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personal

Ship of Thesus Paradox

Are we really who we think we are?

Group of bikes chained together at 59th Street, Columbus Circle
There’s this philosophical puzzle that I like to tell people called the Theseus Paradox and it goes like this:

The Greek hero Theseus returned from Crete with new planks on his ship. It turns out that, while Theseus was away, he replaced bits and pieces of his ship all along. The philosopher Plutarch wondered, after hearing this, whether or not it would be the same ship if in fact every piece of that ship was replaced.

In other words, if that were the case, is it the same ship or a completely different ship?

Turning to myself, I know that I am a completely different person than I was when I was in my early 20s. Again different in my late 20s to early 30s. And I think my last major shift in personality and temperament came in my mid-30s. That’s my mental state.

Physiologically, there’s the old adage is that every single one of our cells are replaced every 10 years.

It turns out not to be entirely true, as some brain cells are always ever the same. But even if that is the case, the question remains: how much of us can be replaced so that we are still who we think we are? If 99.87% of us is wholly different than the person we were 10 years ago, are we the same person?

I say this as I look down on my swollen leg. It has the ACL of a dead man now. That fact is neither scary or sad to me, just interesting.

Said it before that Sleepy Logan and Younger Logan have both screwed and helped me in my life.

Met someone recently who proudly said that she was the exact same person with the exact same beliefs she had in her late 30s as she did in her teens.

Me: There are those that would say that you’ve wasted the last 20-some odd years of your life, then. You’ve learned nothing from those versions of yourself.
She: Would you say that?
Me: I would say that the 18-year old you should not hold hostage the destiny of a 38 year-old adult. But I’m here to drink and really, what do I know?

Because, maybe it’s just a cop-out. It’s a way for me not to take responsibility for being a truly terrible person in my possible pasts.

———-

Him: …two weeks, in the Bronx.
Me: I can’t do it. Not with my leg.

It turns out that if you live an eat-what-you-kill life and can’t physically get out the door to do work, your clients get disappointed. Disappointed clients are never good.

Turned down my third gig already this month.

Worried that this injury will be far more costly than I first imagined.

———-

Posting my follow-up to 10 Tips on how to write a good Match, OK Cupid, or POF dating profile: Part 1 on Friday after noon.

You’ll like it, I think.

Location: a chair, finally
Mood: concerned
Music: really want to go out, I really want to go outside
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personal

Travelogue Malaga Day 2

Malaga, Spain

2012.04.14

We wake up an hour before the conference starts. More accurately, HG wakes up and I get up.

She runs out and grabs us two cups of joe, some bread, and a sandwich for me while I get dressed and quickly go over my presentation. Wolf it all down before dashing out the door.

Sandwich in Malaga, Spain

I hoof it over to the Picasso Museum but promptly get lost. An Australian bartender sets me on my way.

Him: It’s over there, between those two buildings.
Me: The alley?
Him: (laughs) That’s a street, mate; alleys you can barely squeeze into here.

A few stressful minutes later,  run into several people that heard me speak last year before I settle into an orange chair in the rear.

Her: Mr. Lo! How are you? (later) Hopefully it’s not as exciting as it was last year when that woman yelled at you.
Me: It wasn’t so bad; at least everyone remembers me.

Cause of technical difficulties, we break for coffee early. During the intermission, a reporter asks if she can interview me. After I nod, she asks about my presentation.

Me: Technology has changed so much recently, especially since I was a kid, and probably the same for most people. For example, how old are you?
Her: um, 21.
Me: Well, I don’t have any examples for you then.

After several other presentations, it’s finally my turn.

Me: The First Amendment – Freedom of Speech – is what Americans are known for. Well, that and McDonalds.

Silence. Complete and utter silence.Then five seconds later, laughter.

I forget that they’re translating what I say into French and Spanish. Relieved, I continue and my jokes elicit the polite laughter I’m expecting. Soon, I smile and finish on time. No one screams at me.

Afterward, we’re at lunch where I end up sitting with some Germans.

Her: You taught yourself German because you couldn’t sleep? Why?
Me: Why not?

Food in Malaga, Spain

Waiters come with small sandwiches and olives. The olives are terribly bitter so I have a sandwich. It’s great – Spanish ham and a soft cheese.

So I have another. It’s blue cheese and tuna. I almost gag so I put it off to the side. Taking a bite of another, it’s different fish and cheese sandwich. Again, I almost gag.

Server: Beer?
Me: Please!

Soon, I have a pile of half-eaten sandwiches on my plate and decide that bitter olives aren’t so bad after all. We Americans are so spoiled when it comes to food.

