Oh, forget it.

Can I just say what an icky, stereotypical Westchester Rich Bitch is sitting next to me on the train? If you've ever read this blog, you know I don't normally talk about people quite like that, but seriously: She's rude, she put her bags on my feet, when her bags fell over, I offered to put them on the shelf, and she didn't look at me and snapped "no, I've got it" and shoved them into the feet of the person in front of her. She's reading a book on Vacations in the Greek Isles, and she just radiates Beyotch-ness.

Or Biatchness, depending how you spell it.

Anyway.

I was nervous this morning. You betcha. I had committed to an office space that was 75% more expensive than the one I currently occupy. I had offered a job to someone who my instincts had totally greenlighted... and that person had accepted. We were meeting at 11am to finalize things.

So.

At 7am, I get an email from one of my outside employees saying that they were going to withdraw from a project, which would cost me about $7,500. At 9am, I get an email from the same employee saying "forget it, we're good." At 11am, the person who accepted the job withdrew. At 11:15am, I sat down with my landlord and begged my way out of our new contract. Then I called my super-cool hippie massage person who I see every now and then, and made an appointment for 3:30.

Then I worked for a few hours. And then I split.

So now I'm sitting on this train, spaced out from an AWESOME session but bothered by Ms. However-You-Spell-It, thinking that you just never fucking know how things are going to go down. So you know what I'm going to do? Go home, play with my kids, and, with any luck, seduce my wife.

Love to all. Even you, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyotch!

Panic time!

I'm an entrepreneur. I started a company in 1996. Sold it in 2000. Started another one in 2003. We're three years in, and we just completed the billing for the first quarter of 2006. It's our best quarter ever. In fact, March was the best month we've ever had.

So I'm absolutely convinced we're going to close. Bankrupt. Soon. Sorry, kids... no college for you.

There are valid reasons for a different kind of concern.. April is looking like its going to slow down quite a bit. We've got to work hard to replace the one-time spikes that made March so tremendous. We've got to build our core business to stabilze our revenue. But this is a rational concern, not the "We're gonna die!" panic that I've been experiencing.

And I'm taking steps to remedy these concerns. I'm hiring my first-ever salesperson. I'm going to have her focus exclusively on expanding our current-client depth, and our base in general. I think she's exactly the kind of person who can do this sort of thing while maintaining our unusual kind of branding and personality. I'm really excited. I think she could help take my little company from where it is to where it needs to be.

So, in the face of abject panic I’m taking rational steps to do the right thing. Now, if only I could stop freaking out.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who stood with his bag blocking the elevator door.

In Praise of Carl Hiassen

A friend recommended I read a Carl Hiassen book. So I read one. Then two. Then three. Then four.

• Skin Tight
  
• Basket Case
• Strip Tease
• Sick Puppy

I'm working on "Lucky You" right now. It started off slower than the rest of them, but it's picked up pretty nicely.

If you need easy-reading book that's funny, engrossing, well-written and pointed... go for Carl Hiassen. He rocks.

Love to all. Even you, the cackling ladies in the next cubicle.

Bellevue “Green House” MICA Unit, 7pm, NYC

MICA stands for Mentally Impaired, Chemically Addicted, and it was in that unit that I sat with a friend of mine, surrounded by people who, for the most part, had to be there. Some were on parole. Some were on probation. Some were simply not allowed to leave the building or they’d be thrown permanently back on the streets. And some of them were there because they wanted to be there.

It was an AA meeting, and I told my story.

Admittedly, there’s a bit of intimidation here. Before arriving at the unit, I was thinking “Oh, boy. I don’t know how these guys are going to relate to an upper-middle class white guy like me.” But I also knew that this was bullshit. The one thing about alcoholism is that it treats everyone equally. Once he drinks, an alcoholic cannot stop. Period. No matter what the circumstance, we have that in common.

And that is huge.

After going through the metal detectors, signing in with the Police, and taking a truly scary elevator upstairs, I entered the meeting. I introduced myself to some of the men. Then, as the opening passages were being read, I said a little prayer. I was introduced.

