Tag: observations

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personal

Building up the opposition

Letter vs Spirit

When I was a kid, I loved the Support your local… films  with Support your Local Sheriff as my favourite of the two.

There’s a scene where an old crook named Pa Danby is trying to bust his middle-aged son Joe Danby outta jail.

Couldn’t find that scene but the above scene is before the bars are put in.

After the bars are installed, the dad tries to yank them out with Joe’s brothers and three horses, but the men are all flung from their horses and the bars don’t budge.

Joe: I could’ve told you it wouldn’t work.
Pa: Why not?
Joe: Because they set these bars in too solid.
Pa: What do you know about anything?
Joe: I helped to set ’em in.
Pa: You helped ’em put in those bars?!
Joe: I didn’t have nothin’ else to do.

Hold that thought.

Did you know that Jefferson Davis was the Secretary of War for the US right before he became the President of the Confederate States?

He built up and – vastly – improved the very army that he would face himself.

[Davis] suggested that the size of the regular army was too small and that its salaries were too meagre. Congress agreed and authorized four new regiments and increased its pay scale. He ended the manufacture of smoothbore muskets and shifted production to rifles, working to develop the tactics that accompany them. Id.

Been thinking about that fact and Support your Local Sheriff a lot lately because the kid and I’ve been arguing a lot lately.

He pushes back with me on a ton of things.

Me: You were supposed to call me.
Him: But you said call when I get out of school, you didn’t say right when I got out.
Me: True, but the point of your calling me was so I would know when to pick you up.

And I realize that it’s a delicate balance with having him be independent but also compliant – two wholly incompatible but necessary things to successfully function in society.

Balancing it properly leads me to no end of stress and us to no end of disagreements.

But this is my job, so I do it.

After all, my dad did it for me – and I’m sure he regretted teaching me to challenge everything.

Unlike Jefferson Davis, however, I’m fully aware that however I train him to behave, I’m gonna have to deal with myself, one way or another.

Because it’s the destiny of all fathers and sons to be adversarial on some things down the line, no matter how much we support and care for one another.

That’s just how things are.

But I’ll always be on his side, whether he realizes it or not.

Here’s hoping that I’m doing it right.

Him: You didn’t say that! You just said to call you after school.
Me: (sighing) Fine. But the next thing we gotta chat about is the letter of the law vs the spirit of the law…

Not looking forward to the teenage years.

Location: My incredibly dusty room sans bathroom
Mood: beat tired
Music: you start me up before breakfast – how about we fight fire with fire? (Spotify)
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Making changes around here

The key participle

During the time between the Firecracker’s birthday and my own, I let myself have one piece of dessert, an absolutely killer paleo muffin/naked cupcake by my sister.

Whenever I go see her, she’s always nice enough to give me one of her baked goods – which are invariably awesome – and I knew I’d be having this for my birthday.

This is where I am, excitement-wise, right now.

Electrician: You want me to just wire it up or wire it up and install it?
Me: Wait, you can install this?
Him: (looking puzzled) Yeah. Why not?
Me: Well, alright!

Continuing the spring cleaning around here, I’m making a ton of changes to my back bathroom.

That bathroom had this super dark, brass – instead of silver – backed mirror that just about everyone who sees thinks is cool looking but wholly impractical.

Alison always hated it, and the Firecracker was never a fan.

Had meant to replace it for decades but never did.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, I ordered a lighted LED mirror to replace it and was planning on having an electrician do the wiring and a general contractor/handyman install the mirror itself.

But he and his partner were able to both hook it up and install it.

Once things are settled, I’ll take a pic of the new mirror for you to see.

Making a lotta changes around here. I’ll put up pics when we’re done but my bathroom will (hopefully) look quite different soon(ish).

I moved into my building close to 30 years ago, which blows the mind.

Then, in 2004, my college buddy Buckley and I bought my pad and one of the first things we had to get was a shower rod.

