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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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On teaching well

Must be a natural

Him: Whoa, you’re really good at that [move].
Me: It only took me 22 years. Must be a natural.

My elbow injury was the first one that I’ve had in a while.

Since I couldn’t go to the gym, I’ve been catching up on work – Scenic Fights and otherwise, as well as watching a few videos.

This fella named John Danaher – whom I used to run into alla time back in my club days – is probably the most well-respected BJJ coach on the planet.

He’s made a lotta the biggest names in the sports.

Anywho, I came across the below video of him explaining his teaching methods and it really made me think.

My very first coach would regularly completely flip out – I mean screaming in the gym like a madman, making grown men cry in front of everyone, physically assaulting his own students – when you didn’t do the move exactly as he did them or any one of a thousand little offenses to him.

Spent (well) over a decade with him with almost nothing to show for the time – a ton of other people had the same experience.

Recently, however, my skill has been expanding by leaps and bounds, precisely because I just started doing things that felt right to me.

Danaher even mentions that the goal isn’t to make robots that fight just like the coach but express themselves their own way – that’s the “art” side of “marital arts.”

That’s what my old coach never seems to have gotten.

Don’t think he realizes just how many people absolutely despise him for how much of their time he wasted.

While he certainly wasted a ton of my time, I don’t hate him.

Quite the opposite. I feel so much pity for him.

He wanted nothing more than to be a great coach but, instead, he’s just become a lightning rod of ridicule at best and full-on animosity at worst.

He’s had some stellar students, to be sure, but I gotta think that’s more a testament to their own innate skill than anything he did.

What a heartbreakingly sad thing: To be so profoundly bad at the one thing you based your entire life upon.

Location: home, with a bad back and elbow
Mood: bleary-eyed
Music: It’s not right, not okay, say the words that you say (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

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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Christmas 2024

What are the chances?!

The Firecracker and I had such a good time at Bryson’s for hot pot that we invited the Firecracker’s sister and her family over for some at our pad.

It was the first time I’d ever had hot pot in my pad so that was a nice (almost) Christmas experience.

Boy: It’s a giftcard [from the Firecracker’s sister]!
Me: Under the penumbra of this apartment, I get 10%.
Firecracker’s BIL: I don’t think that’s how that word is used.
Me: Well, I’m thinking of it in legal terms as it was used in a famous Supreme Court case.

There are a lotta things that mean one thing to a lawyer – like penumbra and proximate, which immediately spring to mind – that mean other things to laymen.

Me: I don’t understand why I didn’t get invited to more parties as a kid.
F-BIL: (slowly nods) It’s a mystery.

In any case, I did not get 10%.

I may appeal.

One of the traditions that I’ve now learned to truly love is spending time with my in-laws for Christmas.

I love that, despite Alison not being here, that the kid gets to experience something similar to what he woulda experienced had she never died.

It’s cold comfort but better than no comfort at all.

In any case, the kid and met up with my SIL in Hoboken and hitched a ride out to see them.

Now, before I tell you about my Xmas, wanted to relate onea my favourite stories in life:

Decades ago, I went to my parents to help them fix a computer and upgraded a small 2.5 harddrive for them, and put the old 2.5 harddrive into my breast pocket.

Afterward, I stopped by and visited my buddy Danny the Good’s pad and, while I was there, Danny and his wife were discussing their own computer issues.

His Wife: What’s wrong with it?
Him: The harddrive’s shot. We need to get a new one.
Me: Wait, I’ve got one on me! (reaches into pocket and pulls it out)
Her: (laughing hysterically) Only Logan would have a spare harddrive in his pocket.

OK, back to the present: I’d bought my in-laws a mesh router and offered to set it up for them.

FIL: I don’t know if we need one. The old one works fine.
Me: Welp, I’ll just leave it here then and we can always install it at some point in the future.

Wouldn’t you know it, the router ended up failing repeatedly while I was there.

MIL: (joking) It seems awfully coincidental that our old router fails right when Logan brings a new one for us.
FIL: Very suspicious.
Me: (laughing) You should just be happy I have it.
Her: What are the chances!?

So, I set it up for them so that worked out.

As for the kid, he got a ton of loot that he wanted.

And I got plenty of food…

…and my SIL made her amazeballs eggnog, which is essentially just an adult milkshake.

Promised the kid that I’d stay for Christmas breakfast and lunch but then I had to run because I had to meet up with the Firecracker.

Him: You can’t stay for dinner?
Me: Sorry, kiddo. I promised [the Firecracker] that I’d see her.
Him: (nodding sadly) OK.