The first thing I said was: “My name’s Rich, I’m an alcoholic, and I am the luckiest person alive.”

The last thing I said was: “We bow before no one.”

I said about 20 minutes of other stuff in between.

I left the meeting feeling lucky, happy, and grateful. There are dudes in there who aren’t going to make it. But there are dudes in there who are. Talking to them was a trip, precisely because of how much we have in common.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the blue Audi.

Explain yourself.

A commenter said:

Explain how you can be a pro-gay, pro-Choice Catholic? Wouldn't proclaiming yourself a Catholic just be an oxymoron?

That's a great question, which I'm glad to answer.

I believe that Jesus Christ set forth an Apostolic church, and that the Catholic Church is the embodiment of this idea. With that said: it's also painfully obvious that, throughout history, the Catholic Church has screwed up the message, tried to fix itself, then screwed up the message again. Over and over.

Why? Because it's run by humans.

I mean, the Pauline church was much more inclusive, gender-neutral, and otherwise "liberal" than the Church that wound up dominating those early days. And we shouldn't forget things like, say, the inquisition, the mutual excommunications of Urban and Clement, etc., etc.

The Church hasn't always been channeling the will of God, that much is certain.

My answer, then, is this: I believe in the message of Jesus. I believe in the overarching goodness of the Catholic Church... especially at the local level. I do not believe that the Apostles were perfect, just like I don't believe the Pope is infallible. If you doubt me, read the Gospels. The Apostles were well-meaning, jealous, egotistical, loyal, frightened, and ultimately human.

So I disagree with the Catholic Church on its positions on gays and abortion. And Jesus loves me for it, whether those thoughts are sins, or not.

Love to all. Even you, the woman who put the doughnut back in the box.

Technical Paradise

Sometimes I experience a perfect storm of technological upgrades and transfers. This is one of those times.

Love to all.

Hand me down = platform change.

My one active addiction is to computer hardware. Every 6-8 months, I get the Uncontrollable Urge to Upgrade. Normally, that means that I eBay my PowerBook and get a new one. This time, though, circumstances are different.

Apple's new MacBooks run on Intel Processors instead of PowerPC. This means that if the software you use was written for PowerPC, it will run under emulation on the new Macs. Emulation means slow.

Of the software I use most frequently: Microsoft Office, Adobe Creative Suite, Macromedia Studio, and Filemaker... NONE of it runs natively on the new Macs. So if I want to go faster, I need to get a PC. Combine this with the fact that Maggie is due for an upgrade (she's using Photoshop a lot, now that she's shooting digital), and that my niece could use a computer of any kind, and it's hand-me-down time!

On the right is the new machine: a dual-core Dell for me. On the left is the PB G4 1.67 that's going to Maggie. My niece will get Maggie's 800Mhz Titanium G4.

I'm going to try and stick with this configuration until Creative Suite 3 comes out next year... and then I'll switch back to the Mac. We'll see how that goes.

Love to all. Even you, the puppy with the built-in "It's 3:30am!" alarm clock.

Why I need to stop using Apple products.

I was in the shower this morning... and I looked down and thought: who the hell left an iPod Nano in the shower? This was completely messed up because:

1. It's soap.
2. Nobody in my house has a Nano.

Love to all. Even you, the Con Ed driver with no respect for Yield.

139 kisses.

That's how many my daughter gave me before she went to sleep tonight.

Thank you, God, for these simple moments of utter bliss.

Love to all.

Gay Adoption II: Clay responds.

If you click here, you can read my original post on gay adoption. The full comment from Clay (from which I excerpt below) is there too. Feel free to read the whole comment so nobody can accuse me of decontextualizing. God, I love that word. Ready? Go:

Following your logic, then, the local Priest, Pastor, Reverend, Parson, Rabbi, Imam etc. can be an avowed practicing homosexual, or an adulterer actively involved with another woman (or man, in the case of my denomination which has female priests), or drug addict, or alcoholic, or Satan worshipper on the side etc.