That’s the one we installed some 21 years ago; it did its job all these years without issue.

Tossing it, finally.

It’s weird. It’s just an inanimate object that served a function.

Yet I hate change and like things to always stay status quo. Tossing it was more difficult than you might imagine.

But I’m trying my best to recognize that change is inevitable and it’s always better to accept change than fight it.

“Trying,” being the key participle here.

Location: listening to hammers in my back bathroom
Mood: trying to accept it
Music: love to go back to when we played as kids but things changed, that’s the way it is (Spotify)
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Logan’s 52

Looking down the ladder

Him: Sometimes it feels like everyone’s doing so much better than me.
Me: That’s cause you’re spending alla your time looking up the ladder at everyone that has more than you. You need look down every once in a while and see how much more you have than the rest of the world. 

This fella once said, We are what and where we are because we have first imagined it.

    • Living in Queens, there was once a time I dreamed of living in Manhattan.
    • Growing up as a fat kid, there was once a time I dreamed of being physically fit.
    • Being bullied throughout childhood, there was once a time I dreamed of living knowing how to fight.
    • Being a friendless kid as well, there was once a time I dreamed of having friends.
    • Being a fat, clumsy, nerdy, dude, there was once a time I thought I’d never be with a beautiful intelligent woman.
    • After struggling for years to have a kid, there was once a time I woulda given anything to have my son.
    • And I never imagined that I’d be part of a creative team that’s close to hitting a million followers…le wha?

I’ve found a lotta peace in my noisy brain these past few months because I’ve really been focusing on two things:

    1. That quote above where I realize that everything I have right now is stuff I once dreamed to have and then spent years struggling to get.
    2. Instead of being upset that I’m so far away from my next/latest dream, I’m realizing that I’m actually right in the middle of living the last dream I had.

I’m so grateful for all the things and people that I have in my life that I never thought I’d ever have.

Pretty sure that if 14-year-old me saw 52-year-old me, he’d be both shocked and impressed.

TBH, when I really think about it, 52-year-old me is shocked and impressed with my life.

We should all be shocked and impressed with our lives.

Location: earlier yesterday, Kalahari water park in PA
Mood: like I said, shocked and impressed
Music: looked great for nearly 53. Well, lucky you found me (Spotify)
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5 Columbus Circle

Did you know that you have scoliosis?

Do you have any place or time that fills you with dread thinking about it?

For me, it’s 5 Columbus Circle here in Manhattan.

Always walked in with a fully developed sense of reality, only to leave disabused of that reality when I realize that what I think is true, isn’t true at all.

My first – positive, actually – example of this was way back in 2008, when I finally found out after months of waiting that I didn’t have testicular cancer.

Remember walking into that appointment fulla dread, and leaving feeling so light and relieved.

Then came alla the darkness there.

The first was in 2011, where Alison lost the first of six pregnancies.

Each one was awful for me, and soul-crushing for her – two were ectopic that required surgery.

It was not the last with her as she was there several more times.

Then, in 2012, I was told that I probably had a torn ACL there, which was confirmed.

I spent the next two years rehabing it (the picture in that entry is directly outside the building).

Then, in 2014, had another kinda spot of good-ish news when went in and was told that I needed to get a colonoscopy there but that turned out ok as well.

Between 2015 and 2017, Alison went there a number of times for tests and such for her cancer.

None of those experiences were good nor happy.

I hated even being near the place.

Two years ago, I walked in and was told that (a) I had massive bone spurs in my hand, and (b) I’d broken no less than seven of my ten fingers in my life.

And then earlier this week, I walked in after three months of trying to get x-rays and/or an MRI on my back and I was floored.

Like always, I was given a complete shock that shook my sense of self.

 

Her: OK, well you definitely don’t have cancer.
Me: (breathing in deeply) OK, that’s good but it sounds like there’s a “but” about to happen…
Her: (purses lips and nods slightly) Yes, well…did you know that you have scoliosis?
Me: What?! No, wait, I don’t have scoliosis.
Her: I’m afraid you do. Here, let me show you…

And she whipped out the x-rays you see above.

