Hee hee hee.

Is it referring to all my crazy-cool tech gear... or...

Small business challenge number 785.

It occurred to me today that I should just fire everyone.

Now, this isn't quite the Big Deal that it seems, because out of my two full-time employees, one has already quit (an amicable and entirely proper split). The other one is a nice person who does a subset of what I do. She’s pretty good at it, but I’m not sure how I need to reconfigure things if I want to keep the company lean, nimble, and efficient.

Don’t get me wrong: firing one person sucks. I just didn’t want to imply that I was running some sort of massive operation here.

I’ve gotten a lot of advice from folks… including the person who’s leaving. It’s been suggested that yes, I clear the decks and hire a super-capable office person/personal assistant, and go all crazy on my own. It’s been suggested that I stick with employee number 3, and hire a part-time billing and collections person.

I have no idea what to do… and this is the worst time for me to think about it, because I’m exhausted.

Anybody out there want to work for a pro-choice, pro-gray, hetero catholic father of three? With hypomania?

Heh.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. “Change that to red.”

I just want to report...

...that it appears my special reversible belt, the one that goes with everything, is about to snap in half. HOLD ON, BABY! JUST TWO MORE DAYS!!!

Love to all.

Did I go overboard on this one?

So, I have to review a lot of emails as part of my regular job. A lot. I was just doing that here in Orlando (yay, two jobs at once!). It's 9:38pm and I've been here since 7:15am, so I'm starting to get a little punchy.

Someone (who I don't know) wrote me an email, and they started with "Hi, Rich! How's life?"

So I wrote them back:

Dear [name withheld],

It’s been so long since you’ve written, I was beginning to think you returned to the Sorbonne.

Me, I’ve been okay. After a brief stint in the Oregon State Penitentiary, I was released, with ankle bracelet, and immediately embarked on a new career as a nautical engineer. Sadly, that venture failed spectacularly, and eventually came to rest at the bottom of the Indian Ocean. Seven years later, I found myself hiding out in a single-room flat in Clackmannanshire.

Then, monkeys. So many monkeys.

Was that overboard? I don't know. It felt good, though.

Love to all. Even you, the chicken organizer.

Geek humor.

After 48 hours of trying to fix an access problem, we finally got it resolved. I was chatting with the network manager who actually fixed the problem, and tried to put my own spin on it.

I liked his response.

(I'm the icon on the right.)

Love to all. Even you, the lady who's a little too defensive about her masking tape.

Dammit, Dammit, Dammit.

So, I went back to the room after being onsite for 14 hours. While in the room, I missed two phone calls saying that the Senior VP (and master of the Main Client Account) couldn’t play a particular media file, and could I fix it right away?

Sadly, my personal cell phone had died, and nobody thought to try me on the show phone, via email, or by calling my room.

Fuck.

Love to all. Even you, alarm clock.

I am SO cool.

Why, because I chatted online with Zube Girl. (click to enlarge).

I've actually only IMed with two people from the blogworld. I'm always kind of terrified, because I don't want them to think I'm some kind of psycho. Or rather, a different kind of psycho than I actually am. So, to cover myself, I'm like:

"HI! DON'T THINK I'M WEIRD! HA HA! OKAY, BYE!"

Or some craziness like that... and I always make sure I sign off first, just in case they are thinking: "God, I hate this guy. Why is he talking to me? Is he a stalker?"

Ah, my brain. I'm so outgoing and NOT outgoing at the same time, it's just ludicrous.

Love to all.

Feel Free to say yo!

AIM: richchampionable
YAHOO: rich_championable

Feel free to IM me, until it freaks me out too much and I shut that shit down.

Love to all.

Calm before the storm and AAAAAAAAAH!

So here's one of the production rooms. It's empty, but that won't last long. My PowerBook looks a wee bit out of place amongst all the XP notebooks.

I've been sent back to the hotel for the evening, since I'm doing "staff support" and the "staff" isn't here yet... as you can plainly see.

What the hell....

...what the hell... WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO FOR 14 HOURS WITH NO KIDS, NO MAGGIE, NO DOGS, NO CATS, AND NO COMPANY!?!?!?!

