boil.
Yet another reason why I think the less I have to do with people, the better.
I didn’t know Shannon at all but, man, no one deserves having to deal with the hassle and heartbreak of a divorce while facing death.
Me: I’m gonna fucking punch them both in the face and then call the cops. Her: Then they’ll be dealing with you and not her.
Olivia’s death definitely messed with me a bit this past week.
But so did another very disturbing thing that also took my breath away.
See, Firecracker and I were sitting in a park and this little Asian girl went running to her mother…with a CLEARLY compound fracture in her arm.
It was dangling off her elbow like a limp noodle. Both the Firecracker and I gasped when we saw it.
Any idiot could see that this kid was about to go into shock; the pain musta been insane for this 5-6 year old.
Yet BOTH parents were yelling at her and asking her what happened, as if that mattered.
And the mother started shaking the broken arm as if it was a wet towel.
Yup, you read that right. She most definitely made things worse and that girl was definitely in shock.
Almost lost my shit.
You have to call an ambulance. Now! I yelled.
But they essentially ignored me, continuing to blame the kid for having a broken arm.
The father continues to look at his phone while the mother goes to check the bus schedule.
I’m doing my level best to control my temper when the Firecracker tells me that the parents are probably overwhelmed but I don’t think so.
The kid and mom start walking, we hope, to the hospital, which is miles away while the father remains with the other two kids, casually looking at his phone.
Had to leave because I was so upset by this whole thing; was worried I’d get into a shouting match with the dad in front of his two other kids.
Me: I have all this useless information in my head for some reason. Like, which do you think came first, Mexico or New Mexico? Her: I would think Mexico. Me: And you would be wrong.
If social media has taught me one thing, it’s that (a) people are easily fooled because (b) we put a outsized value on common sense – but “common sense,” differs radically from one group to another.
For example, the German word for “debt” is the same as their word for “fault” and “shame” (in the sense of, “what a shame”) which tells you a lot about how they look at borrowing.
First, kill all the lawyers – this saying is “wrong,” because people don’t realize it means that lawyers can save them, that’s why they have to be killed first.
These are all things that have the air of truth but only a tiny bit of actual truth to them.
Like all kids, he asks a million questions.
But, for some reason, when kids grow up, they stop asking questions and just assume that what they’re told is correct.
After a while, people just assume things – they don’t even need anyone to tell them stuff.
That’s why I’m hoping that the boy’ll always be curious and intellectually inquisitive.
Her: How is that possible? Me: New Mexico was first called that in 1598 (Nuevo México) but what we now know as Mexico was never known as that until 1821; prior to that, it was known as New Spain.
Firecracker: Is that a black bagel? Me: Yeah, it’s pumpernickel. Her: Oh, I’ve never had it before. Me: You’ve never had it before?! Her: You know, you do that all the time: I tell you that I’ve not had or done X and you immediately say, “You’ve never had X?!” No, Logan, I haven’t. THAT’S WHY I SAID IT! Me: Noted. (under breath) You didn’t have to yell…
My buddy Annabel swung by my pad the other day and dropped off some gifts for the kid.
I’m always touched when someone goes out of their way to help us out or do something nice for us.
The main problem with having such easy access to a good camera these days – after all, even the cheapest cell phone still takes pretty good shots – is that you end up with hundreds if not thousands of pictures that you really should go and clean up.
I keep having to upgrade my harddrives because I have so many pictures.
So, the other day, I started deleting pictures that either aren’t good or that I just don’t care for.
Been coming across some cool ones though.
Like the woman above obviously shooting a model shot.
Or this one below of people jumping onto the tracks to save someone.
Think he just fell in, and those two fellas jumped in to rescue him.
Again, thank goodness for the good souls, right?
Finally, the below conversation between the Firecracker and her sister made me laugh…
Location: late evening, picking up my son late from school. There’s a lot to do at the end of the year.
Mood: sleepy
Music: Christ, I’m out of my mind (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Him: But it fits! Me: Kinda. You’re definitely Brittney Spearsing it here.
Clothes that I just bought for the kid last year are already not fitting him.