You can see the curve in my spine.

Evidently, I’ve had that my whole life.

BUT, because I’ve been working out my whole life, I never really noticed it – until recently, that is.

Me: Is that why I’m in so much pain? Like a few months ago, I could barely walk down the street when it rained.
Her: Partially. You have a lot of arthritis in your back as well, and you can see in the slide on the right where your disc slipped.
Me: Is there anything that can be done?
Her: Just PT, I’m afraid. The (main doctor) will get you a script for a much higher dose of celebrex than you’re on right now. (later) You have a lot of injuries.
Me: (shrugging) Just clumsy, I guess.

Like I said, I walked in with one sense of what my reality was and left wholly with another one.

At least I don’t have cancer.

That’s always a win, despite all the other discouraging news.

Location: home all day, nursing my back
Mood: blargh
Music: read the signs from your head to your toes (Spotify)
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Where’s my flying car?

A Skybridge to Nowhere

Him: What is that?
Me: That’s a skybridge. When I was a kid, people thought that – by 2025 – we’d all have flying cars so they would build these bridges between buildings so people could get around easier if we were all flying around. There are still a few left in NYC.

The kid noticed the below skybridge one late night when we were out with the Firecracker just outside Penn Station.

Now we’re on a quest to visit some of them if we can.

From ScoutingNY

Learned how to speed read around middle school.

I’d already read pretty quickly but I read something once that said that the simplest way to speed read is to read with your finger, but for a peculiar reason.

Take the sentence:

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

Most people don’t read it like that, they read it like this:

The quick quick brown fox fox jumped jumped over the the lazy dog dog.

They go back at least one word, sometimes two.

You probably do it too. Try it.

Just read a sentence with your finger and force your finger to constantly move forward.

At first, it’s a bit disconcerting but you get used to it after a few weeks.

That alone should increase your reading speed, significantly.

Nowadays, I probably read normally around 650 words a minute with full comprehension and as much as 750 if I really focus.

Now, I’m not telling you this to brag but to say that I was sitting bed one day watching this clip of Bill Barr commenting on meeting flat earthers.

It allowed me to finally answer the question: Where’s my flying car?

By Mr.choppers – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=152037030

See, I assumed that, by now, I’d be flying around in my car. Instead, we got this monstrosity.

What happened?

I think that humans take two steps forward and one step back.

Constantly.

Like we got rid of the measles.

Because most people have no memories of just how horrific the measles were.

Then fucking morons like RFK Jr come along and say that measles aren’t a big deal because they have no fucking clue.

Then a lotta people die.

Then we gotta figure out the measles again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

The Arabs were once some of the most brilliant people on the planet, giving us algebra (al-jabr) and the House of Wisdom, among other things.

Then religious zealots took over and burned books and so much knowledge was lost.

Although, to be fair, this happened everywhere: China, England, Nazi Germany, even right here in the good ole US of A.

The US even had one just last year.

That’s why people, particularly the willfully ignorant ones, are such a disappointment to me.

There’s no end to stupid people doing stupid things and other stupid people cheering them on.

Him: Why don’t we have any flying cars, papa?
Me: Because there are so many stupid people in the world, kid. For every two steps forward, we make as a society, we take one step backward.
Him: Awww…a flying car would be cool.
Me: It really would be.

As I was writing this entry, this article just came out about almost all Tesla Cybertrucks needing to be recalled.

You cannot make this stuff up.

Location: The sunny upper west side
Mood: disappointed
Music: Boy, I don’t understand (Spotify)
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Got injured…again

The only heart I want

Her: You got injured?! Again?
Me: Yes. But in my defense, I’m getting injured less often…ish.

Was at the gym the other day and this younger fella, whom I’m friendly with, just ripped my arm and almost broke it.

