Tag: social commentary

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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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Wait and hope

My one and done

Her: I’m not against it per se but, Logan, if we have a kid, say, next year. You’ll be 73 when she’s 21. Do you really want to be 73 with a 21-year-old kid?
Me: Whoa, I never thought of it like that.

Alison was the oldest of three; two girls and a boy.

As the middle of three, we were the mirror of that; two boys and a girl.

She always wanted two or three kids, whereas I always wanted three. My son was always supposed to be the oldest of – ideally for me – three kids.

After Alison died, the thought of more kids was the furthest thing from my mind. After I started feeling better, I kept thinking that I needed to get into a stable relationship ASAP so that I could give the kid some siblings, which he’s always wanted.

That might have put undue pressure on my relationships after Alison.

The Firecracker and I discussed having more kids. I still dream of having more kids but I’m 52 this week (!!).

The practicality of having more kids seems less practical by the minute.

Although the NFL Player insists that we won’t regret it if we do – and he’s right, I’m sure we wouldn’t regret it. The issue is everything involved in it.

And the fact that the kid’s birth was so much joy wrapped up in so much horror further makes me more hesitant.

To this end, I’ve begun giving away alla the things I’ve been keeping the basement for the past seven or eight years in the hopes of having another kid.

Gave away a baby diaper pail, a chair that Alison got to nurse on, and the kid’s crib, which was probably the hardest thing to give away.

I love the boy in a way that I don’t have words to adequately express it.

And I’m sure I’d love whatever siblings he might have.

So, I do what I’ve done my entire life with everything, and do as Dumas said to do, Wait and hope.

Location: my old gym, shooting more scenes
Mood: thoughtful
Music: Open up the door, c’mon sing me home (Spotify)
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There’s no limit to skill or knowledge

Zero is plural

Me: Is zero singular or plural?
Him: I dunno.
Me: Use it in a sentence.
Him: “There are zero apples.” (thinking) Plural?
Me: Yes. All whole numbers are plural except for one – negative one is also plural, which is weird but here we are.

I spend a lotta time in my head, mainly because that’s where I’m the most comfortable.

Family aside, my entire childhood was essentially spent alone. Grade school, middle school, high school, etc.

College was different, though, which I found odd but nice.

I had a lotta friends, several close ones, and yet, I spent most of my time either at a girlfriend’s or by myself in the city when I’d come down by myself.

You get used to things.

Was chatting with Rain the other day and we both commented how similar we are when it comes to enjoying our solitude.

We’re good with people; we just choose not to interact with them unless there’s a good reason.

My son is different.

He not only doesn’t like to be alone, he craves human interaction.

I wonder if that will make his life better, worse, or just different.

The hope is for him to be happy and productive, whatever either of those two things mean to him.

In my younger years, being alone was hell.

But now that I’m older, I think being with random people is hell.

The more news I read, the more I think I want to just stay home with the Firecracker and the kid and never walk out the door.

Him: Why do I need to learn all this?
Me: Because there’s a limit to strength, power, or money. There’s no limit to skill or knowledge. You can always make yourself a little smarter every day.
Him: But why?
Me: Because it’ll mean that you can always be better tomorrow than you were today. That’s a powerful thing.

Location: my back bathroom, wondering if green tile is the way to go
Mood: slightly nauseated from too much cheese
Music: Should I try to do some more? Twenty-five or six to four (Spotify)
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Memory Lane

Not that there’s anything wrong with that

After the Firecracker and I came back from her surprise shower, we then dashed off to our local dive bar – Malachy’s – and met up with my old roomie, Buckley.

We actually lived in the same dorm waaaaaay back in 1991 (!) and kept in touch after I left.

When he moved into the city, he and I became roomies and, after a few years, he and I bought our apartment together.

I remember that my dad had questions.

Dad: You…and Buckley…are buying an apartment? Together?
Me: Yeah, why?
Him: Well…is there anything else you wanna tell me?
Me: (puzzled) No, why? (thinking) OMG! No, we’re just friends. And poor. We’re poor friends. We can’t afford a place alone, so we need to pool our money together.
Him: Oh…
Me: (quickly) Not that there’s anything wrong with that. We’re just poor.

