Tag: observations

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personal

We’re in sync

Thinking in a particular way

Last Friday was National Cheeseburger Day and I was in the middle of writing Sara that I wanted to maybe have a bad dinner of burgers and fast food when she wrote me first – as I was writing out my own message.

Her: I’m craving chicken nuggets. Like BADLY 😂😂
Me: Wait, what?!? I was just about to write you that it’s National Cheeseburger Day and we should eat trash tonight.
Her: Really?! We are in sync!

Clearly, she is my person.

Similarly, years ago, my brother called me to tell me that he’d just bought a box of Certs because he couldn’t find a box of Certs that he bought previously.

So, he looks around his house for where to put it, so he’ll remember where it is, thinks of a perfect spot, and goes to put it there only to find…the box of certs.

That’s actually happened to me a number of times.

Like, I bought some plastic repair putty called Sugru that my brother mentioned to me years ago to fix all sorts of things.

When I got it, I remembered that my brother told me to keep it in the fridge.

So, I was thinking of where best to put it and decided to keep it in the butter drawer in the back where I found…a package of Sugru.

Evidently, I bought it when my brother suggested it and forgot I had it but, luckily, I came to the same logical conclusion of where to keep it.

I was thinking about alla this because I’ve literally been marveling how close my dad and I lived to each other in the same neighborhood and how often I’ve walked past his office where I’m sure he had all these hopes and dreams, successes and failures.

But then, as I thought a little more, I went back to that old debate of nurture over nature.

It makes sense that my brother and I would do identical things – he with the Certs, I with the Sugru – because we were both raised the same way by a father that stressed logical thinking and contextual observation AND because we are so genetically similar.

Likewise, it makes sense that my dad and I would gravitate to the same neighborhood; there are between 350 and 400 neighborhoods in NYC so this is a pretty large coincidence.

I’ve been thinking for days, “What if we had some shared hopes and dreams in the exact same place?”

But, the fact that my dad and I would choose the same ones at roughly the same age does make some sense as he was taught to think in a particular way and he, in turn, taught me to think in a particular way.

But maybe there’s more (or less than) than that.

These two co-workers – Dave Green and Andrea Urmston – worked together at Manchester airport, bonded instantly and joked that they felt like siblings, only to later discover that they were brother and sister, separated at birth.

Or consider Becky Gibson and Ralph Slawter, two siblings separated for over 30 years that ended up living just a few doors apart in the same nursing home without realizing it.

(Another really weird sidenote, I actually dated someone that had the same name as one of the two women I just mentioned).

With those two, it wasn’t nurture as they were all separated and raised different. So, it has to be biological/nature.

After all, they shared genetic temperament traits like: Social capacity/energy, sense of humor, interpersonal behavior, etc.

And they also gravitated toward similar types of work, which was structured and mechanical in airport operations.

It supports the idea that genetics nudges people toward certain environments.

And, while writing this, I just remembered that my sister and I – completely independently of each other – chose the exact same marble and showerhead for our respective bathroom renovations.

Maybe with my dad and me, it’s enough nurture and nature that these coincidences aren’t all that strange.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll find more as I continue to scan stuff and look through old pics.

I’ll keep you posted.

Location: the gym, telling them I’ll have to leave
Mood: anxious
Music: I’m telling you, it’s meant to be, my dear. (Spotify)
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What’s there, while lovely, isn’t the same

A quarter-of-a-century

Me: I’m sorry, can you turn that off?
Sara: Oh! I’m sorry, I was just listening to a podcast about it.
Me: I know. I just…I’d rather not, if that’s ok.
Her: Sure. I’m sorry.
Me: (shakes head) Nuthin to be sorry about. It’s a me thing. I’d just rather not.

It’s been a quarter-of-a-century since we were attacked on 9/11.

That seems like so long ago but…it doesn’t feel like it was so long ago.

Like everything else in my life these days, it was “just a few years ago.”

Except it wasn’t.

The buildings themselves had always loomed large in my entire life – literally and figuratively.

I went there in 1990 to go to TKTS to get tickets for Les Mis with my then girlfriend to see instead of going to my prom.

The above picture was taken from the Staten Island ferry on December 28, 1989.