Bellies full, we head back to the conference but not before I realize that we were just noshing about 100 feet from a 2,000 year old Roman Theater.

The Roman Theater in Malaga, Spain

Back inside, stay for the other American to finish her speech as a sign of solidarity but then I can’t stay awake for the second half of the presentations so I head back to the hotel to rest.

End up working on a few things instead of resting before I run back to the conference hall for drinks.

Outside, several wine tables are set up and I have a glass of white. Then a glass of red. Then a glass of a dessert wine.

Sommelier: What do you normally drink?
Me: Rum.
Him: Such a shame; we have none.
Me: That really is a shame.

Afterward, take a meandering walk back to the hotel as I take in the sights. There’s something beautiful everywhere.

Sculpture in Malaga, Spain

The Spanish have this habit of having dinner at 10PM so they invite HG and me out to eat. Tell them it’s too late for us but, as luck would have it, I run across them as I head home. They insist I come in for a bite but I tell them I can’t as I give them a rueful nod.

After a pleasant night, have an agonizing night as I don’t sleep for more than an hour.

When I wake up, I look down at my hands and notice they’re shaking again.

Dammit.

Malaga, Spain

Location: getting ready for work at home
Mood: groggy
Music: Get sucked in and stuck in late nights
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business personal

Logan’s 39 / Travelogue Malaga Day 1

Malaga, Spain

It’s my birthday.

And like always, say something, all of you bastards that read me but never say anything.

Logan Lo at the AC Hotel in Malaga, Spain

2012.04.13

Me: Did we check the stove was off?
Her: Go check.
Me: I put on my shoes already.
Her: (shakes head and slips off shoes)

HG and I go on our first airplane trip together. As i did in Paris last year, I’m speaking about intellectual property issues and video games in Malaga, Spain.

We’re out the door, on the AirTrain, and in the airport in less than an hour. Except for one minor hiccup, we make it to the plane without issue.

Me: Shoot, I can’t find my ticket or passport.
TSA Agent: Sir, you just put them into your back pocket.
Me: I knew that.

Soon we’re in our chairs in the sky and I start taking things from HG’s bag of snacks.

Her: Didn’t you say we didn’t need to bring that? And now you’re going to eat it all in the beginning of our trip.
Me: If you weren’t here, I would strap this on my face like a feed bag.

Six hours and one tiny can of Diet Coke later, we arrive in Ireland for a two-hour layover at around midnight. We have the airport to ourselves.

Airport in Dublin, Ireland

Announcement: last call for Amsterdam.
Me: We should blow this thing and go to Amsterdam. (thinking) We could smoke pot.
Her: You’ve never smoked pot before.
Me: I’m away. I’d smoke a pot.
Her: (laughing) The fact you just said “a pot” makes me think it’s not for you.

Ended up heading to Malaga anyway.

We finally get to board our connecting flight. As I can never sleep, read the entirety of Digital Wars during the layover and half the flight to Spain.

About 18 hours we walk outta our door in NYC, we walk into our door in Malaga.

We drop off our bags and we notice that we have a balcony so I get a beer from the mini-bar and look over the city.

Overlooking Malaga, Spain

We both try to crash for a bit but I don’t get much rest. It’s only 1PM there so four hours later, we get up in search of food and a SIM card and we find both on the same block.

The organizer of the event meets us for a chat in the hotel lobby but we’re fading fast so we politely make it short.

Unfortunately, it’s a sleepless night cause Spaniards have dinner at 10PM and we’re essentially in the Times Square of Malaga.

It’s been almost 30 hours and I’ve gotten five hours of sleep.

The conference’s tomorrow.

Overlooking Malaga, Spain
Having a beer on a balcony in Malaga, Spain

Location: finally back home
Mood: another year older
Music: Just give me credit, I’m just sitting on the shelf
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Red hot pot and pink cold glass

Chinese hot pot in Chinatown, NYC

Waitress: …and here’s your drink.
Friend: Is your drink pink?
Me: Yes. I’m ok with that. (to waitress) I don’t get an umbrella?

Was supposed to go out Saturday a groupa friends for hot pot but that fell through so met up with my buddy Steel and his brother in Chinatown instead.

For those of you that don’t know what that is, it’s essentially a Chinese fondue with broth insteada cheese. We ordered some lamb, beef, calamari, bamboo shoots, amongst other things; we devoured it all and then washed it down with beer. His brother ended up treating us to dinner.

Me: We should hang out with more doctors.
Him: I know!

