Tag: interesting facts

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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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Tigers with different stripes, Pt 2

The best five days of my life

The other thing about my dad/family was something else that I also learned in Cornell: When I took my first Chinese language class, the teacher asked how to say “maternal grandmother” in Chinese.

I confidently said, “阿婆 (ā pó)” but was corrected, it was “外婆 (wàipó).”

I’d never heard of 外婆 (wàipó) before, we never used that term nor had I ever heard it before.

Me: I was so embarrassed that I got that wrong. Why didn’t we use the right way of saying it for [mom’s mom]?
Father: Do you know what 外婆 means? It means “outside grandmother.” That’s what you call the wife’s mother because, in Chinese culture, the mother’s family and side doesn’t count – they’re outsiders and not really part of the family. That’s wrong, I think, and offensive. Your mom’s family is as much a part of our family as mine is.

For all my dad’s traditions and pressure, he was a decent and fair man and that story perfectly encapsulates him.

It was a simple but profound thing, which makes sense as he was both a simple and profound man.

And I think that a major reason the three of us – my sister, brother, and myself – have been so successful in life.

Moreso than the education and the accolates.

Because I suppose we always knew that, no matter what, our parents loved us and always would.

That’s a powerful comfort in an uncomfortable world and something that I hope I give my own kid.

Yeah, if there’s one thing that I’d like to pass on from my dad to my own kid, it’s that.

My dad died August 24th, 2017, seven years ago this week.

I love him every bit right now as I did seven years ago and always will.

Even though, at times, I wonder if he knew.

Me: (angrily) Yeah, well, you wait. My kid is gonna be successful and happy. It won’t matter to me if he goes to an ivy league or not.
Him: You’re threatening me with a happy and successful grandkid? (laughing) Go ahead. Because that’s exactly what I want too. When you’re a dad yourself, you’ll understand. I’m trying to keep you all safe.

And, of course, I totally care if he makes it into an ivy league or not.

Just maybe – maybe – not quite as much.

Did you know that no two tigers have the same stripes?

A tiger’s pattern is as unique as human fingerprints AND not only is a tiger’s fur striped, but its skin is also striped as well.

It has hidden beauties you wouldn’t know about while it was alive.

This also means that every tiger is different from every other tiger, despite all outward appearances.

My dad may have been Chinese, but he was so different in many ways and uniquely mine.

I wish he was still here.

But I suppose you already knew that.

The picture above is the day my parents met my son.

It’s one of only a handful of pictures I have with all three of them.

The main picture is another of the few – precious – images I have of my father with my son.

I have none with him, Alison, and my son. Zero fucking pictures.

Not a single goddamn one.

And everything went to shit after that picture.

But, for a moment in time, that was the happiest I ever was because my entire family was alive and happy for five days.

I didn’t yet know that would be all I would ever get. Ever.

Those were the best five days of my life.

What a shitty truth it is that the lucky never realize they are lucky until it’s too late. 

Location: yesterday and today, bars. Drinking it all away.
Mood: cautious
Music: I’ve got memories and travel like gypsies in the night (Spotify)
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PSA: EWG.org and safe soaps

The humblest, even

Her: Well, there’s shampoo, conditioner, leave-in conditioner, pre-heat treatment spray, anti-UV spray, dry shampoo, hair oil, mousse, and hairspray.
Me: I have a single bar of soap.

I’m pretty obsessed with cancer, for obvious reasons.

Don’t know what is leading to this huge rise in cancer cases in our lives but I gotta think it’s a combination of lifestyle and environment.

And for men, a report just came out this week that by 2050, the cancer rates will double. That’s insane.

It’s tough not going off the deep end on this kinda stuff, but one thing I try to do is check my household products against The Environmental Working Group’s website.

Since Alison and my dad died, pretty much the main soap that I use in the house is Dr. Bronner’s Castile soap, which are so safe that they’ve all earned EWG’s coveted “verified” rating – their rating system is basically from 1-10, where 1 and 2 are super safe and 10 is decidedly not.