The last time we rolled, I could tell I was frustrating him, so he was intent on winning this round.

That’s the thing; I care a lot less about winning and more about just improving in general, so this was annoying, to say the least.

Afterward, the instructor came by.

Him: Is anything broken?
Me: I’m not sure yet.
Him: (laughs) That’s the perfect answer. Get some ice on it.

So, I did.

It wasn’t broken but it was super sore and swollen.

It also meant that I had to sit around at home for about a week-and-a-half.

Whenever I can’t go to the gym, I actually have to try and eat well since I gain weight pretty much immediately when I can’t work out.

My Scenic Fights producer even commented the other day:

Him: You’ve been gaining a little weight.
Me: Wha?!
Cameraman: (shaking head) Logan? You’re outta your mind.

Anywho, as for eating well, I made a slew of roasted spicy chicken hearts the other day.

Someone convinced me to try some years ago and I got used to making them as quick and easy protein snacks.

Honestly, they taste oddly good since they’re pure protein and meat, but I get that it’s an acquired taste.

The Firecracker, for example, is not a fan.

Me: Hey, do you wanna try some of these roasted chicken hearts I made?
Her: Baby, the only heart I want you to give me is yours.
Me: But these are roasted with lao gan ma.

In any case, soon enough, the below poor food choices will all be mine once again.

As soon as I can move my arm.

Location: planting strawberries with the boys on the windowsill
Mood: ache-y
Music: But I survived I′m still breathin′ (Spotify)
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Goodnight, Peter

He was my friend and I’ll miss him

Her: What are you writing about?
Me: Peter.
Her: Oh, did you know him well enough to write about him?
Me: Well, his life is his story to tell. I’m just gonna write about my life and his role in it.

Pausing the usual nuthin again.

Almost exactly 17 years ago, I wrote about my buddy Mike, who was a regular in my kali class.

Older fella, I still remember that Mike had a six-pack at 65+.

Mike was the first guy that I knew as a friend that died.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t the last.

Mike died before social media so I’ve forgotten what he looks like.

But he was my friend, and I miss him.

Peter Moretti was like Mike in that he would always come to class and be a bit confused and not get certain moves because, like Mike, he was older.

But he never stopped coming and never stopped trying to be better.

This is him just a few days before he died.

His dedication, plus his incredibly easy-going and kind nature, was how I always saw him.

His Facebook feed was/is fulla things like him feeding birds like woodpeckers and ducks.

After knowing Peter a few years, I found that he was a karate instructor and fighter who could do things that I only dreamed about being able to do.

In fact, he just posted a buncha photos of himself as a young man two days before he died.

 I realize now that Mike and Peter are essentially me.

They were both skilled and dangerous fighters that were once in peak physical shape.

But time takes its toll on alla us.

I figure that, in a few years, I’ll be the guy that people have to help with certain moves or things.

And they too will be surprised that I was once anything but an older fella.

In any case, I just saw Peter maybe two weeks ago. I worked with him some.

We weren’t close, at all, but we got along well.

He died in his sleep and left a buncha people that loved him and will miss him.

That’s a good way to go, if you’ve gotta go, I say.

Goodnight, Peter.

You’ve worked hard enough, and you’ve earned your rest.

Her: You don’t want to make his death about you.
Me: I get that, but I also don’t ever feel right telling someone else’s story.
Her: That’s true.
Me: It’s a delicate balance. I suppose the main point is that the people in our lives are part of the fabric of it and Peter was a part of mine. I’ll never see him again and he was someone that I always liked seeing.

Location: last night, the surgeon’s, drinking up a ton of rum
Mood: wistful
Music: You’ll have to learn, just like me and that’s the hardest way (Spotify)
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A new daily driver

Nuthin but steel and oil

Steel and the Surgeon, since at least the late 90s, have turned to me for advice on all things tech.

