Tag: observations

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Being special is the inverse of being happy

I want him happy

Me: Do you want me to wait with you?
Him: No, it’s ok, papa. I’m fine. I’ll just get on the bus and meet some people.

Woke up bright and early the other day to bring my kid to middle-of-nowhere Brooklyn where he caught a bus to another state for his first sleepaway camp.

He was fine. I was a mess.

It’s a special camp for kids that have lost an immediate family member – mother, father, brother, sister, etc.

An old and dear friend of mine told me about it, whose name is – fittingly – Heal.

She’s actually on the board of the group because she too lost a close family member as a child, so she walked me through the process of applying.

Well, he made it in and is currently living his absolute best life, at least based on all the pictures I’ve been seeing.

It’s a special camp for special kids, which makes sense, because my son is special.

Certainly, he’s special to me, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

    • He could read at 18 months.
    • He plays the guitar like a teenager.
    • He just beat me in poker (granted, a well-trained poodle could probably beat me in poker but just put a pin on that for now).

He’s also the kid that doesn’t have a mother.

That is the thing that – unfortunately – makes him special in a way that no one wants.

When I was a kid, I aspired to be special.

I was/am the middle child and probably the biggest nobody until I was in college.

But it was over a college summer working in at some office that I realized that there seemed to be an inverse relationship between the special and the happy.

The happy people were the middle-management nobodies that deeply loved their spouses and kids, and their innocuous little hobbies.

Conversely, the special people were either always trying to convince people that they were still special or – probably much worse – convince themselves that they were still special.

The special people were rarely happy.

And the happy people were rarely special.

Seeing my kid blissfully unaware that he’s at all special, but for the fact he only has a dad, means that he’s also blissfully happy.

But he’s been noticing that he’s special lately, because he’s the only one of all his peers with only one living parent.

It was because of this that I sent him to this camp – so he would know he wasn’t alone in the world.

If I had to pick one, special or happy, I would pick happy every day and twice on Sunday.

God, I just want him to be safe and happy.

He’s such a good little kid.

I’d pay any amount right now, if I could know that, long after I’m gone, that he’s safe and happy.

And I’d trade all he could possibly be – brilliant, famous, wealthy, respected, everything – for him to just be that.

Me: Alright, please be careful, ok?
Him: (nodding) I will. Don’t worry. See you next week.

Location: 7AM, the gym, trying to wake up
Mood: pacing
Music: I’m ready to show that I’m no ordinary (Spotify)
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The humblest, even

Two sets of friends

Despite my loving French onion soup – which is definitely in my top five soups – I only recently discovered that the Firecracker never had any.

Me: You never had any?!
Her: Why do you do that, Logan? You ask me something, I answer, and you are always shocked at my answer.
Me: Because I’m always shocked at your answer!

Realizing this, I spent a little too much time trying to find a joint around me that made some, to no avail.

So, I figured since I couldn’t find it for her, decided to try making some.

Me: Well? Whaddoyou think?
Her: OMG, this is so good!
Me: Yeah, you seriously hit the jackpot with me – easy on the eyes AND I can cook, too.
Her: (rolls eyes) And so humble.
Me: The humblest, even.

Been home more lately just because my back has just been killing me.

That, plus some idiot at my gym torqued my ankle with a hyper-aggressive lock and probably tore some part of my instep.

I don’t recommend it.

I’ve noticed that for years decades, really, I’ve had two sets of friends:

    • The injured
    • The uninjured

At any given moment I will have (most of which are because I’m clumsy):

    • A herniated disk
    • A broken finger (I’ve broken seven outta ten)
    • A cracked rib (3x)
    • A torn shoulder
    • A hyperextended elbow (20+x)
    • A sprained ankle (20+x)
    • A broken tooth (6x)
    • A broken toe (2x)
    • A torn knee
    • A ripped lip
    • A cracked jaw

Considering that X percentage of my friends fight regularly and Y percentage don’t, this makes sense.

Yet, recently, I’ve been slowly realizing that I have almost no uninjured friends left.

It’s not so much that I’ve got more fighter friends, it’s that age is breaking down the bodies of my non-fighter friends.

