Music: I'm just gonna sit on the dock of the baywww.loganlo.com
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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 ______________.

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


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


Finally, someone else wrote me and said,

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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. Cause y'make me think that maybe I'm on the right path to fulfilling my true purpose.

Music: hold on, hold on let me get the words out before I burst
YASYCTAI: Finish the sentence. Honestly (and tell me in a comment).Extra half-point; ask the person y'love to... (1 min/2.5 pts)
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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.


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


Music: there's reason to believe Maybe this year will be better than the last
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)
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My brother's in town and he's helping fix somea the computers here.

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Heartgirl told me recently that she doesn't know what to tell people when they ask what I do for a living. S'funny, alla the women I dated've said the same thing. Mosta 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.


Music: The sun in your eyes made some of the lies worth believing
YASYCTAI: Organize your computer files. (10 hrs/2 pts)
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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 cuppa 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're 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.


Music: hard to believe we need a place called hell
YASYCTAI: Read about Russell. (20 mins/1 pt)
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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.


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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.


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


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


Music: i have seen insane things all those grand historic paintings
YASYCTAI: Summer's here. Time to make some more changes. (time/2 pts)
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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 causea 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.

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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.


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.

Music: Now up and at em it's on, I was raised to be strong
YASYCTAI: Watch Johnny Handsome. Cause sometimes, they'll never let you any better than you are. (90 mins/1 pt)
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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 causa the theft and my business. But now maybe I'm back on track.


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...

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...and I finished my thesis...

...and I has new toof.

Music: Heartgirl singing in Spanish
YASYCTAI: 10,000 hours. That's what it takes to be the best at something. Whaddya wanna be the best at? (600,000 mins/100 pts)
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Paul just left. We were in our fencing class and he stopped by for some rum. He just became friends with an ex of mine on Facebook; hadn't thought about her in a while. Mainly cause I remember what a lout I was to her and what she did to get back at me. Probably deserved a lotta it, if not all.

My hands don't shake as much these days. In fact, can't remember when they last shook cause I get more sleep these days.

My sister came by the other night while I was making a ton of food (chili, of course) and slept right through the racket I was making. There's this saying that a clear conscience's the best pillow. It's a silly thing to be jealous of but I am.

Do you think I write alla this cause I'm vain? Doesn't really matter, I guess. But parta why I write is cause I've made made some dreadful mistakes and wouldn't want anyone to repeat them.

Y'ever see Le Retour de Martin Guerre or Sommersby? It's about a guy that'd rather be hung as a criminal than ever be the man he once was. It's based on a true story. I get it.

Cause a sound night's sleep's the reward for good people that do good things. And people like me? Man, we just lie awake with our terrible things, wishing we did things differently.


Music: wanna hear those sugar bells ring Wish me, love, a wishing well
YASYCTAI: You should say you're sorry. If only for yourself. (10 mins/2 pts)
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We talked shop and it was like talking to an adult after being surrounded by kids all day. Like Sheridan and somea the others, he believes in me more than I do, I think.

Man, I gotta get outta what I'm doing and back into my old life.

On the way there, heard an old Chinese lady yelling over and over again, "CHINATOWN!" on 37th and Lex. She reminded me of my grandma. So I went over and told her in my crappy Chinese that I'd get her there. She was visiting an old friend in a hospital nearby and got lost. Took her arm, walked her to the right stop, and waited for the bus with her.

Hopped off the bus and made it over to the Shelburne. Afterwards, walked from there to Columbus Circle, just cause I can't sleep anyway. Thought about my mom - if she got lost, I'd hope someone'd help her get home.

Speaking of home, Heartgirl's on a plane back as I write this. Was only two weeks but I missed her terribly.

Music: get your plane ride on time I know your part'll go fine
YASYCTAI: Help someone old. Cause you'd want someone to do it for your ma. (20 mins/1 pts)
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The cool thing about the people that you're close to is the shorthand language you've got.

My brother used to sing in a bar while in med school. One song was about this singer in a bar that loved a waitress named Rachel who wanted to move to LA. The guy didn't know what to say, so he just said, if you find me one, I'd love a picture of the California sun.

For years my bro said he'd move to LA. Always joked that if he ever did, I'd want a postcard from LA. Then one day he just up and left with two suitcases and a guitar. Spur of the moment thing. Poof.

Week or so later, got a postcard with a picture of the California sun and not much else. Didn't need much else. I remember that I sat down on my striped sofa and cleared my throat. Then I cleared a place for it on my fridge.

Somewhere through the years, lost it. Stupid roommates.

S'ok though - lookee what I got today:


Music: something always comes up something always makes her stay
YASYCTAI: Send someone a nice picture. If y'got time, send me one too. (1 mins/0.5 pts)
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Went to Florida for 20somthing hours over the weekend. Last minute decision; my brother's moving to Cali so he was having a last hurrah. Started out at the Chesterfield Hotel which was fulla doctors, nurses and booze. Lotsa booze. Onea the guys was getting frisky with onea the girls.

Then we hopped over to a club called Cameo where, fortunately, some guy floated alla us in.

