Tag: story

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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)

Categories
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

Categories
personal

Got Lucky

Location: surrounded by computer bits
Mood: hungry
Music: I’m just gonna sit on the dock of the bay

Him: How can you think like that, you’re…
Me: What? Chinese-American? A minority? It’s not like we all get together on Tuesdays and decide to all think a certain way.
Him: But you’re obviously wrong. Just look around, look at the popular opinion.
Me: Popular opinion once said that the world is flat. Popular opinion in Germany once said that Jews weren’t people. Popular opinion once said that the life of a black man is worth that of a cow. Since when’s popular opinion the voice of reason?
Him: It’s wrong. We shouldn’t be fighting a war that doesn’t concern us.
Me: Maybe. But that’s my issue: who’s this us you’re referring to? People or people that look like you?
Him: (rolling his eyes) Americans, man…you know I mean Americans. Like us.
Me: Like us? I’m only an American cause I got lucky. You too. Don’t y’ever forget that dumb luck put y’here and not Somalia or North Korea. That’s the only goddamn difference between us and them. There’s only ever the lucky and the screwed.

YASYCTAI: Be grateful for your dumb luck. (5 mins/1 pt)

Categories
personal

The purpose of life is…

Lake in Central Park

Let’s play a game; finish this sentence and then I’ll see you on the other side of this quick post:

The purpose of life is ______________.

———-

Got an email the other day from out of the blue from someone I dated.

…and i know this is random, but for what it’s worth, thank you for never having sex with me, when we were seeing each other. i wish i could expand on that further, but something tells me that i don’t really have to, i know you understand.

Also got an email and $40 from my friend 0utre cause I sent her slim coin for a paring knife a few years back when I had some spare scratch.

I took that paring knife with me everywhere. I won’t ever forget your kindness to me then and now, may we meet someday so I can return the kindness once again in person in a more human manner. Kindest Regards.

Finally, someone else wrote me and said,

Logan, you don’t know me – well, that’s not completely true. I met you once and you mentioned the blog so I read you. And keep reading. The funny thing is that I find myself saying things that you said in your blog in conversations with other people. And I wanted to say thanks because you make me think of good things. Most things I read don’t.

———-

Everyone finishes that sentence differently. Here’s the thing – how you finish that sentence shapes how you live your life (or vice versa).

Consider how differently these guys live their lives:

  • The purpose of life is to have a good time.
  • The purpose of life to become closer to God.
  • The purpose of life is to raise good members of society.
  • The purpose of life it to get what you can, when you can.
  • The purpose of life is to live for the moment.

My answer?

Well, suppose that’s a post for another time. Do wanna say that it was very different not that long ago when I was friends with the Devil and didn’t have to unwrap my food. In fact, it was onea the above.

Which one? That too’s a post for a different time, yeah?

But I wanna say thanks to the girlie I dated, Outre and my anonymous fan. Maybe I’m on the right path to fulfilling my true purpose.

Location: 18:30 yest, watching geese in the Hudson
Mood: grateful
Music: hold on, hold on let me get the words out before I burst

Categories
personal

…blue sea

Location: 22:00, yest, scrubbing my cellar
Mood: thoughtful
Music: there’s reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last

View of NYC from the Hudson.

Just found out an ex had another kid. A boy. And Germany’s on my mind again.

And other ghosts from my past keep making appearances.

Him: You’re so naive, Logan.
Me: The difference between you and me, is that I think people’re inherently bad, but can do great things. You think people’re inherently good – but y’like knowing how dirty they can become.
Him: (laughing) Alla these Europeans and Americans so pissed off about their white Christian children dying in Iraq and Somalia for brown Muslim babies; they got no problem saving white Muslim babies in Bosnia or Serbia. But man, brown ones? They go nuts. That is, until they can’t afford their plasma TVs.
Me: Enough…
Him: Why? Cause you know I’m right? The saying goes that, the things that piss you off the most (lowers voice) are the things you know, in your heart, are true.

There’s another saying that goes, it’s always a choice Between the Devil and the deep…

View of NYC from the Hudson.