And in the below picture, taken by my mom I believe, I was in her belly when it was taken in 1973.

That’s my grandma with my older brother in the lower right; he’s less than 18 months old here.

He was just here for a quick visit; he left today for Pasadena again.

My grandmother’s long gone. She was the one I told you about decades ago.

I miss her, I already miss my brother, and I miss those building.

Don’t have enough digital ink to tell you everything and everyone I miss, although I’m sure you can guess a lotta them.

The mark of youth is the idea that you can always fix things and always go back and try something again.

But, when you’re an old man like me, you realize that those days are gone.

That you can’t fix things or revisit things once they’re gone.

There’s a whole generation that has never laid on those two giant slabs of concrete and steel and never will for reasons that I still struggle to understand 25 years later.

I was just down in the area for work the other day.

The city seems the same to most people but not to people like me, who’ve been here our whole lives.

For people like me, there’s always something that feels like it’s missing.

And what’s there, while lovely, isn’t the same.

Actually, that would be a good description about everything in my life right now:

It’s all quite lovely. It’s just not the same as I remember it.

And I’ll always, always, always, miss the things and people that aren’t here anymore.

Because there’s always a hole left behind when something you love and loved is gone.

Assume all links in this blog are monetized.
Location: the kid’s new school
Mood: morose
Music: Whistling a new tune, hoping it would come soon (Spotify)
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Syzygy

You held your breath and the door for me

Me: That’s a syzygy.

Her: What’s that?

Me: It’s a word that modifies two words different. Like Alanis Morisette’s song Head Over Feet where she says, “You held your breath and the door for me.” The syzygy is the word held that modifies “your breath,” in a figurative sense and ‘the door,” in a literal sense.

Me: I don’t know why I know that. I don’t know why I know most of the things I know.

Her: I’d guess that you were trained your whole life to remember facts and figures that you’ve read but not things that you experienced.

Me: (sighing) And that’s what sucks: I remember jokes about salmon and Janet, and what a syzagy is but…I can’t remember things about my dad…

…and Alison…

…and I so wish I could remember more. I don’t have enough.

Her: (nodding) I’m sorry, Logan. But, it’s cool that you know all these rando facts.

Me: I’d much rather be like normal people and remember…so many things I’ve forgotten.

I’ve forgotten more life than most people have lived.

Suppose that’s why I take so many pictures of such rando things.

Because I only remember things that don’t mean anything to anyone, not even me.

And not the things that don’t mean anything to anyone…except for me.

Location: in front of the tele, watching Monarch
Mood: wistful
Music: You are the bearer of unconditional things (Spotify)
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Not an entry about knives

Er hat ein großes Messer

Sara: What do you call a reluctant potato?
Me: I’m not…
Her: A hesitator!
Me: (sighing) Yeah.

I don’t actually watch much television or movies, but I did when I was younger.

I’ve always preferred reading but my attention span is that of a gnat these days – I blame YouTube and the rise of quick online articles.

But I still read every night, and I’ve been really trying my darndest to get the kid to read – oh he came back from camp today, BTW.

Him: It’ll be so weird to wake up without all my friends around.
Me: Sure, but I’m here.
Him: Yeah. And I get to sleep in my own bed.
Me: Always a good thing in my book, kiddo.

Speaking of books, I realized that, not only does he not fully understand how much he’s losing when he doesn’t read, I don’t think most people fully understand how much we’re losing.

Worldwide literacy only happened around 1965 – which is when over 50% of the world could read.

Assuming that 25% of the world being literate is considered widespread literacy, that only happened around 1925 – almost exactly 100 years ago.

That means that reading as we know it today was really only prevalent as a human-based means of communication for almost exactly 100 years.

Assuming, arguendo, that homo sapiens have existed for 300,000 years, that means that we’ve only been reading for .033% of our existence – not even 1% of 1%.

(I have no idea why I have that picture but, there you go)

  • If I show you a knife, you see the knife, and think, knife!
  • If I show you a picture of a knife, you see the knife, and think, knife!
  • If I show you either the word messer or 刀, you probably don’t think of a knife.

But Messer means knife in German while 刀 means knife in Chinese.