Unfortunately, a bunch of guys in masks, dogs and guns stormed the club. Fortunately, they were cops. Unfortunately, they shut the joint down, arrested alla the owners and bartenders and, more dismaying, didn't lemme finish my drink.

The group decided to hit up another party but I ended up chatting with a promoter at another joint and managed to convince him to float us all in and comp us a bottle of vodka. He ended up buying me a buncha shots too. I like Miami.


The bartender leaned over and said she was buying me a shot of Tequila too. Told her that Tequila and I weren't on speaking terms but she bought me one anyway. At around 2AM, she pulled me onto the dance floor. Afterwards:



Rushed to the airport, missed my flight, so went back to brother's. Try number two worked and I ended up in Newark airport at 21:15. Dropped my buddy Paul off downtown and zipped off to my favorite lady in the world.
Heartgirl, my favorite lady whom I'm not related to, is away for a few weeks. In Africa. Think I miss her already. But it's probably for the best. The next two weeks are gonna be rough.


Music: Turning back she just laughs The boulevard is not that bad
YASYCTAI: Go somewhere completely different soon. You need a change of latitude. (Two weeks/3 pts)
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Met up with Heartgirl on Friday for a quiet night in. Saw the interactive art project at Madison Square Park and then ate dinner at a nice restaurant. Always good when you don't have to unwrap your dinner.

Saturday, saw my brother for massive amounts of pizza. He doesn't live in NYC so whenever he's here, he gets his fill.

Saturday night, went to HEI's for her birthday party. Got absolutely soaked in the rain so as soon as I arrived, ask for some pants to wear. Spend the night walking around in women's sweatpants and slippers.


Met some nice people and one girl that asked, "Can we be friends?" Brought HEI a bottle of rum. We all almost kicked it that night. Rolled home at 2AM and woke up the next day without a hangover. Love that rum.

Sunday, go with my brother to grab sushi. For some reason they gave us a bottle of sake and I had to drink it myself. Quite a way to start off a Sunday morning.

Sunday night, go with Heartgirl and one of her friends to see Coldplay in concert. Heartgirl doesn't like being in pictures. She does like being with me though. Fair trade.

Duffy was the opening act. Spent $11.25 for a diet coke, pretzel and package of Reese's Pieces. Coldplay was amazing in concert. Seem like nice fellas.


Got home five minutes to midnight. Now I'm home getting ready to run out the door. And you? How was your weekend?

Music: without you it's a waste of time
YASYCTAI: Treat yourself to a small concert. The last major one I went to was 20 years ago. (90 mins/1 pts)
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When you get beat up as often as I did as a kid, you either get all decked out in black and go Columbine, or you just learn how to fight. And for those of you that know me, never do anything half-assed.

Bryson's one of my best friends and was a striker like me. He outweighed me by 20-40 pounds but I was fast and flexible. We were always toe-to-toe. Until he started grappling. So I started too.

Then, a little after 9/11, I got injured. A kimura gone horribly wrong. Doc said I could either get surgery and lose 10% of my range of motion or rehab it and lose as little as 2%. Chose the latter. He said it'd take up to four years. It took seven. Stopped watching NHB stuff cause it made me sad. Didn't wanna be one of those guys that spent his time talking about his glory days.

During those seven years, Bryson worked to the point that he's a Pan-American Bronze Medalist. And he knew something his opponents didn't - that as good as he was on the ground, he was even better on his feet. I knew that. My jaw knew that. Me? I stopped. Got fat. Settled down with a girlie.

The only place I'm still better than Bryson's with a sword. But even then, he's almost my match. We both know he's better than me, he's just too polite to ever say it. Some days, forget that I'm 35. Then my body reminds me. The last time I felt good about my right lead was in the mid-90s.

We spoke recently and he told me that he just got a similar injury. He finds out next week if he can roll again. I understood. Told him that he got seven years on me and he agreed. Small comfort, I know.

After we got off the phone, sat back and remembered when we weren't old men. Instead, we're in the muddy backyard of my college house. He'd swing on by, we'd laugh. Then we'd kunckle up and roll.


Music: hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it
YASYCTAI: Look up an old friend. Cyberstalking's easy with Facebook et al (10 mins/1 pt)
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With nods to a friend.

According to Hitchcock, a guy on a train sees something above and asks another dude what it is.


Used in stories or film, a McGuffin's just a device that the characters place meaning onto to move the story along, like in Ronin where they're all chasing after some briefcase but we never find out why it's important. It's just important cause they made it important.

With the exception of health and family, I submit that a lotta of what you put your heart and soul with, it's nuthin at all. A lotta what I put my heart and soul into is nuthin at all.

At the enda the cartoon above, the characters're the same; the situation's the same. The only thing that's changed is each character's perception of reality. But, man, that's everything, that's the whole nut, yeah?

Heard once that, On the day he thought he died, the caterpillar turned into a butterfly. It's dorky, overly sentimental and hopeful. Like me.

Speaking of which, y'know, I pretty much am Pepe le Pew when I'm out and about. And 'bout as successful.

S'ok, I have fun...Bonjour Week-end! Où sont les filles?