Afterward, took a walk to the LES where we had some more drinks. Steel and I both love to cook so we ended up discussing how America’s Test Kitchen is more like Good Eats now.

Me: I made their margarita mix – it was great.
Him: I’ll send you their recipe for a Chocolate Blackout cake; I used powered buttermilk in it and it was a hit.

Ordered a hard cider with berries that ended up being pink. My friends just shook their heads and then we all parted ways.

Thompson LES hotel, NYC

Headed over to a friends bday party, which ended up moved. There was a young blond woman asking for directions with a familiar accent.

Me: (in German) ‘Scuse me, where do you want to go?
Her: (confused in English) You speak German?
Me: (in German) Don’t be silly, I’m Chinese. Why would I speak German? Now where do you want to go?

She invited me to go with her to a party but I told her that I was meeting my wife and some friends and went on my way.

Finally met up with my other buddy and his lady friend at a hotel room in the Thompson LES. Felt like a third wheel so I bounced home. The next morning, found an email with a recipe for Chocolate Blackout cake.

I forget oftentimes that I still live in the same city as when I was single.

View from the Thompson LES hotel, NYC

Location: about to run to the post office
Mood: hopeful
Music: if you’re free to make a choice, just look towards the west
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Europe 2011: Day 2 / And this is where I got coffee and free wifi next

Underground Entrance at Heathrow Airport.

2011.06.08

It’s 6AM there when I wake up. Grab my stuff and put it all back together again.

Dunno if I told you what I bring with me when I travel. Carry everything I can in my laptop bag and a tri-fold garment bag. The usual stuff most people bring when they travel for work: suit, nice paira shoes, extra socks, etc. Like I said, the usual.

Except for the 12″ high-gain 9db 2400~2500 MHz antenna, 2.0 USB extension cable, and external USB 802.11n wireless adapter I carry.

On an unrelated point, still don’t understand why I never got invited to any parties as a child. Suppose some mysteries are never meant to be solved.

12

Anywho, after I check out of the hotel, grab the local bus that loops around the airport. There’re few people on it.

Did I mention that it was hella cold?

Slipped into the Underground, picked up an unlimited day pass, and took it to Leicester Square. It wasn’t even 8AM so there weren’t a lotta places open, let alone with wifi. Ended up at the Patisserie Valerie, which purported to have wifi. Ordered an Eggs Benedict and was gonna take a picture of it but the waitress nixed that idea.

The problem with their wifi was that it was beyond weak. Ergo…

Her: May I ask what that is?
Me: Oh that? Nuthin, just a 12″ high-gain 9db 2400~2500 MHz antenna, 2.0 USB extension cable, and external USB 802.11n wireless adapter.
Her Is it dangerous?
Me: Not unless I drop it and you trip on it. Can I get another coffee?

Did manage to snap one shot of the place.

Patisserie Valerie at Piccadilly Circus

While there, hop onto Skype and contact another hotel to see if could drop off my stuff and head to my meeting. They tell me to come on by so I do.

 

St. Pancras / King's Cross

Check into my hotel off of St. Pancras and get settled in. Have my meeting, which runs over time, of course.

Afterward, have lunch in this local establishment run by, what I can only assume is a good Scottsman, Mr. McDonald, for the free wifi. The wifi, much like the fare, kinda sucks, but this is what one does to be connected..

After lunch, grab the Victoria line to Victoria where I pop on my iphone and listen to this Lonely Planet Audio tour. It’s pretty good. Afterward, end up caught in the rain – which seems to happen all of time in London – and duck into the Waterstone/Costa bookstore for an hour or two where I have more coffee and more free wifi.

Should really entitle all of my travels as, “And this is where I got coffee and free wifi next…”

Big Ben London.

Beat, head back to the hotel and call it a night. Tomorrow, gotta wake up at the cracka dawn to grab the train to Paris.

See y’tomorrow?

The London Eye.

Man on horseback in London.

Dark clouds threatening London.

Location: another cafe, another cuppa joe, London
Mood: fascinated
Music: clouds and dogs and trees, stones and sunlit streets
YASYCTAI: Be bold – and mighty forces will come to your aid. (time/2 pts.)
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business

Europe 2011: Day 1 / The time where Logan travels to Paris give a speech

There’ll be a lotta posts this week; wanted to give you a heads up.

John F. Kennedy Airport, NY.

Just got back from giving a talk about a narrow aspect of Intellectual Property for the Barcelona, Málaga, and Paris Bar Associations for their Third Annual Art and Law Conference (Séminaire international Art et Droit / Arte y Derecho).