Of course a homosexual should be allowed to be a Priest! They would take a vow of celibacy just like everyone else. (Although that’s a whole different topic.) However: equating homosexuality (which has no moral component) with drug addiction or alcoholism (which has a huge moral and ethical impact on the active alcoholic/addict) is just wrong. They are utterly different things, and don't belong on the same list. I may not be gay, but I am an alcoholic. I know what I'm talking about on this one.

After all, we are all sinners. That shouldn’t have anything to do with our lives or what we want for ourselves, right? And all sins are the same. Having a lustful fantasy about a girl in your High School class is surely on the same par with actually raping her. Right?

That’s just a fucked up and senseless thing to say, Clay. I don’t believe that at all, and you don’t either. No other comment required. It's wrong by definition. If you believe what you wrote above, just say: "I believe fantasy and action are identical." Man. And as a side note, I wouldn't equate a "lustful fantasy" with "rape fantasy," although apparently you do. Ick.

Obviously, homosexuals can’t reproduce. Therefore, they are a dying breed, so to speak. Allowing them to adopt children, who aren’t necessarily homosexual themselves, only threatens to expand the amount of human extinction.

Clay, where do you get this stuff? “Expand the amount of human extinction?” Somehow I don’t sense that the extinction of the human race due to lack of reproduction as an impending threat. Feel free to document otherwise. Really. Now, I don't actually think that having gay parents means that you're more likely to be gay... but I don't really care, either. Again, feel free to document otherwise.

While I am no fan of Evolution per say, It seems quite obvious that in the interest of the preservation of the human race, homosexual indoctrination of children is probably not a good idea.

No fan of evolution per se? Are you saying evolution is incorrect? Spelling errors aside, even the Catholic church is pro-evolution. And once again: I'm pretty sure that underpopulation isn't an issue on this planet.

I am all for their right to co-habitate. I draw the line at parenthood. A child needs both a mother and a father. That is nature’s way, and we would do well to respect it.

Do you think that gay people were invented by giant space caterpillars? All because they are the minority, that doesn’t mean they aren’t natural. Do you think left-handed people are unnatural, too?

And besides: I have a sneaking suspicion that you drive a car, ride in airplanes and wear clothes. Why? Because nature gave you the capacity to do so. In the same way that nature gave gay people the capacity to be loving parents. If you think that gays shouldn’t be parents, then you should stop doing, wearing, and using anything that doesn’t come out of your own ass. Or mouth. Or nose. Or ears. Pick your orifice. After all, you're denying people the right to do something they have the capacity to do well, all because it's not "natural."

Okay. I'm done.

Love to all. Even you, the receptionist at the Washington Square Hotel.

[Excerpt] Gay people: as nature intended.

I'm so tired of the "as nature intended" argument against gay people and gay parenting. All because homosexuals are in the minority, that doesn't mean that they were invented by space caterpillars. Personally, I put blue eyes, left-handedness, and homosexuality on pretty much the same plane. They're all recessive traits with NO MORAL COMPONENT WHATSOEVER.

(This is part of a longer post I'll put up later. I just thought it was important enough to point out on its own.)

Love to all. Even you, Clay.

Like kids, like father.

A while back, we instituted Screen-Free day for the kids. No computers, no TV, no screens of any kind. We thought it would be a good way to have the kids focus on things other than Zelda, Drake and Josh, Lego Star Wars and Kim Possible at least one day a week. It worked so well, I figured I would apply it to myself. After all, I'm the one that's glued to the laptop morning, noon, and night.

So yesterday, I announced to the family that I would be starting screen-free day, too. Their reaction was a bit more dramatic than I expected. My oldest grinned and said , "No, WAY!" My wife seemed pleased, but slightly doubtful that I could pull it off.

I'm a little sad about how it went, because it went so well. We hung out in the living room and talked. Maggie and I put the kids to bed, then read our respective books. It was quiet and restful and attentive. Clearly, this should continue.