Okay. I said it. I am NOT used to downtime... and I'm here in this hotel with no car, and nothing to do until 8am tomorrow. Holy CRAP.

Love to all.

Either this room is going to rock...

...or it's going to suck.

It'll totally rock if it's just me. It's a kickin' suite and it has two TVs and I can sleep in one of two beds, or both. Fun!

It'll totally suck if I wind up with a roommate. After twelve years with Maggie, I'm not too fond of sleeping near someone I don't know. Bleah. Thing is, I would be totally happy in a Japanese-style micro-room, too. I just can't handle roommates.

I'm pretty sure I'm solo, though.

Either way, I don't think I'm going to be here too much except to sleep, so there won't be much time to dance naked, anyway. Not, um, that I would do that.

Okay. Quick coffee, then off to the show.

Love to all. Even you, Cliff the Van Driver who not-so-subtly implied that I had stolen one of those kick-ass vibrating pager-thingies.

Well, *that* went well.

I'm writing this from Gate 1, Delta Terminal, Laguardia airport, New York City.

I woke up at 3:30am, half an hour before the alarm. I'm crazy like that.

My flight isn't until 10:45, but Maggie and the kids decided to go to visit her Dad in West Palm Beach... and their flight was at 8:00am. So off we went, super early.

While waiting in the van, my daughter slugged my youngest in the head. I sent her inside, checked on the boy, stormed inside, and yelled at my daughter "GET IN THE KITCHEN!" Apparently, this scared the crap out of Maggie, because she yelped. I angrily told my daughter that she could not hit, and that this was totally unacceptable. Maggie was really upset that I yelled at our daughter like that. On the way to the airport, she said that she wants me to talk to someone about my temper. Ugh.

She may be right, though. Although not in the way that she's saying.

I think it might be good for me to see a shrink. I think that as I turn... um... "40"... that it's wtime to come to terms with my beloved-but-fucking-insane father, and the long-term effects of my prior difficulties with with alcohol.

This bothers me, though. And I know why.

Being raised in a "black/white" environment, where I was either "God's gift to the planet," or someone who "didn't deserve to steal oxygen from others," I think the idea of going to therapy to try and improve on things that are relatively normal is an entirely fucked-up concept. Does this make sense?

In other words: in my brain, having any issue = complete mental ruin.

Love to all. Someone I know just arrived.

Prepare for weirdness!

Hello, gorgeous. How've you been?

Ka-yummy.

I'm flying tomorrow morning to work tech support at a huge-ass corporate conference in Orlando, Florida. My job is to help keep the on-the-fly design studios running, and to make sure all the conference workers can communicate with their home base: email, VPN, etc.

This is the only client I work for directly. The rest of the time, I'm at my little business in the East Village.

If this conference is anything like last year, I can expect 12 - 18 hour days that consist of:

1. 8 hours of intense bordedom, followed by
2. 0.5 hours of heartfelt panic, followed by
3. 10 minutes of rational solution, followed by
4. 5 more hours of intense boredom.

It's being there to provide the rational solution that matters.

So, I'm going to try and post lots of little things over the next five days. I'll be returning late 2/1... And on 2/2, I'm turning 37 years old.

WAIT. Make that 40. I'm turning 40.

Okay, I'm not. But what I decided is: I need to say that I'm 40 for the next four years, so that when I'm finally 41, I'll be cool with it.

Does that make sense to you?

Love to all. Even you, the tragic bastard with the frightened girlfriend.

Is my wife being sarcastic?

You tell me. This is her email to me about picking me up at the train station:

Be sure to let me know exactly, to the minute, when you will be arriving so that I will be THERE when you get there and you will not have to wait at all, because that would be totally humiliating, as if you were not loved by your wife or children.

God, she knows me so well.

Love to all. Even you, the AP person who has made the same promise of payment for three weeks.

Oh, poop.

So, here I am, struggling with how to have a conversation with Employee #3, when Employee #2 quits. Her last day is February 10. She was offered an opportunity to work as an assistant in this education program, where they'll pay 80% of her Master's tuition.

