Tag: tiny wisdom

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personal

Nuthin like it was for someone else

You pay to be left alone

Her: Hey, are you free to join some work colleagues for dinner?
Me: Sure – where and when?

The Firecracker had a fancy work dinner to attend, so I gave her some suggestions, including the really nice restaurant that I took her to on our first proper dinner date years ago.

She booked a reservation but then one person couldn’t make it, so I showed up in his stead.

It’s funny because someone mentioned on the Firecracker’s social media why we would want to eat in an empty restaurant, and we talked about that exact topic that night.

Me: (to the guests) The thing about living in NYC is that when you pay a ridiculous amount of money in a restaurant for food, you’re really paying for people to not be on top of you.
Firecracker: Yeah, most places are crowded and loud. You pay for space and quiet.

In any case, I got my usual burger…

…and a drink.

Afterward, I gave some of them – who were in town visiting – a tour of the St. Marks area.

Along the way, we walked by some old haunts of mine, including:

Spent most nights there with my friends Francis and Rain but that’s a story for another day.

We ended up at Criff Dogs…

…and Please Don’t Tell, the speakeasy that we didn’t make it into last time and actually made it in this time.

I may or may not have ordered some hot dogs.

Firecracker: I swear to god, he has a wooden leg.
Me: I’m a growing boy.

Afterwards, we all went our respective ways but I actually, sent Rain a shot of Cafe Orlin/Marlou Bistro…

…and his response was typically him.

Without telling his story, I think part of the reason he left New York was that the New York that he loved left him.

I think that’s why a lotta people leave this place.

There’s almost nuthin left of the New York City that I once knew.

But that’s ok for me.

Because I gotta figure that the New York City that I knew is nuthin like it was for someone else who came before me.

And it’s time for someone else to have their New York City.

Me: I miss the kid.
Her: He’ll be back this weekend.
Me: (nodding)

Location: 10AM, shooting a shirtless video for Scenic Fights and then eating $58 worth of carbs immediately afterward
Mood: so. so. so. so. full.
Music: In New York, you can be a new man (Spotify)
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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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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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The greatest mistake’s to do nothing cause you can’t do much

Resistance

Almost exactly 82 years ago to this day, the US 379th Bomb Group were above the central German town of Kassel – deep in Germany – trying to blow up the Nazi aircraft engine shops located there.

Tondelayo, a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber, was flying particularly slow – 150 miles per hour versus its max speed of 287 mph – in order to try and hit its targets, all while being shot up by Nazi heavy guns.

A buncha Nazi exposive shells hit the airplane but didn’t explode.

After the crew made it back, officials inspected the shells that hit the Tondelayo and noted that most were empty.

Inside one of these shells, however, was a note written in Czech:

This is all we can do for you now.

That’s how the Allies discovered that forced laborers in a German munitions factory had sabotaged the ammunition by removing the explosive filler, rendering the shell a dud and saving the lives of everyone on board the Tondelayo.

On this 4th of July, I wanted to relay to you a quote I tell the kid alla time – and truly believe in my soul – from a fella named Syd that goes:

It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do little.

To hold ourselves to our highest ideals of what it meana to be an American, I think, is to do what you can when you can to further the idea of truth and justice.

And it doesn’t take much.

But it does take something.

It’s 4th of July so I thought this was a fitting little story and quote.

Back to nuthin next week.

PS – I may take Monday off. Not sure ATM. I suppose we’ll find out then.

Location: still the UWS, for now
Mood: resolute
Music: Look, Mummy. There’s an airplane up in the sky (Spotify)
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Tribute

Its name is *not* “Bear”

Him: What is it, papa?
Me: You tell me.
Him: It’s a bear! A little bear.
Me: Actually…


A song I’ve always enjoyed was Tribute by Tenacious D.

If you don’t know the conceit of the song, essentially the lyrics tell a story about the band meeting a demon that demands that the two play the best song in the world—or risk losing their souls.

So, Tenacious D improvises a tune that is so good that – miraculously – the demon’s defeated.

Unfortunately, however, they later forget how it went, leaving only a pale shadow memory of that legendary performance, which they call Tribute as it’s merely a tribute to a much better song.

Now, did you know that the word “bear” isn’t the word for the animal?

The animals we call “bears,” were such a horror to Europeans, they would never say the actual name of the animal, only calling it names like “The Honey Eater,” “The Destroyer,” or – and I love this – “The Brown One,” or…”Bear.”

And guess what they never wrote down?

The actual name of the animal they called, “The Brown One,” out of fear that it would be summoned when it heard its name.

So, when you call something a “bear,” you’re not actually calling it the name that those people who coined the word actually called the animal, you’re calling it the codeword of that name.

It’s a tribute to the actual name of the animal.

My point is that there are so many things that we think we know that aren’t actually what we think they are, like penguins and bananas.

Her: Your son was really nice to my daughter, tell him thanks. You and your wife are doing a great job raising him.
Me: Oh, that…she’s my fiance. My wife died not soon after he was born.
Her: (shocked) Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I…
Me: (interrupting) It’s ok. We don’t need to dwell on it.