I swear: by the time my kids are all in college, I'll have learned enough to be the perfect parent.

Love to all. Even you, icky-stalker-professor-guy.

Trashing history.

When I sold my company in 2000, I soon realized that I had made an error. I started to count the time until 2003, when I would be released from my contract and able to strike out on my own again. I counted time with my train tickets.

Today, I'm throwing them away. There's no point in keeping them... it was a sad countdown, long ended.

Besides, there's too much present to waste time dwelling on the past, you know?

Love to all. Even you, old bosses.

My tactics. My strategy.

I want to tell on myself. The truth is: I'm a little sneaky. Not in a bad way... and certainly not in a dishonest way... but I've decided that the best way to approach flammable topics of discussion is to do it from an angle. Some examples:

1. Homosexuality: Start with a side topic, like adoption. It doesn't matter whether you think being gay is bad or a sin, but rather whether having gay parents negatively affects the child being adopted. It's also less touchy than gay marriage.
   
2. Abortion: Before we even touch this one, let's start with widespread destigmatization and availability of birth control.
   
3. Military Action: Bring back the draft. Let's make decisions about "pre-emptive war" when everyone's children are involved.
   

Stuff like that. I think it's better to approach the "opposition" from the point most likely to create consensus, and move on from there. Part of this strategy comes from wanting to figure out with whom it's worth engaging: before hitting the Wall of Absolute Disagreement, it's good to discuss points that are (arguably) affirmable by either side of the issue. It's a good way to create dialog. And it's an excellent way to start "change from within."

It's not that I'm afraid to talk about stuff head-on. Sometimes, though, it's better to attempt to find a gray area... something we all can at least talk about.

Love to all. Even you, the dude in the pew who was shoving his way to Communion.

Externally meaningless, but cathartic.

• Most useless website: macosrumors.com
• Most disappointing person: Alex S.
• Most regretted month: September, 1984
• Most missed people: my parents

Love to all.

Brooklyn Half-Marathon 2006 or: life in 13.1 miles.

I love the Brooklyn Half-Marathon... it's like a family history.

1. It starts at the Wonder Wheel in Coney Island: my great-grandfather helped build it.
2. It continues past Nathan's, where my maternal grandmother ate many a hot dog.
3. It travels up Ocean Parkway, on which my paternal grandmother lived the entire time I knew her.
4. It ends in Prospect Park, where Maggie, Carter and I... and eventually my oldest sun, used to go every Saturday and Sunday morning, so Carter could play with his doggie friends.

When I passed my grandmother's building, I stopped and said a little prayer. I'm not sure why, but it felt good. I must have looked a little strange, but whatever: that's becoming increasing par for the course.

I don't know my official time yet: my clock time was 1:50, which is fine with me. It took a few minutes to actually start running, though... big crowd... so my net time is going to be a little shorter. It was a cold one: the water cups folks hand out during the race actually froze. Wild.

No matter what, it felt good to be 37 years old, 2.5 years sober (today) and running a crazy-ass race in Brooklyn, NY.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the red Corvette on the Deegan Expressway.

Shameless luckiness acknowledgement.

Sometimes Maggie is the sexiest woman on the planet. Holy shit.

Love to all.

Beware the Nikon S1.

I thought the Nikon S1 was the perfect camera for me. It was truly a pocket camera, it was affordable, and it was a 5 megapixel Nikon. What could go wrong?

I got my first one several months ago. It gave me a "lens cover error" after less than a week. (This meant that the automatic lens cover was stuck in the closed position.) So I returned it. Got a new one that worked fine, except that it took lousy pictures in low light, and was really crappy at capturing fast-moving things like kids or dogs, even with the flash on. It was constantly giving me the "picture is blurry - delete?" error. Then the new one, too, gave me the dreaded "lens cover error" message. I'm in the process of returning it, if possible.