She was terrified to tell me. She was all shaky-nervous as she tried to. When I realized she was trying to tell me she was leaving, I said: "Okay, hold up. Permission to be candid? Okay. I love you. You're fantastic. You're leaving. It's cool. So now tell me what I need to know."

The rest of the conversation was much easier.

I meant it, too. I love this girl. Not that way (although she's smart and super-pretty), but because she's brought a ton of great personality to a personality-driven company. She's a dedicated, hard-working, can-do person with all kinds of a future. So it makes sense that she's moving on to do what she's always wanted to do.

In a way, it makes conversation with employee #3 much easier: since my next employee is going to have to be a sales person, making the big discussion about reorganizing her compensation package to be other-than-office-performance-based is an easier one to have.

I'm sad, though. Employee #2 is a great kid. She's been with me for a year and a half.

I'll miss her.

Update, oatmeal, being the boss.

Good morning! Want some oatmeal?

It turns out bringing Employee #2 to the doctor was a really good thing. She has an abnormal heartbeat, and while she's no immediate danger they're running her on all kinds of tests over the next week or two. Yeesh. The good thing is, she feels much better knowing that: 1) She's not about to die, 2) She's getting treated. This is a fit, 26-year-old woman... but who's family has a history of all kinds of stuff.

My family? We live forever. But we go insane early.

Employee #3 is coming back to work today. She's the one with a verifiable-semi-serious ilness that may have additional components. The thing here from an employee standpoint is that prior to all this going down, she was going to have an employee review where part of the review would be: We can't afford you the way we're paying you. So I'm feeling pretty stuck on this... legally, my motives were correct... from a business perspective, I think I'm pretty much spot on... but from a human perspective... bad, bad timing.

I know what'll fix everything: cocaine and hookers!

Kidding. Sorry. Anyway. I'm teaching my second class today, and I have NO IDEA WHAT TO DO. Any ideas? Think stock PCs, kindergarteners. Actually, I have some ideas... but not concrete.

Love to all. Even you, fartypants.

The little, strange things.

One of my employees is out sick. Might be medium sick, might be very sick. Don't know. Can't ask. She's been out a bit, and she'll be out until at least tomorrow. Then, she's out again Friday... and I don't know for how long.

This morning, my other employee (I have two internally, and about 30 freelancers on the outside) came in and said that she'd been up all night... and had been sleeping poorly for the last few nights. She's had chest pain, tooth pain (in her front teeth), and numbness in her arm. Obviously, her friends said "GO TO THE DOCTOR NOW."

So she finally called the doctor, and he said "Come in immediately."

I brought her uptown, and am writing this from the waiting room. Someone in the building has an open wireless network.

Selfishly, I think: "Shit. I've got two sick employees. That leaves just me in the office. How the hell am I supposed to keep things moving?" I'm such a jackass.

But when it comes to action, at least I'm doing the right thing. I brought her up here, and I'm going to wait until she gets out... her husband is stuck at work, so he can't be here. Yay, small business ownership... I can close the office if I want, and damn it all.

Love to all. Even you, the 100-year-old doctor.

Dudes! I totally forgot!

So, I was walking down Warren Street in Hudson, NY, to pick up Maggie from her massage appointment. This blue car with a yellow bumper sticker goes by and beeps... and this girl leans out the back seat window and says "Hi!" The driver, a young lady in her early twenties, smiles at me.

I was like, WTF? Me? They drive past.

About ten minutes later, I'm chatting up this supernice hippie dude who was standing outside the entrance to the massage place. It turns out his girlfriend was the owner, and also the lady with whom Maggie had an appointment. All of a sudden I hear "Hi, you!" I look at the street and there's the same car full of young ladies, and they're waving right at me again. And they cruise by.

The hippie dude says "Hey man, they like you."

I realize they probably thought I was someone else... but it was WAY cool to get checked out by a carload of attractive young women. I admit it.

Love to all. Even you, real estate guy.

Famous people, lots o' love, and Maximum Art.