But when it comes to food, I generally speak to Steel first, then Bryson and Pac, although I mainly hit up Bryson for Japanese food tips and Pac for Korean.

Now, when Alison first got sick, one of the first things I did was to toss/donate alla our Teflon cookware and replace it was “safer” ceramic cookware.

It’s dented on one side, but no metal utensil has ever touched it so it’s remarkably slick/non-stick. I’m loathe to toss it.

The above is a “safe” ceramic pan and was the pan I pretty much used daily for just about everything since Alison got sick.

It’s slicker than a greased pig running downhill BUT I still don’t trust it completely, despite it being ceramic.

Now, the last time I was at Steel’s he showed me his daily driver – a seasoned carbon steel pan.

20 years ago, I had an old cast iron pan that I loved and lent to Rain for our Bachelor Cooking series.

That was the last time I ever saw it.

A few years later, I picked up these two enameled cast iron pans and generally use those for steaks and burgers.

They are buttery smooth to cook with – I’m exceedingly proud of the season that I’ve gotten on then.

Look at that black glossy sheen on these pans – they are incredibly non-stick.

But I was intrigued with Steel’s super lightweight carbon steel pan.

Me: How do I use it?
Him: (shrugging) Just like cast-iron. You wash it after every use with salt and hot water, apply some oil, wipe it down, and put it away.

The idea of using a pan that’s naturally non-stick, but doesn’t weigh a ton like my cast-iron, really got me.

I just cooked eggs with it so excuse the messy stove.

To this end, I picked up my own lightweight carbon steel pan and have been using that regularly.

The above is what it looked like day 1 after I cooked once with it and then gave it a quick scrub.

And below is after at least six-seasonings and daily cooking; I’m proud to say that it’s pretty much the same level of non-stick as my original daily driver, above.

Because it’s carbon steel and not cast iron, it’s far less porous than cast iron and I can’t seem to get the seasoning to look even like it does on the cast iron.

But, looks aside, it’s just as non-stick as my old regular cooking pan and I know that there’s nuthin there but steel and oil.

What I love the most about it is that it should last forever and I can give it to the kid someday.

Here’s hoping he’ll be as nerdy about these kinda things as I am.

Her: …guess his name!
Me: I don’t think…
Her: It’s the best name for a chef. Are you ready? His name was…Chef…Bacon!
Me: (amused) That is a good name. The next best name? Chef Cured Meats.
Her: Or Chef Spiral Ham?
Me: We can stop this now.
Her: (claps and rubs hands together) I’m just getting started.

OK, maybe I shouldn’t hope for that.

Location: W 72nd and Broadway, watching the kid cross the street by himself
Mood: super anxious
Music: My sugar’s the sweetest around. (Spotify)
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First Chinese New Year Dinner

In the blink of an eye

Chinese New Year is probably the most important holiday for the Chinese.

I’d wanted to go see my mom that night, but I wasn’t able to for various reasons.

But I’d mentioned to the Firecracker how important it was, and she said we should just do a celebration here.

Her: What are we gonna have?
Me: Well, traditionally, you’re supposed to have: (a) A whole fish, (b) noodles, (c) dumplings, and (d) oranges – among other things.
Her: Wait, a whole fish? Like, with the head?
Me: Yup! It’ll be great.
Her: (hesitant)
Me: Food should look like food, baby. 

Legit, Americans eat so much processed food that real food looks weird to them.

Once met a woman that wouldn’t eat fried chicken because it looked too much like the animal it came from.

That relationship didn’t last long.

In any case, because there’s a new Korean supermarket near my pad now, most of what I needed was pretty easy to get.

Plus, I had just made some chicken stock the other day when I was making White Cut Chicken for everyone so that saved a lotta work.

The kids mainly liked the noodles and the store-bought dumplings, but I was just happy they enjoyed it.

The red envelopes were the biggest hits, I suppose.

Him: Two-dollar bills!?! What are those worth?
Me: Hmmm…two dollars?