I've now bought a Canon PowerShot G6. It's not nearly as small, but an infinitely better camera. Live and learn.

Love to all: even you, the counterpuncher.

Banning Gay Adoption or: Indirect Evil.

Currently, there are 12 states reviewing legislation to limit the ability of homosexuals to adopt children. This makes me bonkers. It’s the kind of thing I term “indirect evil.” In other words, the folks trying to prohibit this aren’t going out and committing crimes, they’re simply trying to prevent an enormous amount of good from taking place.

Indirect evil.

If you don’t mind, I’m going to focus on Christians for a moment. And I’m going to posit that if you are a Christian, and you believe that homosexuals should be prevented from adopting children, then not only are you a hypocrite, but you’re pretty much putting yourself against the word of God.

Look: let’s say that you believe that the bible says that homosexuality is a sin. Fine. Go to the same book, and find me a place where it says that you (yes, you, the reader) are not a sinner. Find the place where Jesus tells a stoning-minded crowd: let the person without sin throw the first stone. Read that passage again. Now again.

Then tell me why you, a sinner, should be allowed to adopt children when gays shouldn't. See what I’m saying? Even if homosexuality is a sin: so what? Personally, I don’t think it’s a sin at all… but that doesn’t matter in the context of this blog entry.

What matters: Is there an additional danger to the child that comes from being adopted by a homosexual couple? The answer, as far as I have been able to research, is absolutely not.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who didn't clean up her Poodle Poop.

Oh, God.

So.

Sometimes I'm like: all this God stuff is so bogus and infantile. Clearly, humans are just like other animals, and nearly all of our behaviors are just stupidly-advanced versions of what dogs, monkeys, bugs, and birds do. It's just so stupid to think that humans are somehow separate and apart from everything else on the planet. That we're so special.

And then I'm like: well, maybe that's true. And maybe we're not so special, that souls are imbued into many, many animals, at many levels... and the more complex the animal, the more complex the soul. Maybe souls are just pieces of the Holy Spirit, captured in our electrical/nervous systems. Maybe that's why souls don't inhabit our bodies until we're nearly born. Maybe.

And then I'm like: time, time, time. If there's no God, who the fuck started everything? How did this all begin? And if there IS a God, who the hell CREATED GOD? And if matter decays, then doesn't that prove the existence of God? Or the existence of SOMETHING?

And then I need to pee, so I post my blog entry.

Love to all. Even you, whoever twisted up my slinky.

Relearn.

Hi there, you. How've you been? You're looking better than ever. Yummy.

I have decided to reeducate myself on the topic of abortion. I'll be back with a full report sometime in the next week or so. In the meantime, you'll have to put up with my normal silliness.

Love to all. Even you, the spaced-out huge guy in the aisle at BJ's Wholesale.

159th Place! (and sex talk.)

...out of 1182 dudes. Not bad, not bad. And I beat all but 28 of the ladies.

This was the Pfizer Oncology Colon Cancer 4-miler. (A great cause, a lousy t-shirt. Not sure I want to walk around with the words "colon cancer" on my back.) I'm glad I ran well, but I feel woefully unprepared for the Brooklyn Half-Marathon next Saturday.

I had a tremendous conversation with Maggie today about sex. In fact, she said "If only we could about money the way we're able to talk about sex, life would be perfect." Well, one thing at a time, man. One thing at a time.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who smokes cigarettes while watching the runners.

Richard: Reloaded.

Saturday mornings are busy: my oldest has orchestra, my daughter has ballet, and there's usually one or more birthday parties for a child to attend... which means there's presents to buy. Today is no different. I've got 10 minutes until I leave to pick up my oldest, and I've already been to the toy store. My youngest has a birthday party this afternoon.

In the toy store, it occured to me to ask: "Do you have any Slinkies? Metal, not plastic." And they said "Sure! It's the 60th Anniversary of the Slinky!" So I got two. One for me, one for my main employee. I also got a Magic 8-ball.

"It is decidely so," indeed.