Okay. This was pretty great. We got home from our weekend away, and the kids had made us a cake. That completely rocks. I'm glad they didn't garnish it with legos. Clearly, that almost happened.

Maggie and I spent the weekend at a place called the Union Street Guest house. At first, we checked into the first-floor Library Suite, but we thought that it would be way noisy, so we asked if we could move upstairs to the Gallery Suite. The owner said, sure... the woman who was supposed to arrive in the Gallery Suite was cool with either room. Then he said "Uh, listen, if she knocks on your door because she doesn't know about the switch, be cool. It's Mary Stuart Masterson, the actress." So that was kind of fun. We heard her, but it turned out that we didn't meet her.

It turns out that when Maggie and I are alone, we laugh more, and we make love more. A lot more. Of both. It's always a good thing when the number of times you make love outnumbers the number of nights you stay in a place. Rock on.

Also: we laughed our asses off. And no, it's was not related the last paragraph. I can't remember when we had so many laughing fits... the kind where your stomach starts to really, really hurt... but you keep laughing because you can't stop.

We bought some nice things: a really beautiful and solid antique desk for my oldest son, and two large photographs by a up-and-coming photographer. Maggie also picked up a sweet little ring from Bali.

Hudson is fantastic. It's got amazing architecture, some great restaurants, a huge artists community, and relatively affordable housing. If I had extra cash, I'd buy some real estate up there.

I didn't look at a TV or computer for 60 hours, which is some kind of record for me.

It's nice to be home. There's a lot of things going on, and I have a minor crisis in my office that I have to figure out. But that's for another post.

The great thing from the weekend was the huge, fabulous reminder that Maggie and I still make a really good boyfriend/girlfriend pairing. After twelve years, I'm still thrilled to be around her. She's fun, adventurous, sexy, and smart. And I'm married to her.

Lucky, lucky me.

Love to all.

Three.... two... one...

I'm actually leaving my computer at home this weekend. Shock-a-ROO!

I'm a little bummed that I won't see my two older kids before I leave... the babysitter is picking them up at the bus stop... it's so weird how I'm totally psyched for some alone-time with Maggie... yet I already miss my kids, even though I haven't even LEFT yet.

Yeesh.

Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! I went a little crazy and got gifts for Maggie for our weekend getaway. I bought her two cute little bangles as "Yay! We're off!" presents... and I'm going to give her those in the car just after we leave. But at dinner tonight, I'm going to spring a little necklace I got her at the oh-so-badly-named but very cool store in NYC called "New York Look." She will completely not expect it.

Okay. Going to pack a little bag, then we're heading out. Leave me nice things to read for when I get back. See you Sunday.

Love to all. Even you, the salesdude in Saks who shadowed me for 10 minutes.

No way!

So: tomorrow evening, Maggie and I are headed up to Hudson, New York, to spend a weekend alone. Yeah, you heard that right: alone.

No kids, no cats, no dogs… Just the two of us, for two nights, chilling. Of course, you know precisely what we’re going to talk about: kids, cats, and dogs. But I hope to sleep until at least 7am… I hope to get in some serious smooching… and I hope that Maggie and I enjoy each other’s company.

Scratch that last one.

What I mean is: I hope that I’m patient, easygoing, and fun to be with. I know that I can be a really fun person to hang with. I also know that I can be crabby, irritable, and annoying. So I’m going to have to do a little praying, and my prayer will be, in part:

“God, please help me not be a dick.”

Love to all. Even you, the drama queen.

Dear Michael,

Hey, man.

I was just getting to know you a little bit... I dug the fact that you had little kids just like me... you were trying hard to be a good husband and father... but you were just as fucked up and interesting as the rest of us.

You had a great voice, man. And really expressive eyes.

I feel bad for your kids: their Dad is gone. And no matter what kind of gloriousness, progression, or nothingness that follows this life... for the kids, their Dad is just gone.

I won't be seeing you on 35th or 22nd anymore, amigo. It might have been occasional, but you were a good guy to know.

Rest in peace, brother. You fought the good fight.

Rich

"Terrible gift."