I think I’m doing an ok job raising the kid mainly on my own, with help from my family, Alison’s family, and the Firecracker.

But, in the end, how I’m able to raise him is all just a tribute to the life he coulda had if things were different and Alison and my dad were still here.

It’s not the actual life I wanted for him but – if he’s a good, happy, and healthy kid – I think it’ll be good enough.

Well, that’s the hope, anywho.

His life is my tribute to her and my dad.

So, here’s hoping it’s an amazing one.

Location: my kitchen, quickly cooking dinner so I can get back to work
Mood: like college-finals-level busy
Music: You gotta believe it – and I wish you were there! (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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Pilate washed his hands

All the sinners, saints

Easter just passed, not too long ago.

While I’m now a devout atheist, you’d probably be surprised to know I was once deeply religious.

Interestingly, it was my repeated reading of the bible that really started me onto the path of being an atheist.

It’s not so much alla the insanely fucked up things the bible does and says, so much as the inconsistencies and repeated illogical situations that make me no believe.

But that’s neither here nor there.

On the topic of Easter, the story goes that Pilate didn’t kill Jesus, despite being the highest legal authority in the area.

Rather, he merely stepped aside so others could do it and he could have clean hands, literally, as he washed his hands of the entire affair (Matthew 27:24).

The best interpretation of this event, IMHO, comes from my fave Rolling Stones song, Sympathy for the Devil – I’ve mentioned it here more than once.

There’s a line that goes:

I was ’round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Strictly speaking, it’s unclear whose fate was sealed by this action:

    • Yes, Pilate sealed Jesus’s fate by not doing anything; he effectively made it so that the mob was able to have Jesus killed for standing up to the wealthy class.
    • But Pilate also sealed his own fate as well, once he let an innocent man die for doing the right thing, he was forever damned. Because he knew he was letting an innocent man die and no amount of hand washing could clean his hands of the stain.

The wealthiest in America are on track to kill off:

    • Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion – these are somehow bad things and bad words now.
    • USAID
    • Medicaid
    • Social Security
    • Education
    • etc.

And, it seems, we’ve sealed their fates, the fates of hundreds of thousands of people – and our own – by doing nothing.

Every time I think I can’t be any more disappointed in the world, I’m proven wrong yet again.

Location: Home Depot, picking up bullnose tiles
Mood: disappointed
Music: after all it was you and me (Spotify)
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Building up the opposition

Letter vs Spirit

When I was a kid, I loved the Support your local… films  with Support your Local Sheriff as my favourite of the two.

There’s a scene where an old crook named Pa Danby is trying to bust his middle-aged son Joe Danby outta jail.

Couldn’t find that scene but the above scene is before the bars are put in.

After the bars are installed, the dad tries to yank them out with Joe’s brothers and three horses, but the men are all flung from their horses and the bars don’t budge.

Joe: I could’ve told you it wouldn’t work.
Pa: Why not?
Joe: Because they set these bars in too solid.
Pa: What do you know about anything?
Joe: I helped to set ’em in.
Pa: You helped ’em put in those bars?!
Joe: I didn’t have nothin’ else to do.

Hold that thought.

Did you know that Jefferson Davis was the Secretary of War for the US right before he became the President of the Confederate States?

He built up and – vastly – improved the very army that he would face himself.

[Davis] suggested that the size of the regular army was too small and that its salaries were too meagre. Congress agreed and authorized four new regiments and increased its pay scale. He ended the manufacture of smoothbore muskets and shifted production to rifles, working to develop the tactics that accompany them. Id.

Been thinking about that fact and Support your Local Sheriff a lot lately because the kid and I’ve been arguing a lot lately.

He pushes back with me on a ton of things.

Me: You were supposed to call me.
Him: But you said call when I get out of school, you didn’t say right when I got out.
Me: True, but the point of your calling me was so I would know when to pick you up.

And I realize that it’s a delicate balance with having him be independent but also compliant – two wholly incompatible but necessary things to successfully function in society.

Balancing it properly leads me to no end of stress and us to no end of disagreements.

But this is my job, so I do it.

After all, my dad did it for me – and I’m sure he regretted teaching me to challenge everything.

Unlike Jefferson Davis, however, I’m fully aware that however I train him to behave, I’m gonna have to deal with myself, one way or another.

Because it’s the destiny of all fathers and sons to be adversarial on some things down the line, no matter how much we support and care for one another.

That’s just how things are.

But I’ll always be on his side, whether he realizes it or not.

Here’s hoping that I’m doing it right.

Him: You didn’t say that! You just said to call you after school.
Me: (sighing) Fine. But the next thing we gotta chat about is the letter of the law vs the spirit of the law…

Not looking forward to the teenage years.

Location: My incredibly dusty room sans bathroom
Mood: beat tired
Music: you start me up before breakfast – how about we fight fire with fire? (Spotify)
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