To know that Messer means knife, you have to know:

  • The alphabet and the sounds each letter can potentially make.
  • That the letters m-e-s-s-e-r together make the sound “mess-er.”

Only after you know those two things, you can picture a knife. It’s an added layer of complexity.

But if I said, Er hat ein großes Messer, to understand that sentence, you need to know all the aformentioned AND what each word means individually, AND the grammar structure of that sentence.

Then, and only then, do you picture a man holding a large knife as the sentence reads, in English, He has a large knife.

That’s a huge number of mental steps to achieve one single picture – that of a man holding a large knife.

And this ability to construct such a picture has only happened in 0.033% of our entire existence as a species.

It may be that the ability to write and read was only a blip in time for our species. We may well regress to the point where we can only communicate via the spoken word like children.

And then our brains will lose something singularly unique on our planet, perhaps the universe.

The ability to turn seemingly random squiggly lines into vivid pictures and understanding in our heads is highly unnatural and special.

Because, as I told you years ago, language is telepathy.

On August 23, 2026, at 9:03PM, I wanted to make you think of a man with a knife in Germany from my small apartment here in Manhattan, New York, USA and you did.

If you really sit down and think about it, that is amazing.

And that is what we’re at risk of losing if the kid and his kids don’t read.

That’s something I find just profoundly sad.

Him: But I read already.
Me: Dude you ate, right? But you’re gonna want to eat again, yeah? Books feed your mind like food feeds your body. And if you don’t feed you body properly now, then you won’t grow up ok. It’s the same with reading.
Him: (sighing) OK, another 20 minutes and then can I play?
Me: Oh for…OK. Read for another 20 minutes and then you can play. But you gotta read, man. It’s so imporant, you don’t even know…

Location: getting sidetracked in Brooklyn with my treasure
Mood: more complete
Music: der hat ein Messer doch das Messer sieht man nicht (Spotify)
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Getting from the world without expectation

Experience Camps

Me: I dunno, it’s a little early.
Him: (sighing) Ok, papa.
Me: (thinking) You know what, let’s just go. I don’t wanna be the reason we miss the bus.
Him: YAY!

The kid went off to camp today.

The same really wonderful camp he went to last year, Experience Camps.

Neither of us got any sleep last night: He, because he was too excited and I, because…well, I’m me and still an insomniac (although much better these days).

Even though we didn’t have to be there until 10:15 at the latest, we took off super early.

It was raining when we arrived – an empty parking lot in the middle of nowhere Brooklyn.

There was literally no one else around, so we just sat around for around 40 minutes until someone actually showed up.

Camp Counselor: So, what’s your…wait, you’re the guitar kid!
My son: (laughing) Yeah!

He was one of the first kids on the bus. He couldn’t wait to go.

I saw my own bus off in the distance and ran for it; it was gonna be a solid 15 minutes before the next one.

Heading home, I thought about something someone said once:

My son’s at an age where he still gets from the world, without expectation of giving anything return.

Soon, it will start to demand from him. And then Life will both demand and take.

And then my son, the child, will be gone forever, and he’ll be not-yet-a-man, and then a man.

None of which I’m prepared for.

Don’t think I’m ever prepared for the goodbyes.

Suppose no one ever is.

Him: I’ll be back soon, papa.
Me: I know. I’ll still miss you.

Location: in front of my non-functioning PC, realizing I’m gonna have to take it apart to get to a tiny battery
Mood: grumble
Music: I’m not losing you (Spotify)
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Everything is so plastic

Looking for something real

Met up with the Medemerge Doc the other day again for lunch.

It was funny because we’d ordered some beers and they didn’t have the one I liked so I got a backup.

Waitress: (walking over to our table with a full beer) The bartender got the wrong beer for someone and I didn’t want this to waste. Do you want it?
Me: (scoffing) Like we’re gonna turn down free beer.
Her: (laughing) Here you go.

While the doc and I were chatting – about AI again, but that’s another entry – I heard a voice call out:

NFL Player: Is that Logan Lo from Scenic Fights?!
Me: Hey! What are you doing in town?
Him: Had to take care of some things. Flying out first thing in the morning.
Me: Was it something I said?