Alcoholism is the greatest thing in the world. The greatest. That is, of course, if the alcoholic recovers from the illness. Otherwise, it's just a wee bit problematic. That whole blackout / crime / sadness / devolution-of-the soul-thing can be a real downer.

But it seems that quitting drinking requires that the alcoholic address a whole range of things... spritiual, physical, and mental... and that by addressing these things, he finds that life can be way cool.

A lot of alcoholics think that they're special... That they are somehow better than normal people, who they call "civilians" or "normies." This is crap. However, alcoholics have been given a "terrible gift" that compels them to live a different life or probably die. It is choiceless, if the alcoholic is to survive. That doesn't make the alcoholic better. It makes him lucky.

It's a terrible gift because unwrapping it requires losing a battle... one that can be long, painful, destructive and seemingly hopeless. Opening it can take years... and sometimes it stays shut. But it's a gift nonetheless.

So, yay alcoholism! Sort of.

Share the pain, part II: the grossest thing ever to happen to me.

We had an Australian Shepherd growing up. She was a smart, funny dog, who was fierce as hell when she wanted to be... and she was fast: she would sprint into the woods after a squirrel, and come back with a giant-ass doggie grin on her face and blood on her jaws and she was clearly thinking: Holy shit, that was awesome!

On a Sunday morning in the mid-80's, I was asleep, teenage style. Meaning: I wasn't waking up for anything. Apparently I required between 23 and 24 hours of sleep per day. The dog, as always, was sleeping with me, on my bed.

The dog was sick. I don't know if it was too much squirrel, canine IBS, or what... but apparently she had some kind of terrible bowel upset. Now: with all my heart, I firmly believe that she did what she always did when she had to go out... came over to me and tried to wake me up. I'm not sure of this because I didn't wake up. I believe with all my heart that my dog tried to wake me up for as long as possible... until the very last second... and it was that honorable tenacity that caused her to lose it, in a flood of doggie diarrhea, right next to my head.

Directly onto my pillow.

She felt better.

I rolled over.

Face first, full on, into a puddle of dog shit. And still I didn't wake up. No. I started dreaming. And all I remember about the dream is that it smelled like dog shit. Smelled strongly. Smelled really strongly because had I inhaled through my nose.

The operative word here is "aspirate."

I finally woke up. With dog shit leaking down the back of my nasal passages, I flew out of bed, ran for the shower and screamed something like:

AAAAAEEEEUUUGGHGHGHGHGHGIIIAAAAHHHH!

End of story.

Now you know the grossest thing ever to happen to me. If you still love me, we're pretty much good to go from here on out. I feel so much better. It's like a 5th step of Ick.

Love to all. Even you, the folks who, after reading this, don't love me anymore.

I've got math issues.

That's all I've got to say.

Love to all. Even you, people who are good with Pivot Tables.

Share the pain.

Zube Girl’s… shall we say… forthrightness about her personal habits reminded me of something I’ve been trying not to think about. (Note: I'm not equating the two at all.) But now that it's in my mind, I figure that sharing it might get rid of it.

The scene: an employee review. I’m the employer. We’re going through the process… mostly positives, a few criticisms, a decent raise, etc. At the end I say: “By the way, I was surprised that you never gave me anything that you wanted to discuss in the review.” (I had asked my employees to submit topics for discussion to me in writing, so I could prepare.

She said: “Rich, you can’t help me with my problem here.”

I said: “What do you mean?”

She said: “Well, it’s [Colleague].”

Now, Colleague has some personal habits which can be a little frustrating. Colleague loudly blows her nose every time she comes into the little cubicle… even if everyone in the cubicle is on the phone. Colleague burps a lot. There are others. So I thought it was one of these things… but it wasn’t.

So she continues: “She’s always picking things out of her scalp. And smelling them.”

My reaction? Real professional. I was like, “Oh, GOD. Oh, man… um… is there something you want me to do about it?” She said “No.. no…” And that was it. But now… Oh my god. I’m so grossed out. It’s an image that has stuck with me ever since.

What’s a small-business owner supposed to DO? What’s the right thing, here?

Love to all. Even you, the folks who put up with my icky habits.

Cousin.