This is us in 1998, right before we bought the place.

I dunno what we were thinking with those sweaters or my goatee.

In any case, we met up at Malachy’s because that and Big Nick’s – which is where the main picture was taken – were the two greasy spoon dives that we always went to.

It’s weird. He looks like him just…older. And I’m the same.

We were literally kids when we met – like 17. And now his son is not that far off from the age when we first met.

Rain Noe, Logan Lo

And I’ve been chatting with Rain a lot these days.

He’s just dealing with some real estate issues and that’s kinda what I do.

That’s a pic of us back in 1998 downtown. I think at a joint called Stingy Lulu‘s (or Yaffa Cafe).

Big Nick’s is long gone – it closed back in 2013 and I wrote about it. I remember chatting with Alison about it.

Stingy Lulu’s has been gone for decades – as has Yaffa Cafe.

The thing about being 51 in 2025 is that I don’t really have any pictures or videos of some of the most seminal moments of my life.

This was a little bit after he moved out and Alison moved in.

Because, back then, cameras were crappy and usually just film or – in my case – crappy digital.

Did you know that your memories aren’t replayed, they’re reconstructed each and every time you remember them?

That means that every time you remember thing, there’s a (high) chance you’ll alter that memory a bit and those alterations keep piling up until you can’t trust your own memories anymore?

And that’s why I wish I had better pictures/videos to remember my possible pasts with.

Luckily, I have my friends to help me remember those memories.

Me: He was a quant at Long Term Capital, right?
Him: No, he was a programmer – he was on his way to being a quant when it imploded.
Me: Gotcha – I didn’t know that.

Unfortunately, I don’t have Alison here to remember the memories that mattered the very most to me.

Ah, fuck…

This is what my room looked like when it was just me and Buckley – two bachelors in the city.
A dragonfly from this entry in 2008. I have questions about that day but no one to ask.

Location: this morning, looking up therapists for various reasons
Mood: messy
Music: saw my life in a strangers face and it was mine (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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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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Tawk!

When it comes out

Me: He’s so dumb. Talking to him is like having a conversation with a goldfish that can tawk.
Her: OMG your Queens just came out!
Me: Dammit!

My Queens accent has come out twice with the Firecracker and she’s astute enough to catch it when it does.

To paraphrase Amy Ryan – who came from Flushing, Queens, same as me – from The Office: You can take the boy outta Queens…

One of the things that the Firecracker and I have been doing is digging through the dozens of board games up in here that I’ve literally never played.

They were either rando gifts or items that old tenants left in my building, and I was loathe to throw out.

Her: Wait, you own this and have never played it? How long have you had it?
Me: (thinking) Jesus Christ, like 25 years?

Case-in-point, The Firecracker pulled out a board game of Yahtzee the other day that I probably had since the 90s and yet never played.

Not once.

So, she and I did just that.

We both managed to roll some pretty insane things, such that our first round was pretty impressive.

It was all downhill from there.

Exciting times here in Casa Lo.

Me: I think we should never play this again, we’re never gonna top these rolls.
Her: (nodding) This is very true. No one is gonna believe us that you just rolled a full house.
Me: (shaking head) Nope.

It’s not Miami, or the Bahamas, or a nice cruise but it’s something.

Post engagement is non-stop excitement.

But it’s also exactly what I wanted.

Location: heading out for the sixth time to try and paint my wall.
Mood: desperately needing a nap
Music: I know, I know, I know, this is all I want (Spotify)
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The choices we make

A matter of inches

Me: (seeing a pic of the Firecracker) You were so young back then!
Her: Yup – now look at me. I’m with a very old Chinese man.
Me: Well, I wouldn’t say very old.
Her: Right. Because you’re not doing back exercises eight times a day and buying orthopedic butt supports?
Me: …
Her: Yeah…

The Firecracker was kind enough to surprise me with a back brace the other day for my crap back.

Gone from rolling around and fighting 20-somethings to sitting in cushioned chairs wherever I go and wearing a back brace.