And yet, I also see that they deal with these injuries very differently.

Most of my fighter friends are more what I might term “bummed” that they’re injured while my non-fighter friends seem more upset that they’re dealing with this sorta thing.

Anywho, merely an observation.

Him: Logan! How have you been?
Me: Still topside and breathing, although my back is crap.
Him: Don’t even get me started on my back. Oh, and I ate a nasty wrist lock the other day.
Me: Yeah, this idiot at my gym…

Location: hanging with Buckley et al a little north of here
Mood: ex-haus-ted
Music: Baby, I’m cookin’ with gas (Spotify)
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Everything’s moving at lightning speed

Plus jewelry in Chinatown

Him: What was that?!
Me: What was what?
Him: You didn’t feel that?
Me: (puzzled) No. (later) Whoa, ok, I felt that! I think we just had an earthquake.

The kid was settling down for the night when the August 2nd, 2025 east coast earthquake hit.

Nothing really happened in the pad, although I did do a cursory inspection around the place.

It’s kinda crazy how much the world’s changing yet we’re all a bit inured to it all.

I had to run an errand in Chinatown for a relative and I also promised the kid we’d head down so he could have some pasteries, so the Firecracker, he, and I all headed down the other day.

While we were there, the Firecracker found some jewelry that she fell in love with, so I bought her a little something. I’ll tell you more about that someday.

As for the kid, well, he got what he really wanted all along.

The Firecracker ended up hanging out in Chinatown to do her own thing while the kid and headed back – but not before stopping by a soccer store so he could check it out.

He’s grown a solid inch since March, which is already something I’m already trying to wrap my head around, but more than that, he’s got a lotta opinions now.

And we’re doing things like checking out stores for stuff for him to buy.

When I was a kid, I remember my mom telling someone that we were growing up so fast whereas I remember everything being such a draaaaaaaggg…

Now I get it.

Everything’s moving at lightning speed, and I’m worried it’ll all be over before I realize it.

In my head, the kid looks like the 18-month-old above.

But he’s not anymore and I feel so many different things all at once about that.

Location: home, organizing a ton of boxes
Mood: nostalgic
Music: all over, I feel the earth move under my feet (Spotify)
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What is home if not the people that call it that?

Never having a home

Speaking of home, movies like the Warriors – which is based on a true story that happened almost 3,000 years ago – can be countlessly retold because the themes of longing, home, and survival are universal.

Hold that thought.

While I enjoy the modern takes on the Incredible Hulk – particularly the 2008 Ed Norton reboot – for someone that grew up with the 1978 television series, The Incredible Hulk, it’s very different.

Not just in terms of technology, production values, and the like, but the thrust of the show itself.

Essentially, the modern movies make stories about a god-like/monster-like hero, the television show was mainly about the other part of the Hulk, Dr. Banner.

There, Banner is shown as a drifter, and I thought that the show was the story of a man with a mindless monster inside of him.

As I got older, I got wiser and thought it was the story of a man searching for a home with a monster inside of him.

But this was wrong also, I realized.

It was the story of man that can never have a home, ever. He must always be on the run and can never relax or settle down.

Not my copyright, obvs.

Because the moment he finds someone to create a home with, that person will forever be in danger of the monster inside him.

So, he can’t have any relationships – no friends, no lovers, no children, no one.

Which is why the ending scene was always of Banner walking alone, to nowhere, with nothing but the clothes on his back and a duffle bag.

Banner can never go home because he can never have a home. He will never have a home.

So, there’s no home to find.

Because what is home if not the people that call it that along with you?

And he has no one to call it that with him.

It’s such a tragic story and can probably explain how a primetime television series about a big, green, comic book character in the 70s lasted five years.

In any case, just a random thought.

Think I’m finally starting to understand the world a bit.

Which isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Oh, by the way, my son’s home.

Him: I’m home!
Me: (laughing) Yes you are!

Location: NJ, getting my treasure
Mood: steamy
Music: There’s a monster in me who shut down (Spotify)
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Tent or Cave?