My cousin came to visit today. He's 30. He looks like a younger and better looking version of me. It was great to have him here... not only because I like him... but because my kids adore him. With Maggie gone at class, it made the day so much easier.

I didn't see him for something like 20 years. My father, who has serious psychological problems, went on a full-scale mental assault against my cousin's dad... which culminated in my father banning our family being banned from talking to my Uncle or his family. It was only when I got old enough to make my own choices that I decided that talking to my Uncle wouldn't be "disloyal" to my father.

I know I've mentioned my Dad's problems before, but I don't know if I ever mentioned the scope of time that it has affected my extended family.... My father didn't talk to his mother for 14 years. He didn't talk to his brother for 20 years. And now, he (and his other son), don't talk to me. It's been 2.5 years.

Borderline Personality Disorder, man. It's a sad, scary, and ultimately pathetic thing.

So, I've been back in touch with my cousin and uncle for a few years now, and they're sweet, smart, funny, normal people... although it's amazing how similar/twisted my cousin's sense of humor is. People who Skype with both of us have told me they get us confused. Cool.

Anyway. It was a fun day, and I'm feeling a bit blessed by having such cool family.

Love to all. Even you, Dad, you crazy fuck.

The ACLU member in me just says no.

Is comment editing a common practice out there? How many of you blog owners do it?

I don't. I've deleted comments on very rare occasion, but I don't edit. Editing changes tone and tenor, and I don't want to have anything on my blog to be different than what the author of a comment intended. I just had a situation where a blog owner allowed some disturbed (read: fucked up) person to accuse me of all kinds of truly nasty shit... entirely due to my post about lust... but when I responded that the commenter was "fucked up" for saying that "all men should be killed," (as well as all the personal attacks), the blog author wrote me a reprimand and edited the comment to her liking.

Yuck! Now it seems like I tacitly approved of the person who was being so icky.

The thing is, ALL of the comments should be on there, right? If you're gonna allow comments, either moderate them, post them, or delete them, but editing them for content just sucks. And I don't care what people say about me, if I have the opportunity to counter.

Anyway: enough about this.

I get so excited by finding interesting and/or opinionated people... but not everyone can be a Zube Girl, a Tiny Coconut, or even, God help us, a Digital Objective. Sometimes it just doesn't work out. Editing + email reprimands = not my cup o' tea.

Love to all. Even you, A C.

48 hours.

Maggie just left for her second weekend of classes at ICP. I'm in charge! I'm in charge!

Think the kids'll survive another 48 hours of Dad Takes Over?

Love to all. Even you, the crazy woman who said really nasty things about me on someone else's blog.

Hormonal overload.

Sometimes I’m a fucked-up, oversexed, women-obsessed freak who should be locked in a room until his hormones subside. I mean, it’s ridiculous. Ridiculous. I don’t know what it is that triggers these things, but when it gets switched on, it’s really hard to turn off. Ignoring it is like trying to ignore a tornado. It’s just too big, too fast, and kicks up too much dust.

For the last two or three days, I’ve been utterly overwhelmed by the chemical wash of desire.

I know what I’m supposed to do.

1. Hit on my wife, big time. (Not the best time for that, though.)
2. Pray to be less sexually obsessed.
3. Uh, you know. “Take care of things.”

What amazes me, though, is the ferocity of this thing. A friend of mine said to me yesterday: “Lust is a motherfucker.” And boy, is he right.

I suppose women might have the same problem, but I doubt it.

Love to all. Even you, the lady on the train with the lip gloss and high heels.

Sign, part II.

“Unattended children will be given a cup of espresso and a free puppy.”

This was posted in my Opthamologist's office, and needs no spin nor commentary from me. For the record: at the ripe old age of 36.95, I've got 20/20 vision.

Love to all. Even you, the Optometrist at the eyeglass store who told me that I needed glasses.

Opthamologist
Epidemiologist's
Epidemiologists
Edit...
Revert to "Opthamologist's"

Terrified. Manic. Glorious.