(c) Aki Muira


YASYCTAI: Have a relaxing fourth of July if you’re on my side of the world. Y’should have even if you’re not. (48 hours/0.5 pts)

Categories
personal

Lies and Ties

The original NYC police station

My brother’s in town and he’s helping fix somea the computers here.

Him: Apparently somebody’s been plagiarizing mom’s articles and reprinting them online.
Me: How can you tell?
Him: (laughing) She told me…and she’s a got a folder that’s named, Someone copy my article.

Someone copy my article

Heartgirl told me recently that she doesn’t know what to tell people when they ask what I do for a living. It’s funny, all of the women I dated’ve said the same thing. Most of my friends don’t know.

It’s…complicated, how I make my money.

I’ve a particularly odd skillset but the funny thing’s that I’m very good at a several, seemingly unrelated things. But if I had to sum it up to in one unifying idea, it’s that I collect and process data.

Writing, in fact, is an example of my processing data; I take various disparate concepts, weave them to one (hopefully) coherent argument and distill that to a printed page.

On that note, I’ve gotta pick one of these skillsets sooner than later.

Him: You said you’re in for the next gig.
Me: I’m thinking of being an officer of the court again.
Him: (laughing) They’re no different than us except they wear ties.

Location: 14:00 yest, being told to rinse and spit in Queens (again)
Mood: still sick
Music: The sun in your eyes made some of the lies worth believing

Categories
personal

Tres Vidas

We all have our three lives: Public, Private, and Secret

Madison Square Garden

With nods to Kastinkerbell.

Dated several people who’s favourite book’s 100 Years of Solitude. Tried four times to read it but couldn’t. Not my cup of tea. But the author once said something that I think of often: Uno tiene tres vidas: la vida pública, la vida privada y la vida secreta.

That’s the first thing I thought of when I heard about three lives this past April: Philip Markoff, Susan Boyle, and Russell Dunham. Philip’s this fairly attractive guy with an immense hidden evil. Susan’s this fairly unattractive woman with an immense hidden talent. Russell was a fairly average looking guy with an immense hidden strength.

I lived with a scumbag that murdered his girlfriend. People asked me afterward if we knew that he was capable of such a thing. Always thought that was a stupid question – as if he liked to manically stab at his food when ate.

No, people’re really good at hiding their pretty and their dirty. Alla those little bits of this ‘n that, aggregated over time like piles of crumbs, cemented together by secrets.

It’s only when situations shift that our real selves cut through the chatter – whether that be by choice like Susan and Philip, or by chance like Russell. Our real selves are always there, just waiting.

After the London bombings, some dude quipped something like, “Always wondered how I’d act in a crisis. Turns out I’m rubbish in a crisis.”

It’s totally true. Everyone has three lives: a public life, a private life, and a secret life.

Me? I’d like to think that my angels’d beat my demons. Ah, but who doesn’t? Nobody wakes up hoping they’re a friend of the Devil.

An ex once said to me, If only your insides matched your outsides.

Do her one better: If only our outsides matched our insides.

Him: So, whatcha gonna do?

Me: (thinking) Dunno yet…

Composite image of Philip Markoff, Susan Boyle, and Russell Dunham

Location: 14:00 yest, being told to rinse and spit in Queens
Mood: satisfied
Music: hard to believe we need a place called hell

Categories
personal

Thank you, it’s alright

Location: 9:00 yest, 14th and 6th
Mood: sleepless
Music: i have seen insane things all those grand historic paintings

A metro station in Washington DC

Was picking up some legal papers from a potential new client the other day. The weather was perfect so I took the long walk home in the daytime. Walking past Grand Central, Dar Williams just happened to be singing It’s Alright so I stopped to listen.

Ducked into a clothing store nearby to look things I can’t afford. Dido’s Thank You was playing. Didn’t realize I was singing along until the girl standing next to me harmonized a lyric and we turned and laughed at each other.

Me: (sheepishly) Thanks for the song.
Her: (laughing) Thank you.

———-

Went to Paul’s housewarming that night. The boy lives in a 2,500 square foot apartment. Yeah, with three roomies, but still. He has a laundry room in his apartment. In Manhattan. Heartgirl and Rain swung by so we caught up.