Music: tell your white knight that he’s handsome in hindsight
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We all carry our homemade weapons with us. The everyday items that, when against the wall, we flick out and stab others with.

My intellect instantly becomes arrogance; wit, sarcasm; focus, aggression. Faster than the blink of a teary eye. It's parta why I don't curse - that's just gas on a fire.

At some point in every relationship, you got that split-second choice on whether or not to draw those weapons. Once those daggers come out, man, there's no going back. There's no putting toothpaste back inna tube.

A monster, No. 6 once said of me. We'd such a bloody end; I said things no one should ever say. Then again, so did she. Just spoke to her not that long ago. My fine handiwork's still in her voice.

Cause I'm the skillest with my sharp objects. The killest with my blunt instruments.

Every fencer knows to take care when drawing. Cause you're always just as likely to cut yourself as your adversary. I don't recall a time I ever drew first and didn't cut myself more. Not once. And I'm never unarmed.

The skillest and killest. It's a horrid gift.

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A different girlie:


Music: another evil force tellin' me to do what I gotta do
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Told you that I'm terribly clumsy, yeah? Fell down some stairs a few years ago and the left side of my face was crushed in. After some work, the doctors sewed me up. Met up with each of my family individually and they each said, I can't see it. But a second after my mom walked upstairs, she immediately, and wordlessly, burst into tears . The first thing she said was, I'll pay for plastic surgery. I laughed.

Mothers know their kids, I think.

When my drama first came down, she called me to tell me to come home. Told her I was too busy. But she demanded that I come. So I rummaged around for the best smile I could find and wore it home. You look great, my dad said.

But my mom took one look at me and burst into tears. Like I said, mothers know their kids.

She told me I could always move back home and that made me laugh. Great, I said, I'll be a 35 year old man living with his parents. (on the positive side, that'd certainly solve my dating dilemmas right quick).

I'd cook, she said.

That made me laugh even more. So I gave her a kiss and told her that if it came down to it, I'd do that. That seemed to make her happy. She says that she knows I'll be fine. Mothers know their kids so I hope she's right.

Did I ever tell you my mom's a writer? She gets published a lot more than me. It's from her side of the family; my grandfather's a writer too. All this comes from her.

Off to see her now.

Saturday night, hit up a girlie's party in Jersey. Met someone whom I may have kissed over New Year's, but I don't think so. Then again, been wrong before. An hour into it, get a call from SX. She's in Jersey too.


We end up at a diner just east of no-freaking-where. Her blond hair falls into her eyes when she walks in, laughs and says, This is crazy. I smile and nod. In one of our conversations, I tell her that I occasionally kiss the women I meet.


It's almost 5AM when we call it a night. Sunday, wake up, do my situps and clean up my train-wreck of a pad. Meet up with a Hazel-Eyed Italian for caramels who lives around the way with an easy laugh. She asks about my dating life so I take a deep breath and tell her.


We walk around the big city for a bit. Pointing at some violets, she says that she never sees enough of them here. I smile in agreement before she slips underground and I dash off to church.

I slide into a pew and sit by my lonesome in the back. Find myself staring just a little too long at the smug couples around me. I excuse myself, go to the restroom and wash my face for no particular reason. Then trudge up the steps to sit alone again.

Monday always comes a day too soon, yeah?

Music: risk all this for just a kiss I promise I will not resist
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With nods to Kemidra. In Marley's "No Woman No Cry," he's got a line that goes:


But if you listen to it, it sounds more like:


Since I was a kid, I misheard it. Figures. My life as a kid was all wrong.

Y'know, back then, I was so poor and so fat, only really had four shirts. It's all we could afford. All my fat ass could fit. Red. Yellow. Brown-striped. And this god-awful sky blue velvet one.

Hey - betcha I got more clothes than you.

I got more clothes than anyone I've ever met. Anyone. And I meet a lotta folk. Statement of fact, that's all.

Cause when I made some scratch, I bought clothes. Like 200+ ties. Not cheap ties, the good stuff. Man, I don't even wear ties. All I do is wear jeans and tee-shirts, now. Finally grew outta it, I guess.

But y'never grow outta that deep fear, do you? That deep fear that makes no @#$ sense. The fear that I'll wake up and be this fat, poor, lonely dork in sixth grade again. Y'know, my classmates threw rocks at me? Seriously, rocks.

No lie, this latest drama's no fun. But when you're in sixth grade and your classmates think stoning you's high sport, well, that preps you for pretty much anything.

Don't want pity. Don't want charity. I just want a sec. Just gimme a sec - catch my breath, get on my feet. If you wanna do something for me, buy me some rum when you see me. Otherwise,


Music: read the entry
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no mother ever thinks that her daughter's gonna grow up to sleep alone.

I was listening to this song before I fell asleep one night and I had the strangest dream about a man who couldn't sleep and woman who wouldn't speak. I'd like to tell it to you.

If I can remember it all, I will.

I'll add that to the list of things I've gotta do. I'm sorry for all of those of you that said you could help - I don't think I can do the rum project. No time.

There's never enough time these days.

Music: they keep getting younger, Don't they baby?
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