Here’s hoping we’ll get to do this for a while.

If you wanna make white cut chicken, which is essentially a very gently poached chicken, try this recipe here.

It’s pretty foolproof and what my parents used to make us kids literally once a week while we were growing up.

@177milkstreet Perfect chicken is a joyous, lifelong pursuit, and there are many paths to success. Start at Chinese white-cooked chicken, which appeared in the very first issue of our magazine. Chris Kimball deems it “idiot-proof” (for this is social, after all, and we gotta get the views), but it really is a must-learn fundamental in your change the way you cook repertoire. Get the recipe for Chinese White-Cooked Chicken with Ginger-Soy Dressing via the link in our profile → @177milkstreet #milkstreetrecipe #poachedchicken #chickenrecipe #dinner #dinnerrecipe #easyrecipe #chicken #cooking ♬ original sound – Milk Street

Location: earlier tonight, a Japanese BBQ after the kid’s recital
Mood: frozen again
Music: you know I care but it’s so cold (Spotify)
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Not everybody

Two good samaratins pulling a guy off the tracks at Times Square the other day.

Joan Murray survived a 14,500 Foot Fall

Last year, I saw a guy fall into the tracks at Times Square.

Two fellas immediately hopped into the tracks to save him, which I thought was pretty admirable.

But whenever I see something like that, I think of an old joke that goes something like this:

A songbird was flying one winter day when it got so cold that he dropped right outta the clear blue sky onto a farm.

The bird lay there helpless and injured until a horse walked by and, not noticing the small bird, dropped a huge steaming pile of hot poop on him.

The poop, however, was warm and made the bird feel much better – so much better, in fact, that he started to sing. But then a cat heard him sing, found him, and dug him out.

The bird was happy to be outta the poop, but the cat didn’t give him a chance to thank him because the cat gobbled him up and went on with his day.

There are three (shitty) morals to his story:

    1. Not everybody who shits on you is your enemy.
    2. Not everybody who digs you outta shit is your friend.
    3. When you’re in deep shit, shut up.
This is a picture of when a bird pooped on the Firecracker – which happens with alarming regularity.

Now, there’s actually a real life version of this joke about a woman named Joan Murray who survived a 14,500 foot fall, which is almost three miles of free fall straight down.

See, she was sky diving and BOTH her parachutes failed.

Normally, this would be just a death sentence, but she ended up crashing into a huge ant hill – but not just any ant hill, a fire ant anthill.

If you don’t know what a fire ant is, it’s a venomous ant that can these intensely painful stings.

Normally, if you fell onto a fire ant hill, that would be at the very least, an incredibly painful experience – most likely you’d end up in the hospital.

In Joan’s case, however, the softness of the mound coupled with the intense pain of the venom kept her alive with the former softening her impact and the latter keeping her heart beating.

She ended up in a coma with shattered bones on the right side of her body and a few lost teeth, which required 20 reconstructive surgeries, 17 blood transfusions, a metal rod into her right leg, and 5-inch spikes grafted onto into her pelvis.

But she survived.

And she survived precisely because these fire ants were trying to kill her.

Joan actually died in 2022, 23 years after her accident, of cancer (unfortunately – fucking cancer…) with nary a parachute nor fire ant in sight.

(c) Unilad

I’m telling you this story because I see how the kid sees the world: In simple terms of black and white.

Children and the stupid see things so simply binary.

It’s difficult for me to figure out how to explain these subtle nuances in the world, especially in light of world events, to him and, well, generally stupid people, who are uncomfortable with grey.

Soupy grey is never appealing, but it’s still more realistic than stark black-and-white.

Him: If Donald Trump lies all the time, how did he become president?
Me: (whistling) Hoo-boy. That’s gonna take a little while to explain. Not now though.

Location: downright balmy 40+ degree NYC
Mood: not completely frozen
Music: it’s your heart, it’s alive, it’s pumping blood (Spotify)
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