Heartgirl: (looking at apartment, turns to me) I don’t know how to tell you this but I’m strangely attracted to Paul right now.

Rain: (also looking at apartment) Y’kidding me? I’m attracted to Paul right now.

A metro station in Washington DC

Saw Heartgirl for some Latin food on a sunny street in Jersey.

Me: Y’know why they don’t put lids on crab baskets? Cause they don’t need to. When one tries to crawl out, the rest pull him back in.

Told Heartgirl that I was trying to be better than I was. She said she believed me.

A metro station in Washington DC

YASYCTAI: Summer’s here. Time to make some more changes. (time/2 pts)

Categories
personal

Mrs. Reynolds, Johnny Handsome, and Psalm 33:10

Location: 4 hours ago, getting caught in the rain
Mood: depressed
Music: Now up and at em it’s on, I was raised to be strong

A church in downtown NYC.

Me: Hello, you don’t remember me, but I was in your French class in seventh grade. My name’s Logan…

Ran into her last year grabbing a bite to eat near the rents. She was in a shop trying to get an old pair of glasses fixed. Pulled out this beat up purse and dug through for $20 to pay the guy.

She was laid off years ago. No one wanted to learn French anymore. The only reason I did was because of pretty girlie named Yvey in her class. But I digress.

She didn’t have $20 and they didn’t take Amex, which is all I had. So she put her glasses, held together with tape, back on her face.

———-

Me: I did terribly in French. You told me after the year was over that I was just one of those people that would never be good at languages.
Her: Did I? I’m sorry, that was mean.
Me: (laughing) Don’t be. Because of what you said, I taught myself three languages. One I still sorta remember. (gently) Y’made me try to be better than I was. You were a good teacher. And you were nice to me – not many people were back then.

Her: (quietly) Thank you. I wish they’d let me teach again.

———-

Had an awful day today and thought of the above cause here’s what I was thinking that day: I used to have coin. And now I didn’t even have a lousy 20 bucks to help out this little old lady.

My birthday’s coming up. Never woulda imagined I’d be where I am at 35. Want so bad to be better than I was. Maybe it’s not in the cards.

Me: It’s me. That gig still open?
Him: Logan? Nah, man. But someone always needs a favour, yeah? So…y’back?
Me: Yeah.

Don’t worry. Not gonna whine. Just lemme say that it sucks when you realize that the saying’s totally true: Men plan; God laughs.

And the Devil? He’s always waits.

YASYCTAI: Watch Johnny Handsome. Cause sometimes, they’ll never let you any better than you are. (90 mins/1 pt)

Categories
personal

10,000 Outliers

I’m free

The moon against the blue sky in New York City

As I said, just finished reading Outliers. One very interesting point is that to be truly, truly skilled at something, you have to do something for 10,000 hours. Not cause someone makes you, but cause you wanna. 20 hours a week, say 50 weeks in a year, that’s about ten years.

Started this blog for a number of reasons. Onea which is to just write every day for public consumption. Cause when you write for public consumption, your writing’s gotta to be better. Least it should be (see: Twitter/Facebook).

Not saying my writing is actually good but it’s the process. Been distracted from the process for the past year or so cause of the theft and my business. But now maybe I’m back on track.

Me: I’m calling to say, Thank you. For letting me out of the lease. I’m just curious as to why you did. Last time, had to go to court and it was painful.
Him: (shrugging) Figured that with the market being like it is, you’d call me eventually. But you could have withheld rent or whatever, but you didn’t. And you always kept your word – you don’t know how many people tell me the check’s in the mail and it never is. Your checks were. (pause) Plus I know about what happened to you. You deserved better than having that bitch screw you. So…I’m cutting you a break.
Me: (nodding) Thanks. I do appreciate it.
Him: No problem, Logan. I’ll send some business your way when I can. You’re a good guy. (holds out his hand) Good luck.

I’m finally out. I’m free. Took me less than the 36 months I thought it would. Broke, but free.

Deep breath. 10,000 hours. I’ll be 46. OK, I’m game…

———-

…and I finished my thesis…

…and I has new toof.

Location: 15:00 yest, a law firm off Grand Central
Mood: quixotic
Music: Heartgirl singing in Spanish