On that note, I’ve also started seeing a chiropractor to add to my stable of doctors, physical therapists, and general clinicians.

Oddly, the first thing I thought of when I got the brace was the presidency and both Trump and JFK.

The assassin that missed Trump missed ending his life by perhaps an inch in several directions.

Between when the gunman pulled the trigger and when the bullet hit, enough time had passed that Trump shifted his head just enough to be merely grazed.

Contrast that with JFK, who was killed on the killer’s second bullet.

This is meaningful because the first bullet shoulda caused JFK to fall forward, as it did his companion John Connally, but it didn’t.

Because JFK was wearing a back brace due to his own major back issues.

A back brace changed the world.

Always find it so interesting that so much of life for the world writ large hinges on these rando choices we all make.

Then again, I should probably think longer about some of the choices I make.

Her: (cleaning and dancing about when I enter the room) How are you feeling?
Me: Eh, ok, I guess. (pausing) What are you doing?
Her: My sexy cleaning dance.
Me: Oh, when’s it gonna start?
Her: God, you’re so rude!

I should probably think longer about some of the choices I make.

Location: home at a hot pot get-together
Mood: ache-y still
Music: Woo hoo just a little bit of c’mon bring that back (Spotify)
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The duty of a champion

No such thing as a parttime champion

There’s a quote by a modern stoic named Ryan Holiday that I particularly like: The obligation of a champion is to act like a champion at all times.

Don’t think I’ve ever lost my cool and was happy about the results. If I can give the kid anything, hopefully, it’s a better sense of being calm and calculated.

To this end, I personally have been re-reading (ok, skimming) Meditations by Marcus Aurelius and also other stoic books here and there in the hopes that all this anger at the injustice of Alison and my dad’s suffering and deaths somehow becomes more manageable.

It’s a daily struggle, I have to admit.

One really sweet thing that we’ve been doing here at Casa Lo is to have regular board game nights with the kids.

It’s a small and silly thing but one that I appreciate greatly because children – at this age and younger – learn so much in competition and games.

Forgot to take pics, so I took the pic from this old entry in 2011 with Alison at Paul’s old pad.

We’ve been playing a few card games as well as board games, particularly what we call The Bean Game – addictively fun – and Settlers of Catan.

Both boys are pretty competitive but, because my son is younger, he’s still dealing with the emotions that come with winning and losing.

One night, recently, the kid had a particularly bad night and lost his cool, so I brought him to his room to have a chat with him.

I think I want what every good parent wants: For one’s children to be better than they are.

Hope I have enough time here to accomplish that.

After all, if we’re being honest here, it’s really the main reason I’m here.

Me: What’s the obligation of a champion, boy?
Him: To act like a champion.
Me:…at all times. Don’t forget that last part: At all times.
Him: But you lose your temper too, papa!
Me: I’m aware. I’m working on that. And that’s kinda my point: You can be better than me. And I want you to be better than me. Listen, if you act like a musician, with enough practice, you’ll be one. If you act like a BJJ player, you’ll be one. And if you act like a champion, you’ll be one. But you have to do it at all times. There’s no such thing as a parttime champion.

Location: rainy NYC
Mood: ache-y
Music: we mean to go on and on and on and on (Spotify)
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Election Day 2024 – It’s a Nailbiter

Alcohol helps

No real entry today, folks.

This whole election is a nail-biter.

I honestly cannot believe that it’s still this close between a highly educated career public servant and a lying, racist, misogynistic, whiney idiot.

It’s pretty hard to concentrate on anything else BUT the election tonight.

Thank goodness that I have the Firecracker to give me some distraction.

Her: I did pretty well in college; I only did poorly in one class.
Me: Which class?
Her: Music appreciation.
Me: Why don’t you appreciate music!?

I don’t think that she’s as easily entertained by me, however.

Alcohol is helping both of us, though.

Location: pasted to the TV
Mood: fulla carbs and cray anxious
Music: shit, I feel like Alice, woke up in a rabbit hole last night (Spotify)
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