I try not to get anything above a 2 in the house where ever feasible but EWG’s “verified” rating is essentially a 0, meaning it has absolutely nuthin of concern.

Unfortunately, Dr. Bronner’s bar soaps are like $4.50 or so, which is 3X the price of a normal bar of soap and I take up to three showers a day in the summer if I’m hitting the gym.

Still, it’s a small price to pay for safety.

Having said that, I was searching for something else when I found out that Irish Spring Icy Blast is – somehow – a 1 on the EWG rating chart and costs exactly the same as any other mass-market soap, about $0.66 a bar.

I do note that it seems to contain titanium dioxide, which I’m not a fan of, but that’s pretty much it.

So, while I still have Dr. Bronner’s pretty much everywhere here, I’ve been showering with the Irish Spring for the past month, which has been pretty nice, I gotta say.

Her: You smell great!
Me: Don’t I?!
Her: (rolling eyes) So humble, Logan Lo.
Me: The humblest, even.

Location: W 63rd, picking up a white printer for the kid
Mood: irritated
Music: They say it’s our fate and we’re too late, I know (Spotify)
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Pier 72, 11 years, Kossar’s

A kindness I’d never forgotten

Almost exactly 11 years ago, on August 6th, 2013, I went with Alison to a cafe a few blocks south of me called Pier 72.

We went there a couple of times but, really, hardly ever went there because it was a bit older than other joints in the area, but the food was good, the people nice, and the prices pretty cheap.

I don’t think we went there again after that; well, she didn’t, for reasons you already know.

I did because, when she was sick and losing all that weight from the chemo, she turned to me one day and said, randomly, “I could eat a patty melt.”

So, I asked her what that was and she told me.

Then I ran to Pier 72 because it was certain it would have it.

I was wrong.

Him: Sorry, we don’t sell that here.
Me: Please. It looks like this (shows him a picture). My wife…she’s…sick. She hasn’t eaten in days and I’m worried she’ll die. I can pay whatever you’d like for it.
Him: (gently) It looks like a cheeseburger on a sliced bread. I can do that for you.
Me: Yes. Please. I mean, thank you. I’ll pay whatever you think is fair.
Him: (shaking his head) It’s a cheeseburger on toast with onions. Just pay what we charge for a burger. Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it for her.

Went there a few times after that, always getting a patty melt and maybe a Reuben for me. Alison only ate a little each time.

It was a kindness I’d never forgotten. It was one of the only things Alison would agree to eat.

They shut down after COVID.

For years afterward, it was empty.

But, one day recently, the joint opened as a Kossar’s Bagel and Bialys.

The kid’s been asking to go for ages, and I finally brought him the other day.

We couldn’t sit where Alison and I last sat when it was Pier 72 because that became the cream cheese display.

So, we sat across from it and I looked at the corner of where we sat, almost exactly 11 years earlier and I could hear her voice in my head.

Something about the fact that I was sitting there with her son but not her hurt me in ways I can’t fully express nor explain.

Then the boy’s voice cut through my thoughts.

Him: I love the everything bagel! Can we come back here again?
Me: (distracted) Oh…sure. Of course.
Him: What’s wrong? You look like you’re crying.
Me: (clearing throat) Oh, it’s the summer. Allergies, you know…
Him: I’m sorry you have allergies, papa.
Me: It’s ok. I’m always ok when you’re around.
Him: Yay! Me too!

Location: at H Mart, looking for kombucha with the Firecracker
Mood: pensive
Music: You’re the movie in my mind to which I know every line (Spotify)
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Husbands are six-times more likely to leave

Shannon deserved better

Me: Her dying has fucked me up.
Her: I can tell. (later) This is a perfect example of you not understanding people. This doesn’t surprise me.

Didn’t know Jenny Wilder, Maggie Malene, Kris Witherspoon, Brenda Walsh, Rene Mosier, or Prue Halliwell.