So I was asked to teach "after school enrichment" to 5- and 6-year-olds at our elementary school. I had to get fingerprinted and background checked. When I asked the fingerprinting lady if I should have accelerated my Great Bank Robbery plan, she said "Definitely. You're in the FBI database now, so forget it." Alas.

The first class was today. I'm teaching computers. I told the assistant principle that my first class was going to be "Breaching corporate firewalls step 1: port scanning with NMAP."

But I was joking.

Actually, they made colorful name tags with MaxWrite and used a paint program to make pictures of their houses. For the most part, they had a really good time. One kid absolutely lost it because he couldn't use the paint bucket tool to fill a square... to the point that he almost threw up. Ah, kids.

Before the class I was absolutely terrified and in freakout mode. I get terrible stage fright, even if I'm going "on stage" in front of kids. Unlike performing music, though, my worries fade the moment I'm actually talking to the kids. I get totally charged up by kid-energy. It makes me manic for days. They're just so cool.

One class down, seven more to go. What are we going to do next week? I better start planning.

Love to all. Even you, the hyperconcerned mommy.

"Okay, put your vagina away."

I can't believe those words came out of my mouth today. Even funnier, they made sense.

Love to all.

Sign.

The elevator to my office opened on a lower floor. A doctor's office. Directly in front of the elevator door was a lavatory with a sign that read: "Patient Toilet."

All I could think of was a porcelain bowl gazing up at someone and saying: "Don't worry...take your time... it's totally cool."

Love to all. Even you, the unrested.

The silliest criticism of Brokeback Mountain.

Here's what the dude said:

Hollywood's best and brightest have put together a high quality love story in an effort to push the gay agenda. I have nothing against gays. I believe their lifestyle should be respected. I draw the line when I'm asked to celebrate their lifestyle.

Yeah, it's a propaganda film. Because being gay is an "agenda" that you can "push" on people.

Oh. My. God.

That's almost as silly the dude referring to gay people having "a" lifestyle. One lifestyle for all the gay people? How boring. But seriously... I just love when people refer to the Unified Gay Lifestyle/Agenda. I hate to ruin this guy's theory, but gay people (at least the, um, hundreds that I've met) are just as diverse, disparate, excellent, fucked up, strange, normal, tall and short as straight people.

Shit.

But he's right about one thing: when I saw "Jaws," it was a clearly celebration of sharks eating people... definitely pushing the "shark agenda." And Reservoir Dogs pushed the, um, "black tie-wearing-gun-toting-dudes with guns" agenda. And PLEASE don't forget the Wookie agenda of Star Wars. Animal Supremacy Now!

Love to all. Even you, Conservative guy.

"You are alcoholism incarnate."

It’s interesting to have this said to you, especially when you don’t drink anymore, more so when it’s by someone you know and trust, and even more so when they are describing behavior that has nothing to do with drinking anyway.

I think she might have been right.

Love to all.

Why I believe "Pro-Life" is hypocritical.

After an amazing homily by my Priest, which will probably be the topic of a later post... a parishioner made an extended announcement about how my church will be sponsoring a trip to the pro-life march that's upcoming in Washington.

Now, I'm pro-choice. And I understand the pro-life side... however:

Until the day comes when pro-life people are vehemently pro birth-control, I view them as hypocritical, elitist, classist, and nearly murderous.

This is no small statement, I realize.

By "nearly murderous," I mean: they are trying to require the birth of millions of unwanted or accidental children, thereby enormously damaging the lives of a geometrically larger number of people in ways that will reverberate for many generations.

These "pro-life" people, by being against birth control, are acting in a way that destroys life... even if that life is still "lived."

Now, I'm sure I'm going to get a comment like "I was an unwanted child, an my life is beautiful!" Let me say that I'm really glad for you, but your case doesn't prove anything. In fact, one of my own children wasn't exactly planned, either. But my kid's case doesn't prove anything, either.

Pre-emptive dismissal isn't usually my style, but in this case... there you go.

Love to all. Even you, the pro-life folks with whom I absolutely disagree.

The kid gets deep. The kid gets bored.

"Dad, why can't we see forever?"
"Dad, what's at the edge of space?"
"Dad, what happened before God?"