Afterward…

Doc: That seems to happen to you a lot.
Me: That’s the kinda stuff that happens when you live in the same neighborhood for 32 years.
Him: (shaking head) If you look around and thought, “I wonder whicha these guys have been here 32 years,” I doubt they’d pick you.
Me: I choose not to get old.

Speaking of choosing not to get old, came across the most fascinating article the other day.

Essentially, the article says that the modern LED lights we use everywhere these days have very little red light in them.

And you know those red-light masks that everyone is wearing to fight wrinkles and such? Well, our modern lights are the opposite of those.

Perhaps that’s one contributing factor to why I age so slowly, because a solid 1/3 of all the lights in my apartment are grow lights – that is to say, full-spectrum light bulbs that feed plants.

I do it because I have plants all over the pad, which I feel we need – we need some bit of nature in our lives, more than just the 30 seconds it takes you to walk past the one tree on the street.

Well, it turns out that they may have more benefit to me than just that.

But that’s how it should be.

When we were walking to meet up with my Friends Around the Way the other day, we walked past this ground floor unit with all these fake plants in the window.

Her: What’s wrong?
Me: That just drives me crazy.
Her: The plants?
Me: The fake plants. Everything is so plastic and fake these days. Look at all the light they get – they could *easily* grow real plants, but instead of imperfect real plants, they want plastic fake plants. If that doesn’t encapsulate the world today, I dunno what does.

Everything is so fake these days.

I think most people are hungry for real things but don’t realize it until it’s too late.

And I’m not just talking about plants.

Editor’s note: Assume I make a tiny commission via Amazon Associates or something with every product link I have. I gotta figure out a way that’s not annoying to put this warning on alla my posts.

Location: all over Manhattan today
Mood: productive
Music: When I was a child, I loved the nature. Now I barely see it (Spotify)
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Old (to me) New York

Ghost Signs

Me: Can you send me a message using that voice record thing you have on your phone?
Her: (puzzled) It’s just text-to-speech Logan.
Me: Well, I dunno if I have that on my phone.
Her: You definitely have that on your phone.
Me: You’re so snobby with your fancy advanced technology.
Her: It’s text-to-speech!

Probably one of my favourite things about living in NYC is seeing bits of old New York City peek through our modern lives.

Like, look at the old ferry terminal downtown against the modern skyscrapers behind it.

Or this ignored subway station entrance that looks like it came right outta the 1970s:

Or the cobblestone streets built with stones from at least 250 years ago:

Like when Sara and I took our walk downtown and we walked past alla these cast-iron buildings.

Some of which would tell you more about them if you looked a little closer.

I mean, even the coffee shop that Rain used to live above looks like it came from a different era.

Actually, walking around the city, I always try and if I can echoes of old New York.

Like this old school diner, we ran across in Tribeca the other day…Or this building below – which I found out later is the Corbin Building at the intersection of John Street and Broadway (13 John Street and 192 Broadway) – which I found on another one of our walks.It’s not mentioned in its Wikipedia entry, but I noticed that it had faint lettering that said, “Optical Journal.”

So, then I spent a good amount of time trying to figure that out – it turns out that there wasn’t an “Optical Journal” that operated there, it was literally just an ad according to this paper.

And those faint letterings of past NYC are called ghost signs.

Honestly, I love seeing ghost signs when I run across them, for reasons that I can’t really explain.

Maybe it’s because, after living in NYC for so long, I run into old ghosts on the regular and this feels like another form of that?

Dunno. But I like it.

Lemme know if you know of any ghost signs or glimpses into Old NYC?

Location: in my head again, wondering
Mood: alone
Music: Smoke my cigarettes – I should quit, I know (Spotify)
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Self-loathing is a huge problem

I have a theory

Me: Lemme tell you this joke I heard once.
Her: OK, whacha got?
Me: A genie appears to this fella one day and says, “I’ll give you a $1 million but only if the person you hate most in the world gets $2 million.” Before the genie can even finish, the guy says, “Done!” And the genie goes, “I’m surprised you agreed so quickly.” And the man shrugged and said, “Why wouldn’t I want $3 million?”

We all have these secret and semi-secret beliefs that we keep to ourselves or share only with a select few.

For example, my friends in real life know that I believe that people don’t eat nearly enough fermented foods and that a hallmark of what it means to be human is empathy.