As a rulea thumb, try to keep my professional life separate from this blog but sometimes y’can’t.

For those long-time readers, you’ll remember the last time I went to Europe, it was to Paris, Nantes, Bruges, Rotterdam, Dover, and the Netherlands. This time it was just London and Paris. Here’s what happened if you’re interested:

Automated walkway in JFK, NY.

2011.06.08

Stay over with the rents the night before cause it’s easier to head out to the airport from there plus it gives me an excuse to have dinner with them. Heartgirl’s been to Paris for work a buncha times so I’m going by my lonely.

It’s 05:45 when my eyes pop open on their own.

Her: Morning! I would have woken you up.
Me: (laughing) Morning, mom. I’m always awake.
Her: You should bring a sweater. You might get cold.
Me: (rolling eyes) I won’t be cold. It’s summer.

Have a cup of coffee, a spoonful of peanut butter, and a banana and I’m off.

Two hours later, I’m putting back on on my shoes and belt and heading to gate 5 to catch a 777 to London. Reserved my favourite seat on that particular plane, seat 41G, but spoke to the lady at the desk anyway.

Me: Is there anyone sitting next to me?
Her: (looking) Um…not at the moment.
Me: Heavy load today?
Her: Not particularly.
Me: Now, if I asked really nicely, could we keep it that way somehow?
Her: (laughs) I’ll see what I can do.

Have the row to myself and lay out all my stuff. Work on my presentation and then a story idea. Eight hours later, I’m in Heathrow. Make my way outta customs and step outside.

Hell’s bells, it’s freezing here. Note to self: Listen to your mom.

End up stopping someone to ask how to get to Shuttle Bus H6 and he points it out before saying:

Him: Have y’self a good stay!
Me: Thanks, you too. (pause) Wait, that didn’t make any sense…
Him: S’all right, there. (laughs)

30 minutes later, after I’d checked in and had a nice hot shower, realize that I forgot the UK power adapter I’ve got at home. Dammit. The hotel workman points me to a vending machine that sells it for £7.00. Technology’s grand, isn’t it?

 

Ibis Hotel at Heathrow Airport.

Pass out knowing that my tapped out mac and mobile’ll be waiting for me, charged and ready the next morning.

G’night, citizensa the interwebs. See y’tomorrow?

UK power adapter.

Location: Ibis Hotel Heathrow, London
Mood: exhausted
Music: I can’t explain; go to the corner, I end up in Spain
YASYCTAI: Sometimes, just asking someone nicely works. Not all of time, but most. (1 min/ 1 pt.)
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personal

Gallipoli

Giveth-Taketh Away

Globe at 59th Street/Columbus Circle

Her: Had lunch with my mom yesterday – and you?
Me: The traditional Chinese Mother’s Day dinner of pizza and salad at my sister’s place.


Like I said
, been watching The Pacific. One episode takes place in Australia.

Last month was the 95th anniversary of the Battle of Gallipoli where the Australians lost like crazy against the Turks. Funny thing’s that they celebrate this nasty loss cause it marked the point when they saw themselves as separate from Britain.

My pastor had a sermon once where he noted that childbirth was a thing of dread for women for thousands of years. Simply put, most women died. Even now, throughout the world, pregnancy is a death sentence for women.

Odd isn’t it? How life and death are so related; these time you think your life’s over and it’s just the start of something.

Hope you saw you momma and got her a nice pizza or whatever she wanted that day.

———-

Giveth
On the way to see Momma Lo, felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see this grey-eyed, British 20-something.

Her: Excuse me, can you help me? I’m looking for someplace to get coffee.
Me: This is Flushing, take your pick. There’s the usual Starbucks around the way or anya the Chinese versions of Danish coffee shops along this row. Y’know when the Europeans first entered Hong Kong they brought with them…
Her: (a few minutes later) You’re cute. I could use some company while I’m waiting for my friend.
Me: (laughing) I’m flattered, but I’m way too old for you. And I’m taken.
Her: Oh, the non-creepy ones’re always married or gay. She’s lucky, your girl. (thinking) Is it serious?
Me: Well, I hope so, she’s awesome.

Taketh away

Him: Good to see you again, sir. The usual? Short on the sides, longer on top?
Me: Yep.
Him: Crazy weather we’re having…wow, you’re really thinning, aren’t you? Anyway, it’s a lot colder than usual, don’t you think?

*sigh*

Location: Chinatown in 20
Mood: Sweaty
Music: It’s not What your parents hoped you’d be
www.loganlo.com

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personal

Your sleepless history

Location: 3AM, sitting up in bed
Mood: awake
Music: make your getaway? But I’m still holding on

With nods to Sabatoa.