Had to keep my promise to the Firecracker for really good reasons that I’ll tell you all about in the next entry.

Location: Back home with the kid
Mood: sick but getting better
Music: I’m getting confused cause this isn’t our room (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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It was my mom’s birthday

Parthian Chicken

It was my mom’s birthday the other day.

We were originally all going to see some other relatives before we saw her for dinner.

So, I rented a car since it was the four of us: Me, the kid, the Firecracker, and her kid.

But, at the last minute, my other relatives cancelled, and it was too late to cancel the car.

Since we had it, we just went on a little car-ride to Ikea out in Long Island where the kid had their Swedish meatballs and I got (another) planter, this time for a lemon tree that Bryson got me.

The Meyer Lemon tree that Bryson gave me. He insists that I can grow lemons at home; the jokes on him because I am incredibly bad at getting plants to produce flowers or fruit.

Afterward, we drove back and I picked up dinner for everyone – it wasn’t a lot because most of us were full, including my sis and her kids.

It was still good, though.

Anywho, my mom’s getting older but still working because her job gives her joy.

I envy her, in many ways; she found purpose in her life that inspires her and keeps her active, both mentally and physically.

Feel lucky that she’s still around and gets to see the boy grow up.

This year will be the first year that we’re doing Thanksgiving at my place – the first time in close to 30 years of my being here (!)

So, I’ve been practicing making Parthian Chicken, which is a 1,500 year-old recipe that I got from a YouTube Channel I like called Tasting History.

It’s unlike any other chicken dish I’ve ever had because it has this spice called Asafoetida (“hing” in Indian groceries) and…well, it absolutely stinks.

As does the garum/fish sauce that is used to season it.

I bought this one. It does not smell good.

But the taste is just killer, and the smell essentially transforms into this really lovely thing after an hour of baking.

The Firecracker and I love it; her kid likes it, and my kid is less than thrilled.

Still, I think that it’ll be a nice change up from the usual Turkey and stuffing.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Location: standing in front of my desk because my back is absolutely killing me
Mood: guess
Music: Say you’ll be there, when I need you (Spotify)
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Oh, Ruth, Joe…what have you done?

Everything is crumbling away

Her: You were a nerdy kid when you were younger? I don’t believe that.
Me: Do you remember the kids that never got picked for any sports games?
Her: (laughing) Yeah. That was you?
Me: No. I was the kid that those kids beat up.

Years ago, I told you about a legal saying that really changed how I looked at the world: Sine qua non.

It’s Latin for, “But for…”

Meaning, But for John losing his job, he never would have started drinking, which lead to his suicide.

The self-importance of these people is what’s galling.

Or, But for the girls’ bullying, Annie never would have changed schools.

Thought of that and Ruth Bader Ginsburg the other night when Trump won the election.

Ruth was asked – begged, really – to step down while Obama was president so that he could appoint a liberal judge that would protect Roe. And yet she refused.

    • But for that refusal, Trump never would have been able to appoint three justices to the bench.
    • But for that appointment, the Supreme Court never would have been able to overturn Roe.
    • But for that appointment, the Supreme Court never would have been able to expand the power the presidency for Trump.
    • But for that expansion, Trump would probably have done his last few weeks of campaigning at the height of a trial for keeping classified documents.
    • But for that trial being dismissed, Trump may not have won the presidency.

Couple her arrogance with that of Biden’s – who should have stepped down years ago to allow a successor that could actually be likeable enough to win – and here we are.

In the end, it wasn’t that the country voted for a complete pig of a human being…

…it’s that the Democrats were so arrogant they couldn’t even beat a complete pig of a human being.

And now – Ruth, Joe – how sad it is that everything you spent your life trying to help and protect is crumbling away by your own self-importance and arrogance.

There’s a lot to be said for accepting the world as it, not as you wish it to be.

And this is why I drink.

Location: the kid’s schoolyard, talking to his teacher, hoping they’ll all be ok with a gunman on the loose
Mood: carb-eating, rum-swilling, machine
Music: this song is about you, playa (Spotify)
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There are no penguins anymore

This is why we can’t have nice things

Considering that today was Halloween, have you ever had a “banana-flavoured,” candy and thought, “This tastes kinda like a banana but not really?”

There’s a reason for that.

Not a banana plant but I thought it looked nice. From this entry.

Years ago, I had some friends over and we were playing Scattergories and the category was: Birds that begin with the letter “G.”

Him: What the hell’s a “Great Auk?”
Me: It’s a large, flightless, extinct bird.
Him: You can’t just put “Great” in front of a bird and say it starts with, “G!”
Me: OK Google, what’s a Great Auk?
Machine: According to Wikipedia, “The great auk is a species of flightless alcid that became extinct in the mid-19th century. It was the only modern species in the genus Pinguinus.”
Him: OK, stop, stop. Just take it.