Troglodyte

Me: I think all housing is either a tent or a cave. Like a modern home is a modern tent and a modern apartment is just a modern cave.
Firecracker: What would you call a stone house then?
Me: That’s still a cave. It’s like when you say all foods are soups or sandwiches, although I think that there’s a third category of salads.
Her: (shaking head) No those are soups. But I think there are a lot more things than tents and caves.
Me: Disagree on both points!

For years, I lived in my parents’ basement and then lived in my own basement for a while.

Told someone once that I was an actual troglodyte – which is someone that lives in a cave – in that an apartment is essentially a modern cave.

She disagreed as well.

But really, people have been living in caves since the dawn of time and things don’t really change, we just get used to things.

Like I live in a cave in the middle of Manhattan.

There are worse places to be.

The kid’s coming back this week and I’m super excited. There was a long time where I thought that home was wherever Alison was.

Suppose that’s a major reason I become unmoored after she died. I lost my sense of self.

But I’ve gotten better all these years because home is where the kid is now.

And the Firecracker and her son round out what home now means to me.

In fact, the Firecracker and I talk a lot about maybe getting a trailer and a car and traveling across the country when the kids go off to college.

Someday, maybe.

Until then, think I’ll make the kid some pancakes when he comes back for brekkie in our little cave we call home.

Me: You’re back in two days!
Him: I know! I can’t wait.
Me: Me neither, kiddo. Me neither.

Location: almost home
Mood: hot, hot, hot, hot
Music: don’t matter where we go, we always find our way back home (Spotify)
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Boston 2025: Chinatown

And a Bánh Mì

In my last entry, my buddy CoB posted the following on FB:

What’s funny is that I got no less than three comments that day about my shirt while in Boston and regularly get a couple here and there in NYC.

It’s funny how certain things have a universality to them.

After we got up from our quickie nap, we got ourselves together and walked a few blocks to Boston’s Chinatown, where we first stopped off to get some soup dumplings…

…before we tried to crash a buncha older Chinese people playing cards.

Her: They’re playing Big Two!
Me: We should ask them if you can play.
Her: I’m down!

We ended up not doing that, although I do think it’d be hilarious if we actually did try to crash as the Firecracker plays to win.

I was still hungry though, of course, so we picked up some absolutely killer bahn mi’s from a local joint and some Thai iced tea and brought it all back to our hotel lobby…

…where we got some drinks at the bar and played some Scrabble.

The wild nights of Logan and The Firecracker know no bounds.

In any case, she won.

Like I said, she plays to win.

There was more but we can end this entry here.

Location: home, icing my ankled
Mood: irritated
Music: We were in love and lovin’ it (Spotify)
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The 8th Category

Poop Cruise!

We did binge Andor – which you should really do as well, honestly excellent writing – but we also saw Poop Cruise.

Now, if you were ever hesitant to go on a cruise, I would strongly recommend that you not watch it.

But it was pretty compelling, and we both found ourselves – probably because we were killing an entire bottle of wine between the two of us – randomly yelling out, Poop Cruise! for no real reason.

Me: Can I pay you a compliment?
Her: Sure!
Me: I always waaay overestimate how much time something will take when you help me out.

One of the reasons we could watch both was that we massively upgraded the home network.

One of the first things that Buckley did when he moved into the pad with me over a quarter-of-a-century ago was hardwire the whole pad for ethernet.

At the time, the fastest speed was gigabit, or 1,000 megabits per second (Mbps), which you could only get with Cat5e, the fastest commercially available ethernet cable at the time.

Regular Cat5 could do something called “Fast Ethernet,” which is about 100 Mbps.

We wired the pad with a combo of the two – with a couplea branches using Cat4 – never dreaming we’d ever need gigabit speeds or greater.

This is roughly what my room looked like 24 years ago – I saw 9/11 unfold sitting on that bed, watching that TV.

Then, during COVID, I decided to rip out all the Cat5 and Cat4 and just do Cat5e everywhere.

Well, we had a lightning strike here about a month ago that dropped us from roughly 500 Mbps to 80 Mbps, which was just awful (it’s less than 1/10th a gigabit)

So, this past weekend, the Firecracker and I both tore out every single centimeter of cable that Buckley and I laid out 25+ years ago and replaced it with 90% Cat8 cable, which has a theoretical maximum speed of 40,000 Mbps (!!!!).