So the movie I saw last week was Cashback; sorta like a dirtier, British, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind – sci-fi but not really sci-fi.

  • Fellas, there are lots of (tasteful) nude girlies throughout the film.
  • Ladies, it’s a love story.

Something for all, really.

The story’s about this guy that’s got insomnia but finds he can control time, or at least thinks he can. Watching it, kept thinking to myself that I’d thought this or that and gone through this or that.

Funny, we all think that our things’re idiosyncratic to ourselves and we find they’re not at all.

———-

On another topic of visual entertainment, have been catching The Pacific here and there.

My younger very, very pro-Asian friends take umbrage with the pro-American/anti-Japanese nature of the film.

Wanna strangle them.

The Japanese killed – in absolutely brutal ways – almost four million Chinese; half-a-million were experimented on via these sick Mengele experiments.

One thing that annoys me – and I’m sure them too – is being called Chinese if they’re Japanese; Japanese if they’re Korean; Korean if they’re Vietnamese; etc. We’re not all the same.

But it cuts both ways.

So to my young, misinformed Chinese friend, don’t get all up in my face about how the Americans were brutal to the Japanese. If not for the Americans, they wouldn’tve stopped at four million Chinese.

Him: Y’don’t get my point.

Me: And you don’t know your history.

YASYCTAI: Get your teeth cleaned. I wanna make out with someone if only cause my teeth feel amazing. (60 mins/2 pts)

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personal

Today is…

Location: home for now
Mood: mischievous
Music: what I prove, that’s what I move, that’s what I give

Night in NYC

…a day for changes.

It’s hard living down your past. Learning Chinese, or martial arts, or anything, always found that the non-natives were tougher on me than the natives. Like the Caucasian Chinese teacher that graded us harder and gave more homework and exams than the Chinese ones.

Suppose he had something to prove.

Suppose it’s why I gotta know something about everything. It’s also why I think I lived such a violent life as a youngster – always had something to prove. Luckily, juvey records’re buried after 16.

Made my money running onea the largest underground clubs in NYC for four years. That woulda been fine but also met the Devil and took a cut of all of the Xctasy money floating around.

After Leona Helmsley sued me for trashing her joint, put what was left inna Intel stock, then dumped that inna this apartment.

So, considering all of that, decided to sell my pad and give it all away to charity. And considering what’s going on in the church, decided to go to seminary and become a priest.

Maybe this way I can make up for all those things that I’ve done.

Of course, I’ll have to give up the girl and rum.

Now, if y’believe anya what I wrote above, consider again the title.

YASYCTAI: Think about what today is… (10 mins/1 pt)

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personal

Speaking of “Eat-What-You-Kill”

View of an NYC entryway

Turning from my last post, once wrote about this mouse in my house. Bugger wouldn’t die. Just disappeared one day so figured some poison or cat got him.

Fast forward to last week, when I left my pad decked out in a full suit. Forgot something so I turned around and ended up face-to-face with a mouse. We stared at each other for a second, all high noon-like, before it turned and zipped into my pad.

Ran after it, dropping my briefcase. It flew into the bathroom so I did the same, slamming the door behind me to trap us both. Grabbing the metal wastebin in there, brought it down on it over and over again, missing each time. Neighbors musta thought I was clear starkers.

Fast buggers, they are.

Finally thought I got it but turns out the dents in the can gave it a second chance; when I lifted it, expecting to find the past-perfect form of mouse, it sprang away.

So did I, leaping four feet back like a ten-year old girl doing double-dutch. Course, my bathroom’s only three feet wide so ended up smashing in my cabinet door.

Deep breath, flipped the can around and slammed it down one last time. Poor bastard, the last thing it ever saw was some crazed Asian-dude in a brown suit bringing down a dented silver metal can on it.

To say that it was a bloody mess is not taking any literary license, lemme tell you.

Dunno how people – like farmers – regularly kill things. Then again, they’re probably not wearing a sweat-soaked three-piece using a dustbin. Maybe they are; what do I know?

Sorry little guy, didn’t wanna, but had to.

Her: (noticing the missing can later) What happened to the trash can here? (surprised) And what happened to the cabinet door!?
Me: (sighing) You don’t wanna know.
Her: (shaking head) I don’t want to know.

In other news: my bathroom floor’s spotless, I’ve decided I wouldn’t last in the wild; and I still hate AT&T;.

Location: still in front of computer screens
Mood: fulla fiber
Music: Early in the evenin’ just about supper time