But I did see Heather Duke in Heathers on a date in high school. Don’t remember the date much but I liked Heathers enough to watch it again on video.

That pretty much encapsulates all I know about Shannon Doherty.

Well, that and the fact that she died of cancer.

(c) Creative Commons

Was still surprised when she died, though.

Somehow, I thought, with her wealth and connections, she’d pull through. She was just two years older than me.

But I read this news article that took my breath away, which was titled, Shannen Doherty’s divorce from Kurt Iswarienko was finalized one day before her death.

That led me down an awful rabbit hole, where I ended up reading this article: Men Leave: Separation And Divorce Far More Common When The Wife Is The Patient

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.

Because I remember – so clearly – how much physical and emotional pain Alison was in with her cancer and her treatments.

I remember her daily struggles and I remember all these medical people acting as if I was some angel because I stayed with her.

Always thought it was fucked up how many times it was mentioned – to the point that I got irritated and would simply change the subject.

Learned later that when women get brain cancer, their husbands usually leave:

One study from 2009 found the strongest predictor for separation or divorce for patients with brain cancer was whether or not the sick person was a woman. That same study showed that men were seven times more likely to leave their partner than the other way around if one of them got brain cancer.

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.

Oh, and regarding her ex-husband, fuck that guy.

Location: Zepplin Hall with a relative and the Firecracker
Mood: angry and sooooooo drunk
Music: Some’ll win, some will lose. Some are born to sing the blues (Spotify)
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New Mexico came before Mexico

Plus, Germany and Switzerland don’t like debt

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.

And that’s probably why Germany and Switzerland, both German-speaking nations, have the lowest home ownership rates in alla Europe.

Here in the US, it’s just common sense to strive for home ownership.

There, in Germany, it’s just common sense to never have debt.

As I see the kid grow up, it’s alarming how much certain bits of information is just taken for granted and is so often wrong:

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.

Location: the Dakota bar, with a buncha school principals
Mood: floaty
Music: Man, it’s a hot one – like seven inches from the midday sun (Spotify)
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Date night in Chinatown

You know what you're not seeing? A line.

An early dinner at Nom Wah

The kids were away and, like I said, I’ve been hankering for Chinese, Japanese, and Greek food lately.

Me: We may end up going to Big Wong. I’ll figure it out once I get there.
Her: Soup dumplings are always a good idea
Me: (in Chinatown) There’s zero line at Nom Wah!

For those of you not from NYC, Nom Wah Tea Parlor is one of the very first Chinese dim sum restaurants in America, opened in 1920.

The children of the last generation of owners decided to update the marketing to include social media but not update much else and it’s worked; there are tons of videos about it like this one from Bon Appetit:

Or this one from Munchies:

Or this one from PBS:

Alla this attention means that there’s always a line going around the block.

I’ve been in this little town for 45 years and I’ve never gone in, actually.

But the other day we lucked out and there was zero line and we got superstar seating.

Her: This is what happens when you eat like an old man at 5:30PM.
Me: But…no line!

We were both starving so we ordered a ton of food…

…really, so much food.

We managed to eat almost everything – so good.

Afterward, we had some wine and beer that we slowly enjoyed while chatting when a waiter came up to us and said that there were lots of people waiting; sure enough, there was a long line that went to the neighboring street.

So, we left and, because the kids were away, we headed to a speakeasy that was hidden behind a coke machine called The Basement.

Since it was still early, we easily got a seat…

…and ordered some drinks, which were excellent but…

…she was mainly interested in the kettle corn they gave us.

Her: Ask for more.
Me: Me? Why don’t you ask for more?
Her: Oh, I will.

She’s wasn’t lying.

Her: Do you wanna play some beer pong?
Me: I’m beat, I just wanna sit.
Her: You’re no fun.
Me: Accurate.

Her: We’ll be home and in bed by 10PM.
Me: I know. It’s glorious.

It really was.