AND because the Firecracker’s just so damn organized and focused, what we thought was gonna take the whole day, we were able to bang out in just four hours.

Afterwards, I tested everything and was pleasantly surprised at the results: While the cabling can handle up to 40,000 Mbps, with our current routers, we topped out at “only” 113 MB/s, which is just under a gigabit at 904 Mbps.

This is compared to the 80 Mbps that we were working with the past month.

Honestly, this was the best possible outcome since we were approaching theoretical limits on the current hardware we had.

This is roughly what it looked like 15 years ago when Alison was here and kept it tidy.

Because we finished so quickly, we also decided to clean out TWO closets, and managed to replace the hoses on the washer/dryer as well (you’re supposed to change your washer hoses every five years, so if you’ve not done that, you should).

In return for her help, I picked up some Xi’an Famous Food, from around the way – it just opened up less than a year ago and I’d been to the more famous one in Flushing and wanted to try it out.

The food was absolutely killer, and it was a great way to close out the day.

Me: Hey, thanks so much for all the help today.
Her: For you? Anytime.

Location: the gym, taking an elbow to my hose
Mood: ache-y
Music: got sunshine even on a cloudy day (Spotify)
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Manhattan Street Fairs

The struggle of the street fair

Probably, one of the best things about living in the heart of Manhattan is that there’s always something going on and you usually end up just stumbling across it.

Case-in-point: The other day, the kids were both away and the Firecracker and I found ourselves alone, looking for something to do.

Her: We can go downtown to get some chicken parm sandwiches, maybe?
Me: Sure, but I just saw that there’s a street fair not too far from us.
Her: Perfect, I didn’t really need the chix parm, I just wanted to be outside.

So, off we went.

The main thing you do at a NYC street fair is struggle over what – of all the amazing looking food – are you gonna ultimately eat?

Her: How about bratwurst? You love German food.
Me: I do! But I don’t wanna end up stuffing myself with something and end up wishing I ate something else instead.

That’s pretty much how I deal with all street fairs: I process every decision through FOMO, or, Fear Of Missing Out.

Honestly, though, it’s probably for the best as the stuff I’m always interested in is all the stuff I shouldn’t be eating.

These two fellas were super nice and very persuasive, but we managed to walk away without having a carb bomb.

There are other things there, like cool knickknacks, like these photo coasters, which I’ve told you about before.

Me: The plastic fell off on the back of some of them. Can I put them back on?
Seller: Wait, plastic? I don’t think you got them from me, then. I’ve not used plastic feet in over a decade.
Me: (laughing) That’s when I bought them from you!

In the end, despite all the amazing looking food everywhere, we were good and didn’t buy anything bad.

It was just a nice day to take a walk with one’s fave person that one’s not blood related to.

Location: my desk, wishing my back would stop being a jerk
Mood: ache-y
Music:  the stupid things I do for you or just for a taste (Spotify)
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Witty Staircases

L’esprit de l’escalier

I pride myself on being able to say the occasional witty retort.

Like when I was arguing politics with someone…

Him: You know, you should just admit that he has some good points.
Me: Well, then we’d both be wrong.

…or when I was dating this super clumsy girl who was essentially battering me every time we got together.

Her: When you are a klutz, you get hurt. When I’m a klutz, you get hurt.
Me: Have you considered *not* assaulting me.
Her: No.
Me: Well, at least you’re consistent.

But there are plenty of times where I think of the perfect thing to say waaaaaay after the fact.

The French call that L’esprit de l’escalier or staircase wit.

It was coined by an 18th-century French philosopher, who described the phenomenon as thinking of the perfect comeback or response only after the moment has passed, like when you’re walking away, down a staircase – hence the name.

Case-in-point, I recently, I had a conversation with the Firecracker.

Her: Can you put the cantaloupe away?
Me: It has to ripen.
Her: Put it in a cabinet.
Me: You want me to put a cantaloupe into a cabinet?
Her: (slowly nods)

What I shoulda said was: Well, I can’t…ya dope.

I would never call her a dope, but it sounded funny

Or when we were discussing heading to Boston.