In 1987, I wrote a paper on Metal vs. Plastic Slinkies. There was a heavy pro-metal slant. And I'm metal-biased to this very moment. Try this: take a metal slinky, put the first two rings between your teeth, and (without letting go of the rings) gently drop the rest of the slinky to the floor. I guarantee you'll do it again.

Time for me to go.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who loud-talked to his kid because he was embarrassed to be in a toy store.

ACLU and NAMBLA.

I am a card-carrying member of the ACLU. The thing I most often hear from people who are trying to put the ACLU down is: "Those people defended NAMBLA. How can you support them?" I've heard this often enough that I'm going to explain it here.

NAMBLA, which the ACLU refers to as a "vile" organization, was being sued because some disgusting men molested, tortured and killed a boy. The murderers had NAMBLA materials in their possession. The suit alleged that NAMBLA should be blamed, partially, for the murder of the boys, since NAMBLA promotes statuatory rape. NAMBLA does not (according to what I've read, but I can't bring myself to ever go to their website) promote murder and torture.

The ACLU position was, metaphorically, this: If group A promotes stealing cards, and person B steals a car and murders everyone IN the car, group A is not, therefore, advocating murder. The ACLU's goal was to prevent this kind of precedent from being established.

In other words: NAMBLA, this disgusting, horrible, evil organization, wasn't promoting the kind of evil committed by those men, and therefore could not be blamed for that evil.

I have three children. If there is a hell, the NAMBLA fuckwads will be there. Count on it. In fact, this whole topic makes me so incensed and repulsed that I can't even close this post the way I normally do.

Solving the email deluge.

I get many, many hundreds of emails a week. Not always spam, but not always stuff I'm interested in.

So I think I'm splitting my work email into two parts:

richgivesashit@mycompany.com
and
richdoesn'tgiveashit@mycompany.com

Love to all. Even you, the lady with her AIM alert volume on 11.

Whose kid IS this?

How does my nine-year-old instinctively know that it's better to apologize to someone face-to-face than over the phone? The kid has the most amazing internal moral structure... it continuously blows me away.

Love to all.

Fighting stress, and Too Much Information.

I don't know why I'm so stressed out. I'm trying to fight it by doing more work at my company, buying Maggie flowers, and getting exercise. The more I think about it, though, the more I think it might just be because my back hurts.

Coming home tonight, the kids were out of their minds: fighting, argumentative, whirling balls of energy that sprayed noise and crazed vibes all over the place. It was both impressive and grating.

Okay. TMI time. The other day, a young woman I know (who's an actual model, and is kind of shockingly good looking), told me that I looked hot. In fact, she told me I look "hotter than normal." Liar though she is, I'm a sucker for compliments. Although it was on the day that I dressed all 80's-style, so maybe I was accidentally hip. She followed that up by saying "Your jeans, though. They're horrible."

I told Maggie about this (Note to men: do NOT tell your wife when a model calls you hot), and after giving me some highly-deserved shit, she went and bought me my first pair of totally fancy jeans. They arrived today.

I don't own anything like these. They fit differently: perfect in the waist, tighter in the calf... but... well... they're pretty tight in the quads, which is new... and, compared to everything else I have, they are really tight around the um, crotch. Like, really. Like, "hey, you're circumcised."

Maggie had me wear them for a while. She was like, "I'm so proud of you. I want everyone to see how much husband I have." Again, I'm a sucker for compliments. But I don't know. I'm not sure I can walk around NYC, let alone my office, with things so obvious.

I dunno. I guess I'm lucky to have this problem.

Love to all. Even you, the drugged-up dude who was nodding of on Union Square East.

Have you left your spouse?

How many people out there have had an argument/situation bad enough that they left their spouse? The duration can be from "overnight" to "forever."

Please feel free to answer anonymously, if that'll help you comment.

Love to all.

I'm feeling much better, except...