Location: earlier today, coughing up a pollen-infused lung on 77th
Mood: hopeful
Music: deep down in my heart, there’s a hole (Spotify)
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2600Hz and a Filet Mignon

Significant but unknown

The NFL Player and my buddy Thor took the Firecracker and myself out to Porterhouse for my birthday again.

Him: I assume you’ll have an Old Fashioned with Rye.
Me: I like what I like.

This time, everyone came with their significant others, which was nice.

We all chatted about the earthquake and the eclipse…

…amongst other things.

Him: Logan always has some random fact.
Me: This is true. Did you know that, when I was a kid, Cap’n Crunch gave away a plastic whistle that oscillated at exactly 2,600Hz, which was the exact frequency of NYC payphones so that if you blew one before a call, you could make free calls anywhere in the world? [ED: I misspoke, it was the frequency for all AT&T phones, not just NYC, because they ran a monopoly on pay phones across the country].
Her: How do you remember all this stuff?
Me: (shrugging) I don’t get out much.

As that article I linked above notes, Apple – and the iPhone you’re most likely reading this upon – would not have existed but for the existence of that whistle.

I love these kinda significant but often unknown stories.

In any case, the dinner, and the conversation, was great, as usual.

The NFL Player and his wife went to Africa and showed us pics. It was all pretty cool.

The people sitting in the table next to us were also having a birthday celebration, so there were lots of rounds of, “Happy Birthday.”

Like I said before, there are worse ways to turn 51.

Let’s see how this decade goes.

Location: Crenshaw, Los Angeles
Mood: hungry and annoyed
Music: She wore a raspberry beret, the kind you find in a secondhand store (Spotify)
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My first earthquake and eclipse

Did you feel that?

Her: (calling from office) Did you feel that?!
Me: Wait, you felt that too?
Her: Yes! It was an earthquake.
Me: Get outta town, no way!

In my 51 years on this planet, I’ve never experienced an earthquake nor an eclipse.

Welp, last month, I experienced both.

The earthquake felt like an enormous truck rumbling in front of my apartment for a solid 20 seconds or so but literally nuthin else happened.

That was it.

It was very strange. I thought, “Could that be an earthquake?” but then I dismissed that idea outta hand until the Firecracker called me.

Now, if that wasn’t enough, a few days later, I experienced my first solar eclipse.

Spent a solid few hours trying to hunt down a pair of safety glasses.

I thought the Firecracker had her own so I also had to spend some time getting her some as well.

And then the tenant that lived in the apartment above me wrote me.

Her: Hey Logan, super random question! Did you get any of the eclipse glasses?
Me: Come to us at 77th and Amsterdam right now? We’re in the huge playground. I’ll send you a pin to put into your mapping program

And so she joined us for the event.This is literally the best shot I could get of the eclipse itself, with a safety filter on.

Just as interesting, though, was watching everyone else marvel at what was going on.

Firecracker: It’s the whole place getting dark that I find the most interesting.

For me, it was just nice to experience it with my son, the Firecracker, and my friends.

I wonder if he’ll remember it.

On that note, I wonder what he’ll remember from all these crazy events like the earthquake, the eclipse, the pandemic, etc.

I’ll ask him someday and let you know.

Location: Somewhere over Colorado, hoping my laptop doesn’t run outta charge
Mood: excited
Music: everything we wanted to, in the moonlight where we’re trying to (Spotify)
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Come with me

The emperor of all maladies

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.

Except Fudai.

Because of one person, almost nothing happened to the town. One unfortunate man died, and their port was nearly destroyed.

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…”

“Everyone eats carbs, Logan.”
“Everyone microwaves plastics, Logan.”
“Everyone eats late, Logan.”

Yeah, and everyone is getting cancer – greater than 1 outta 3 these days: If you’re a dude, the chance is 41%, a woman, the chance is 39%.

That is fucking insane.

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.

Location: Winston-Salem, North Carolina, getting sugared-out
Mood: baffled
Music: I had to rock the boat so I could ride the wave (Spotify)
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