Remember that line: “…the only modern species in the genus Pinguinus.”

I’d meant to write an entry about that, but it slipped my mind.

Now, the Great Auk was a true penguin – it looked like this:

By Mike Pennington, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13812423

I know what you’re thinking, “They kinda look like penguins.”

But that’s the opposite of the truth – the things we call penguins kinda look like them, the real penguins.

Those birds, the real penguins, completely died/were killed off some time in 1844.

A decade previously, around 1831, people started calling flightless birds in the Southern Hemisphere – far from the Northern Atlantic where the Great Auk was found – “penguins” because they kinda looked like the Great Auk.

But they weren’t actually penguins at all – again, the Great Auk was the “only modern species in the genus Pinguinus.”

Always found that so interesting: The birds we all call “penguins,” aren’t actually “penguins” at all but a completely different animal that we all assume are penguins now.

By Zwifree – I personally took this picture in my kitchen after buying approximately 30 Gros Michel Bananas.Previously published: I put it on my Facebook, CC BY 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=70354204

Somewhat related, my parents (and probably yours as well) grew up with a banana that was the Gos Michel banana but those went commercially extinct by about the 1960s.

In their place was the Cavendish banana, which I, and probably you, grew up on.

The Cavendish tasted a lot different from the bananas they grew up on, the Big Mike.

And that’s why a lotta banana-flavoured things don’t taste exactly like a banana to us – because those flavours were developed to imitate the original Gros Michel and not the Cavendish.

On a completely unrelated point, the election is happening soon.

Growing up, I spent most of my young adult life voting Republican because I was always fiscally conservative whilst being socially liberal.

What I’m seeing these days is a complete takeover of what I grew up with.

The compassionate conservative, which I prided myself being, has been taken over completely by a woman-hating, “Christian,” anti-choice, subtlety racist, and otherwise hateful group that seems to be wholly different from what was once called the Republican party.

Just like the Greak Auk, and the Big Mike, I think that the current GOP has taken over so completely that no one remembers that the Republican party used to be substantially different and something wholly unrelated is now known as the Republican Party.

Oh, and the Cavendish banana may be going extinct too.

Really, this is why we can’t have nice things.

Location: a former Masonic temple
Mood: irritated but fulla carbs so, not terrible
Music: Hey, Marianna, you gotta no banana? (Spotify)
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Harold is the worst Tan Hua plant ever

Crazy Average Asians

My mom gave me a cutting from her Tan Hua plant waaaaay back in 1993 – it’s the plant that was featured in Crazy Rich Asians,,

Here’s a super grainy part of that scene from the film.

Anywho, I named him Harold for no particular reason and he’s been with me all over New York City from my first apartment off Times Square to my son’s bedroom as of right this moment.

Like Leon in The Professional, Harold’s been with me everywhere I go.


Yes, I realize this is Natalie Portman’s character here, but I thought it was a better video.

Anywho, in Crazy Rich Asians, two things that they mentioned in the film is true: (a) it only blooms at night, and (b) it rarely ever blooms.

Harold? In 31 years, he’s never bloomed.

However, I’ve given cuttings of him to a few friends like Lviv, but – AFAIK – none of them have ever bloomed either.

This is Lviv’s plant from a while ago.

My mom, who’s got a phenomenal green thumb, has had her original plant bloom dozens of times and the fragrance is both amazing and indescribable.

Now, years ago, my buddy Brandon – the owner of Evolution Muay Thai, which is a great gym if you’re visiting or looking – is not only an amazing fighter and instructor, he’s also ridiculously good at cultivating plants.

He gave me a single leaf of his pothos plant and this is what it looks like now.

It’s been growing so aggressively that it grew through my lamp!

In any case, Brandon wrote me outtta the blue the other day to (a) show me a picture of his cutting, which looks spectacular:

…but also, (b) to tell me that it blooms so much that he finds rando blooms littering his floor.

I am sick with jealousy and a little irritated with Harold.

Here’s a timelapse of someone else’s plant blooming:

Me: I don’t get it; essentially, Brandon’s plant is you since it’s a cutting from you. He blooms, why can’t you?
Harold:
Me: You’re 31 years old and what have you done what do you have to say for yourself?
Him:
Me: Fine. Whatever.

Location: the kid’s room, looking at Harold and wondering what went wrong.
Mood: annoyed
Music: I’m holding on tight – someday we’ll get it right (Spotify)
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