A friend of mine is an editor at a major New York City newspaper. I told her that I was feeling a little bugged out by the WTC "controlled demolition" thing. She said "Oh, Richard." And then proceeded to remind me of the massive amount of science and research that went into the investigation of how the buildings fell down. It hugely contradicts the movie and, she said, I would do well to read some of it.

And I will. But I'm over it, for now.

There are bigger things afoot, anyway, like fucking South Dakota.

Love to all. Even you, Mrs. Back Brace.

32:43 (updated)

At thirty-two minutes, 43 seconds into the second episode of season three of 24, Jack Bauer is really pissed off. He says to a criminal: “Shut up, stupid.” That line is delivered SO WELL, I replayed it like three times. It was perfectly delivered.

Love to all. Even you, the kid who's carrying the secret virus!

Coogan's Salsa, Blues, and Shamrock 5k

I ran my first race of the year today. I've only run a couple of times in the last three weeks, because of my back ickiness. Two weeks ago, I couldn't even walk. I'm happy (and surprised) to say that in spite of this, I beat last year's race by 6 seconds a mile, averaging 7:36 per mile instead of last year's 7:42. I came in approximately 400th place out of 1568 dudes. Let's hear it for 37-year-old hypomaniacs!

This is a good omen, because I'm stepping up the distance over the next little bit. My next few confirmed races are:

1. March 12th, 4-mile Pfizer Oncology Colon Cancer Challenge. (What a name.)
2. March 18th, 13.1 mile Brooklyn Half-Marathon.
3. April 29, 13.1 mile Queens Half-Marathon.

But I might do some others in between the Brooklyn and Queens runs.. depending on family patience and how my back holds out. Speaking of which, I'm seeing a chiropracter tomorrow for the first time. Should be exciting.

Maggie is tense, man. Tense.

Love to all. Even you, the runner with Kennel Cough.

Help me out, here.

I just finished watching the 9/11 conspiracy documentary "Loose Change." I did this on the recommendation of a commenter. (I also bought some music today based on a different comment... but that's a whole different thing. Do you see the impact you people have on me?)

Now, I think a good bit of the documentary is debunkable and overreaching. But the one thing they were extremely methodical about, using dozens of third-party sources including footage and statements from Fox News, ABC, CNN, audio straight from the FDNY, etc., was that WTC Towers I and II did not collapse from being hit by airplanes. Don't get me wrong: they got hit by airplanes. As I've said before, I am a first-hand eyewitness to the second plane hitting the Towers... and I spent a portion of the evening of September 11 on a roof in Greenwhich Village, chain-smoking (I had quit before, and haven't smoked since), drinking too much and watching the F-15's circle overhead.

But that's not necessarily what knocked each of them down in 10 seconds flat.

If anyone reading this has read any counter-conspiracy theories on "controlled demoliton" and the Twin Towers, could you leave me a link? I'm looking to educate myself further. I am not saying that the Towers and WTC 7 were destroyed via controlled demolition, but I would like to see a cogent refutation of the theory.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Marvin Bush.

The kid loves the good stuff.

Listening to the radio while in a neighbor's car, my son heard "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath. It's all he wants to hear right now. I'm both very proud and a little nervous. His two other favorite songs are The Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin and Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple.

What can I say? The kid has taste.

Last four purchases by me: Imogen Heap, Boards of Canada, Cat Power, and Beth Orton.

What a great morning so far: I took my oldest to orchestra practice at 9am, during which my youngest and I went to the local diner for breakfast, got haircuts, and swung back around just in time for the end of rehearsal.

This is the shortest time between haircuts in my entire adult life. After having box-braids, blonde hair, purple hair, extremely long hair, an afro, a sumo knot, etc., etc., the evidence of thinning, however mild, precludes growing my hair to any length, til death or the advent of hair-cloning technology, whichever comes first.

Love to all. Even you, the dude in the diner who was clearly lying to his wife.

No hookers. Yes 80's-wear and fiction.

After's yesterday's utilization of the magic of Google to create a fictional post-bad-day scenario, here's what I decided to do for real: dress as if it was 1984.