These are the kinda things that either one:

    1. doesn’t normally bring up in everyday conversation, or
    2. shouldn’t bring up in everyday conversation.

But recently, Hunter Biden said something that I’ve believed for years decades, which is that the most bigoted and angry conservative politicians that vote against LGBTQ+ rights are secretly closeted homosexuals that are deeply unhappy.

And it’s their internalized struggles that cause them shame and manifest in angry obscene rhetoric and homophobic policies against the LGBTQ+ community.

So, personally, I’ve always had this theory that, the more homophobic you are, the more likely it is that you’re gay yourself and just hate yourself for it.

Time-and-time again, we’ve seen things that seem to bear this out.

I mean, the number of examples we have are ridic:

  • The fact that whenever there’s a large conservative meeting, there’s always an uptick in Grindr – a gay dating/hookup site – activity in that area.
  • The number of formerly anti-gay crusaders like John Smid, the leader of a homosexual conversion group that ended up marrying another male pastor like himself.
  • Ken Mehlman: The former chairman of the Republican National Committee, and manager of George W. Bush’s 2004 presidential campaign, heavily touted anti-same-sex marriage initiatives to bring out the vote. In 2010, he publicly came out as gay.
  • Roy Ashburn: A California State Senator that never met an anti-gay rights legislation he didn’t like. But, the same year as Ken Melman, he too came out after being arrested for a DUI while leaving a gay nightclub with another fella.
  • Randy Boehning: A North Dakota State Representative who also never missed a vote denying any rights to the LGBTQ+ community. He was outed in 2015 after a man he was messaging on Grindr released unsolicited explicit photos Boehning sent him.
  • Ed Schrock: A US Rep from Virginia who co-sponsored the Federal Marriage Amendment to ban same-sex marriage. He dropped outta politics in 2004 after an activist leaked audio recordings of Schrock trying to solicit sex from men.

Those are just politicians. There are so many other examples.

If I listed them all, we’d be here all day.

Legit, every time I hear someone talking about how much they hate this person or that group, I always think: This dude probably wishes he was that person or in that group.

I think that so much of the misery of the world today comes from self-loathing.

There’s no way you can tell me the orange pedo and Musk don’t – deep and not so deep down – hate themselves.

Because they had awful parents and awful parents create awful kids.

I think so much of the world would be better if there were just better parents who loved their kids no matter what or who they are.

Even if they’re inveterate liars.

Man, Billy and Gertrude really knew what they were talking about when they said, The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

For me, there’s at least one person whose side, I am always on.

Here’s hoping that he’ll be better at being human than I.

Him: Can we video chat?
Me: Oh man, papa’s got…you know what? Sure. But let’s keep it to 10 minutes, ok?
Him: OK!

Location: a downpour, right outside of a hotdog joint
Mood: hot and sticky
Music: I hear the words I’ve spoken and everything comes out wrong (Spotify)
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We’re all children until 33

It is I

Me: I don’t think you’d recognize me back then with my glasses and double chin.
Her: I’ve seen pictures! I mean, sometimes I look and think, “Is that Logan?” But it’s gotta be, he’s the fat one!
Me: …
Her: What? You were a fat kid! You say it all the time!

When did you truly first feel like an adult?

As a kid, I woulda thought that I’d feel like an adult at 21. What a laugh.

Being at my mom’s place last week was interesting for a host of reasons, not least of which was that she immediately fell back into being my mom circa the late 1980s/early 1990s, and I resisted – as much as I could – doing the same.

That got me to thinking about an article I read recently where scientists had identified five distinct ages of the human brain over a lifetime

Now, I always felt like I was pretending to be an adult alla way up until I was 33 or so. That’s when the Reporter and I broke up and I decided I wanted to see what it was like to just date a lotta different women.

And I brought you along. See, I turned 33 in 2006, 20 years ago. Right when I started this blog.

Well, it turns out that it wasn’t all in my head.

The latest research shows that we all have four major mental changes in our lives that occur at: nine, 32, 66 and 83.

I have definitely seen my own kid change radically these past two years.