I remember that, as a kid, I loved this yellow shirt with a red V on it. Wore it until my bellybutton was constantly out, all Britney Spears like.
Think my parents were just happy that I didn’t ask for new clothes, but I always think that Alison woulda wanted him to be put together so I try my best.
My best being a sliding scale.
(c) Getty Images
Him: Why don’t you ever show my face? Me: Because I don’t have that right. At least, I shouldn’t have that right.
Been enjoying my new gym – it’s interesting rolling with people from a completely new gym because no one knows my game and I know no one else’s game, so each roll feels very different than at my old gym.
Recently rolled with a very talented but smaller female. While I could have easily beat her, that wasn’t why I was there; I was there to get better.
Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.
In a way, that’s why I don’t put up pictures of my kid where you can clearly see his face.
See, I grew up in a time where you could grow up in relative anonymity.
Never realized what a gift that was until YouTube because – MAN – did I do some jaw-droppingly bone-headed things when I was younger.
Legit, thank god everyone didn’t walk around with a video camera because I would most likely be hated by the world writ large.
In that sense, I feel that it’s not fair or right that I – as someone much bigger and much older than my kid – have the right to take away my son’s chance to be anonymous.
Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.
He’s a little kid right now but little kids grow up to be adults.
When he is one, he might resent not being able to tell his own story his own way.
If you think about it, the thing that probably pisses you off the most is when someone else tells your story.
Janet? She’s such a slut. Did you hear last Friday, she…
Tom? He’s a loser. When we were kids…
That guy? Lemme tell you about him…
But I have to balance that with the fact that I’m proud of him – so proud of him – and what he can do so I wanna show him off.
And that’s really what it is with parents, isn’t it?
They want to show their kids off, not for their kids sake, but for their own. And that’s not right, I don’t think.
Just because they can, doesn’t mean they should.
So, my concession is that I blur or hide his face and name so that when/if he does want to have a public face/name, that’s his choice to make when he’s old enough to make that choice.
For now, I realize that, just because I could put up anything I want about him, I shouldn’t.
Me: One day, you’ll be old enough to decide who you are and how you want the world to see you. You and your friends are gonna be some of the first kids on the planet that’s lost that right to be a nobody. Him: (thinking) What if I wanna be someone? Me: That’s your choice to make. I’ve lived my life. I don’t have the right to live your life as well. You get to decide who and what you want to be. (pause) For what it’s worth, you’re always someone to me. You’re my most important someone.
Location: a pier with four lovely ladies – including the Firecracker – the boy, and a bottle of white
Mood: so. full.
Music: I just wanna be someone. Well, doesn’t everyone? (Spotify) Subscribe! Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.
Her: It’s gonna overflow! Me: It’ll be fine. Her: It’s gonna overflow! We should get something. Me: It’ll be fine. Her: (momentarily) It didn’t overflow! You were right. Me: I was just hoping.
This qualifies as middle-aged excitement.
And I always tell myself that things will be ok, even when I have no idea if they will be.
It’s just naked hope.
All these decades later, it’s still just naked hope and I still don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
For reasons that we don’t need to get into, had to leave my gym recently and join another one.
All-in-all, it’s fine because there are so many great schools in the city, I was able to join another one less than 48 hours later but it’s a bummer that I had to say goodbye to alla my friends from my old spot.
I also have a lotta really seasoned BJJ people to coach me while I make the transition, like Bryson, Giph, and the Frenchman, who’s a black belt himself.
Speaking of the Frenchman, he headed up my way and we – the kid, the Firecracker, him, and me – all grabbed some food around the way.
Because it’s May, and I hate May, been eating a lotta Greek, Japanese, and Chinese food because that’s comfort food for me.
Although I do try to slip in a salad or two here and there since beach weather is coming up.
Have to lose about 5-8 pounds from alla my traveling and eating, but I’m already down about three pounds with the new gym.
Another Mother’s Day and Alison’s birthday down.
Just need to make it to June and then past August and I can breathe a little easier until next May.
This entry is out of order; back to the regular nuthin in the next entry.
The Firecracker’s dad came into town this weekend and we met up with him on Saturday for a kid’s birthday party.