So here's what I'm wearing: a Rush "Moving Pictures" 1981 tour shirt over long underwear, bleached Levi 505 jeans, and Dr. Marten's boots.

Dress for success, I say.

Love to all.

p.s. I thought that nobody was commenting out of dismay. It turns out there was a permission issue which prevented commenting at ALL. So I'll never know. All is well, now.

Hookers and cocaine.

That's the two-word solution to a day like today: hookers and cocaine. In fact, I'm going to walk downstairs from my Claridge House duplex on the Upper-East Side of Manhattan, have them bring up my Daytona Sunset Metallic Corvette Z06 (with Titanium Nuance Leather), take a fast-ass drive to the Tropicana in Atlantic City, lose about 10 large, then head up to my suite with a bottle of Dungourney and a big bag of coke, and get crazy with Ariel from Ambience Girls.

Love to all. Even you, whoever doubts the educational power of Google.

No job. Yes bite. Yes concussion.

My son was sledding at a neighbor's house and somehow hit a building with his head. His vision was messed up, and Maggie took him, in the snow, to the doctor. They said he was concussed, and needed a CT scan. It came back normal, but my son became totally lethargic. He fell asleep at the CT scan place. So now it looks like they are sending him to the ER.

Did I mention that the fucking corgi bit my daughter this morning? My younger son was pulling her hair, she was screaming, and the dog ran in and bit her on the arm. The consensus is that the corgi was going for my younger son, but missed. Either way, it's bad news. We're talking about what to do about this.

I didnt' get the job. It was a little strange: they said that they thought I was great for the job as described, but that the President of the company (it's a multinational shop) wanted someone who could run all the different divisions, which would mean a staff about 15 times larger than mine. Made sense. Maggie's going to be totally happy. She didn't want me to take it anyway. And my little company has gone from 300k to 600k to 1000k in sales year over year over year, so quitting now would probably be a waste of a LOT of effort.

But I feel so pressured, sometimes.

Anyway, I don't mean to whine. This has been a crazy-ass day. Hell, this is a crazy-ass day. No more news for me, please. Too much has happened already.

Love to all.

Waffle, waffle.

My old boss just wrote me to say that he wants to speak with me this afternoon. I'm talking to him at 2pm. I don't know if he's calling to say "We hired someone else." Or if they're calling to say: "We want to hire you at the salary you wanted." Now, I know I said that I don't want the job, but maybe I do. Because:

1. They'd have to buy my little company which would = kid's college money, or at least a big chunk thereof.
   
2. I'd learn a lot.
3. This insane pressure would be partially off.

I have mixed, mixed, mixed feelings about it, but I'm going to see what he says at 2. My angst may be for naught, because it might be a "thanks anyway" conversation.

Love to all. Even you, whoever used the name "Shop Rite" about 50 times in their conversation on the train back to Westchester.

Bush in my house? No way.

President George W. Bush lied again. And this one's big, big, big. He has claimed not to have known how bad the Hurricane Katrina levee breach could have been. He's claimed that nobody could have predicted it.

Turns out, he was told about it the day before. But ignored it. And lied afterwards.

I used to say that I disagreed with President Bush, but that I'd have him over to my home for dinner, if ever given the opportunity. He seemed nice enough. Consider that completely retracted. Repeatedly and provably, the man has lied. Outried lied. It's infuriating.

When will more Republicans realize that they do not have to blindly support this criminal?

Love to all. Even you, Mr. President.

Exquisite.

My daughter's most exquisite moods occur right when she wakes up. Especially if it's very early, like when I'm getting getting ready for work. She's so gorgeous and radiant and happy in those moments... before her brothers are up for her to fight with, before Maggie awakens and the jostling for psychological advantage beings... in those moments, she sometimes can't look at me directly without smiling, her love for me is so obvious and up front.

At those moments, if we could plug my heart into the power grid, our national dependency on foreign oil would be instantly solved.

Love to all.