Her: They have a really good transit system, we won’t need a car.
Me: I thought you said it was really old?
Her: It is, but it’s still reliable. Like you – old but reliable.
Me: Blargh.

What I shoulda said was: Joke’s on you – I’m both old AND unreliable.

Or the time I made a comment about her dancing.

Me: Are you having a seizure?
Her: Aw, just get a few drinks in you and you’ll think I’m doing a great job.
Me: Tenuous.

What I shoulda said was: Define: “A few,” and “great.”

But I tease her because she is so great, so I have to take her down a peg or two from time-to-time.

Which brings me to my old friend Katsmw, and something a bit related to l’esprit de l’escalier.

Well, kinda.

I just forgot to mention two funny little things in my last entry that she pointed out after the fact.

See, Katsmw was at the last Memorial Day with us and noted that I forgot to mention that Cappy, Gar, and Duck taught her how to play the card game, 鋤大弟 (pronounced chor dai di).

Man, we used to play that game for hours; there was one time that I played it with Bobby and the fellas through the night until it was dawn.

In any case, the Firecracker won the first hand she ever played.

Then, she won the second one as well, something that amused Katsmw no end.
Should also mention that she reminded me that she had this following conversation with my son.

Her: Are you sure you want to go back into the pool? It’s cold today!
Him: It’s fine. I run hot.

The boy knows how to turn a phrase, that’s for sure.

Hopefully, he’ll keep his comedic timing as he gets older.

Location: a terrace in my building, watching the workmen do their thing
Mood: still sore (shoulder)
Music: Dur dur d’être bébé (Spotify)
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Showerheads and Siblings

Main Character Syndrome

Reading about the psychopath that blew up the IVF center in California gave me so many mixed emotions, least of which this asshole decided his opinion of the world trumped everyone else’s opinion of the world.

I don’t get how people think it’s ok, or even reasonable, to force their worldviews on others.

Like, that’s the ultimate in main character syndrome I can imagine.

But I digress.

Perfect Circles dropped me a line recently.

Her: Pregnant again! Number three joining us in August. Plainly we’ve lost our minds but it just felt like the gang wasn’t all here yet.
Me: That’s amazing, congrats!! Oh man, that was my dream, to have three kids. Alison only ever wanted to have two. Sigh.

Told her that I was thrilled for her, which is true.

But then that got me thinking: I’ve got a few embryos out in the world that I’m still struggling to figure out what to do with.

I’ve always wanted another child but that doesn’t appear to be in the cards.

In any case, one idea was to donate them to couples in need – ie, a couple that can’t produce a child on their own.

I seriously considered it in the past, but there’s an interesting phenomenon where people that are biologically related – a fact that they often don’t know initially – find each other and fall in love.

There’re a buncha stories like this:

    • Reddit reported revealed that a woman found out her six-year relationship with her boyfriend was really a six-year relationship with her biological brother after taking a DNA.
    • A Mississippi couple found out that – not only were they brother and sister – they were also twins!
    • A lesbian couple have suspicions that they might be half-siblings but plan on remaining a couple.
    • A couple from Brazil – with a six-year-old child – found out that they were actually brother and sister, both of whom were abandoned by their mother as children. The kicker is that they found this out together and live on the radio.

It’s not hard to see how they might fall in love; after all, we’re equal parts nature and nurture.

In fact, you can see how a hypothetical conversation might go:

Him: I love 80s music.
Her: Me too, my favourite band is Duran Duran.
Him: OMG, me too! I went to their last concert in London back in 2022.
Her: Wait, I was there too!

I’d read about this phenomenon ages ago but I was recently reminded of it when I visited my sister the other day.

I never told her that I fixed my bathroom but when I went to use her newly renovated bathroom, I found out that:

We both picked the same shower head – in the same colour to boot!

The one on the left is my sisters and mine is on the right. They’re the same colour – it’s just the lighting that makes it look different.

AND we picked the exact same tiles!

These are hers…

…and these are mine.

Again, we both did our bathrooms without discussing it with the other.

Anywho, yeah, I don’t think I’ll give those embryos away…

Location: the wet rain
Mood: brrrrrrr
Music: Tell me all the things that you like (Spotify)
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