It was fine for the most part but then a parent snapped at my kid when he tried to break a piñata with his foot when it fell down – like an 8 year old kid understands why whacking a piece of cardboard with a stick is ok but kicking it isn’t – and destroyed him in front of all the other kids.
It pretty much set the mood for the rest of the weekend for us.
He’d never cried at a birthday party before and, of course, it had to happen during the weekend of Mother’s Day and his mom’s birthday.
Obviously, there’s no way for the other parent to have known that.
If it wasn’t for the fact that she couldn’t have known and that she was a mom, I woulda been arrested.
Still, he was fine after a spell because I raised him to be resilient, but – man – I was steamed.
Him: She said I did it on purpose, but I didn’t. I was trying to help. (sadly) I’m the worst kid. Me: Don’t ever say that. She doesn’t know you at all. You’re the best kid mom or I could ever ask for. Him: Really? Me: Honest and for true.
We then went to have dinner with the Firecracker’s family at a local taco joint that I’d been to before and then called it a night.
The next morning, despite it being Mother’s Day, the Firecracker got up bright and early to make her family and us a killer brekkie with a baked blueberry and apple oatmeal dish and a baked fritatta with feta and bacon.
The oatmeal bar
My kid liked it so much, he asked for seconds of everything and also asked for more the next day.
God, I love that kid – he’s just like me where we eat our feelings.
We all chatted at my place for hours until we had to meet up with the ABFF for dinner and to remember Alison.
This was probably the worst birthday/Mother’s Day yet for the kid because he feels the loss now.
Being humiliated and yelled at a birthday party probably didn’t help matters.
It was the hardest one for me for a while because it hit the kid so hard.
Him: (looking up at the ballon) How do we know she’ll get it? Me: We hope. Him: (nodding) I hope she knows I miss her. Me: She knows. I’m sure she knows
Her: I like room temperature soda. Me: I only realized now that I’m dating a psychopath.
Not been sleeping well for a while now. It’s a long story.
Been thinking about Alison and my dad a lot lately for a whole buncha reasons we don’t need to get into, but one small reason is Princess Kate.
The fact that she and King Charles both have cancer should be a wake up call to everyone for a simple reason:
If two people that have the best of everything – healthcare, food, trainers, etc. – can get cancer, anyone can.
You definitely can.
In the 1970s, a fella you never heard of named Kotaku Wamura was the mayor of a Japanese town you never heard of, Fudai.
When Warmura was a kid in 1933, he saw a tsunami kill 439 people in Fudai and made a kid’s promise to himself – he would prevent this from ever happening to Fudai ever again.
When he became mayor in 1970, through sheer force of will, he convinced the town to erect a 51-foot-high gate as a public works project.
He, and his supporters were mocked mercilessly as fools.
Fast forward some 40+ years to the Japan earthquake and tsunami of 2011, which I wrote about before, and killed over 19,000 people and destroyed at least 45 towns and cities.
But the village and almost all its people were almost completely unscathed.
Not a day goes by without someone saying something chiding about what I eat, how I live, or what I do.
“You eat that much peanut butter?”
“Sardines? Fish, out of a can?! Disgusting!”
“Do you really need to roll around with sweaty men every day?”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
Essentially, the argument I hear is always something that starts with, “Everyone…”
Something is fucked in our lives and we’re all dying of cancer. I dunno what it is but I’m trying to go where science is telling me to go.
And I still might get it because the odds are shit.
But I’m gonna do everything I can to try to avoid it if possible.
You should too.
Wamura died in 1997 at age 88 and never saw that he was right. But he was right.
And I think I’m right here; just like Wamura didn’t know when the next tsunami would be, he knew it would come eventually just like I know cancer will touch alla us at some point if it hasn’t already.
Cancer doesn’t give a shit if you’re a king, a princess, a new mother, or a nobody.
It’s here to end – or at least massively fuck up – your life, if you don’t do something about it.
I’m not the one that’s living an extreme life, IMHO.
To me, the people living an extreme life are the ones that know that there’s a close to 50/50 chance at getting the emperor of all maladies and doing nuthin meaningful about it.