- My 9 year old, in a 30-second span.

"Daddy, can we please get out of the car?"

- My 6 year old girl, as I tried to answer these questions.


Love to all. Even you, the guy who ordered "three egg whites" at the diner.

I am so fucking furious right now.

My daughter told my wife that going to the ballet was "the worse thing that ever happened to her." She came home crying and screaming. If I try to get involved Maggie tells me not to. My daughter has been driving Maggie into a state of depression over the last week, and I can't do anything about it. She's so *mean* to Maggie. I mean, she says things I can't even believe.

I took her upstairs and tried to talk to her. She wouldn't listen at all. It was fucking useless. So now, Maggie is mad at me for trying to talk sense into our daughter, my daughter is mad at me for the same, but frankly, my take is: if you're going to act like that, you should just be sent to bed. Period. I feel like we just let her get AWAY with things. I'm sure Maggie would disagree, and she may be right, but...

Shit.

Gonna be a weird bunch of weekends.

Right now, Maggie and my daughter are at the ballet at Lincoln Center in Manhattan. My oldest is playing bingo (yes, bingo) at the town center, and my youngest is in the bath. Normally, my family is pretty much all together from Friday (when I get home from work) until Monday (when I leave for work).

This unusual separation is going to continue all month.

This weekend, Maggie is taking a Photoshop course I got her for Christmas. It's at the International Center for Photography, and it's all day long... both Saturday and Sunday.

Next weekend, she has the same thing, part II.

Weekend after that, Maggie and I are going to Vermont, just the two of us... to look at possible little places to purchase with money that we absolutely do not have.

Weekend after that, I'm being sent to Orlando to support the design and video teams at a huge pharmaceutical conference. Pro: I can make $1000/day. Con: I'm away from the family for five days. Clearly (as a friend of mine said), I have a price.

Then, it's February. And that means birthday time! I'm going to be 37. I kind of can't believe it. But I'm spending that weekend home with my family, old tired fart that I will be.

Love to all. Even you, the blonde kid who glared at me.

Porn, perspective, and rock and roll.

I walked from Grand Central Station to Union Square with a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in around seven years. He's a tremendously interesting dude: current 2nd-echelon rock star, former porn star, and all around standup guy. We had a great conversation about life, love, and how to deal with women. Specifically, we talked about:

1. The pros and cons of having a fantasy life involving women you know.
2. Dogs: what makes the ultimate canine?
3. How to have a non-arrogant code of ethics.
   

It was a super-fun stroll. I love how things happen in New York City.

Love to all. Even you, the cabbie who nearly took my foot off.

Sleeplessness Haiku

Sudafed panic
Now I am swapping hard drives
What was I thinking

By Maggie: Winter break plus one snow day: a lament in free verse

I remain here
In the eleventh day of my confinement
With small creatures demanding ever more snacks
Or asking to do cooking projects
Arguing over the game cube
Cursed, cursed game cube
Who thought to bring this thing into my peaceful house?
Santa. It was Santa, a bearded goblin who laughs at my misery.
The endless hours
I hear recounted tales
of Super Mario Sunshine
and Donkey Kong.
I cannot find play dates for my children
There is no quiet hour of doing laundry
I cannot drive the slippery road in my aged minivan
There is no walking the dogs on snowy roads
And for tomorrow
More snow is forecast.

"All because you're hung like a horse..."

"...that doesn't mean you have to do porn."

- Kumar, Harold and Kumar go to White Castle.

Truer words were never spoken. Apply this logic to your character defects, and you've got bona fide words for living.

Love to all.

Sex and the Married Couple.

Maggie and I were at a party yesterday, and Maggie was relaying a story to a friend (I was in another room) about how our older son once walked in on us "in the throes of passion." Her friend said "Well, at least you have throes of passion." The person standing next to her said "yeah, you shold be thankful." Mind you, these were fairly hot looking women. I mean, um, from a neighborhood-fantasy-perspective.

So what's up with that? What's normal for mid-late-thirty-something, together-for-over-a-decade couples?

Love to all. Even us, the dudes with near-nuclear levels of lust.