And I know that 2005-2007 were the most impactful years of my life up until that point in terms of personal growth – when I was 32 to 34. I met Alison when I 35 and I often told her that she wouldn’t have liked me if she had met me just a few years earlier.

Because I wasn’t the me that she met.

In some ways, after she died, I feel I reverted back to my old self for a (long) while. I remember thinking familiar thoughts from long ago for a while that I don’t anymore.

I have to thank Sara for pulling me back, honestly.

Years ago, I told you the story about St. Augustine.

The story is that St. Augustine was once this womanizer who once famously prayed, da mihi castitatem et continentiam…sed noli (“Grant me chastity and continence…but not yet”). It should be noted that he’s also the patron saint of brewers, as an aside.

Anywho, he was a frequent visitor of prostitutes before he changed his life around. Afterward, he went back to visit an old place and ran into a prostitute he used to know in that biblical way. He continued on his way so she tried to get his attention for his usual and called out to him, Augustine, it is I.

To which, he replied without stopping, Yes, but it is not I.

It’s the opposite for me.

I feel like I’m more like the me that I was before everything went down with Alison and my dad than I have in…well, I guess two years before all the madness started.

The last day I can remember – which isn’t necessary the last day it actually happened – when I felt the way I do now was when I was in Hell’s Hundred Acres so many years ago.

It’s almost as if I was lost in woods in winter all this time and found… well, not my way out, exactly.

Rather, it’s like I found a welcoming cabin – still in the winter, still in the woods, but it warm, cozy, and familiar. I could rest before the next part of my journey.

I’m grateful for the rest.

And I wonder what will happen with my head when I turn 66 for my next journey.

I hope I will still write about my terribly pedestrian life.

And I hope you’ll still read about my terribly pedestrian life.

Location: the studio for Scenic Fights
Mood: ex. haus. ted.
Music: the man I was before (Spotify)
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The kid graduated from elementary school

Wanting but not ready to

I always try my best to keep all my entries in chronological order because it acts as my own personal journal – I can’t tell you how many times in a week I’ll search through the blog for some bit of information

But the issue here is that the kid’s graduation was actually a full four days before the last day of his school.

So, that means that the first part of this entry happened before the last entry about the baseball game and the second part, after.

The kid let me sleep in an extra hour but after he woke me up, we quickly made our way to the 84th Street where his graduation was taking place.

Sara took the day off to come and support him, which I really appreciated.

Unfortunately, we were running about five minutes late, which Sara and barely noticed but the kid was apoplectic.

Him: (upset) What if I miss it!? I can run there.
Me: Dude, it’s 85 degrees, the bus is here in two minutes, and it’s six blocks from here.
Him: But what if we miss it?!
Me: We’ll be fine. You gotta believe in the system.

Luckily, the bus did actually come in two minutes and we were there within 10.

Him: We made it!
Me: Never had a doubt, kid.

Before I knew it, they had called his name, and he was up on stage getting his “diploma” and shaking alla his teachers’ hands.

The last time he graduated from anything was five years ago and I had so many mixed feelings then.

This time, I still had them, but it was less so.

Alison would have cried because she would have been so happy and proud.

Like I was.

Afterward, I quickly hit up the gym for two reasons: (a) to work out and (b) to let the kid play for a bit with his friends.

Then I took him and everyone else down to Chinatown to celebrate.

Me: What are you in the mood for?
Him: Hand-pulled noodles and soup!
Me: In the summer?!
Him: You said I could get anything!
Me: (laughing) So I did. Steaming hot noodles and soup in the middle of summer it is.

The next three days were weird as he “graduated,” but he still had school.

A lotta his classmates – he said about half – had already started their summer vacations. After all, we went to a baseball game until about midnight the day before his last day of elementary school.

But I suppose that he’s like me in that he wanted to spend time with friends that he would no longer see on the regular.

Because it finally hit him that he would never be an elementary school student again.

And, truth be told, it finally hit me just now as I wrote these words: He’ll never be an elementary student again.

He’s growing up, as he’s supposed to and as I want him to.

But, while I want him to grow up, I’m not ready for my little boy to grow up yet.

Location: Asheville, NC, having some fried chix
Mood: conflicted
Music: I never knew me a better time and I guess, I never will (Spotify)
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