Sex and Crunchberries.

Over the last six hours, I have discovered that sex and Crunchberries are pretty the answer to almost all of my problems today.

Yup. It's true.

Love to all. Even you, Forrest Mars (RIP).

Dear you,

By you, I mean NFH, Britt, and Slyght.

By you, I mean GinaMonster, TC, and Obliquity. Jeremiah. Aesthetic & Callisto.

By you, I mean Tracy Lynn, Shqipo, TheMom, Eric, Lisa, Po, Dawn, 2Vamp, Vinny, AbbaGirl, Jen (aka EvilynMo), ITS, Steven, Funky, Christelle, Zube, Suburban Turmoil, Amy, Kelli, and the various anonymous folks out there. And anyone I forgot.

This is a love letter. I repeat. This is a love letter.

My blog has been both honest and dishonest. I've never lied on this blog, but I've omitted things because I didn't trust that it would be private. And I've been raised to believe that if I expose, and therefore admit to, the "bad," no one will believe that I am any good.

The truth: my psychology is both supremely confident and selectively fragile.

Change is afoot. Lots of change. Psychological, spiritual, emotional. But change isn't instant, and certain parts of my personality can't keep up with the others.

Like: I've changed certain behaviors for the better. But if that change isn't responded to in the way I think is appropriate, I lose my shit completely.

My fear is that I'm too late. Too late to save my company with more hard work. Too late to be a better person because I'm out of balance. I fear that these psychic changes are coming too late, and in the wrong order, for me to handle it.

But this is a love letter.

You see, I don't trust people. I don't know how I COULD, with how I was raised. But after 3.6 years sober and 4 years of separation from my parents, there are glimmers. Little by slow. And that scares the shit out of me. It's the realization that I am *beginning* to trust people that makes me realize what fragile ground I'm really on.

But here's the thing: collectively, I trust you.

And I love you for it.

That's all for now. Rock on.

Love to all. Even you.

I lost my shit.

I mean, LOST it. I said "fuck you" to Maggie like, 6 different times, all within crystal clear earshot of the kids. I feel terribly guilty and utterly fucked up.

Why did I lose it? Because I'm right. Maggie and I had another argument about money, finances, and business. And that classic thing happened: Maggie said something I thought was really insulting and incorrect, I got mad (but not yelling, "fuck you!" mad), asked her to give me an example of what she's talking about, she refuses to do so on the grounds that I'm mad, and THEN I LOSE MY SHIT, thus validating her whole point about me too mad to talk to. And that leaves me feeling manipulated, guilty, and isolated.

I wish I had my family to talk to. Time to go kill people on the XBOX, I think.

Love to all. Even you, blue.

Flux.

In a town where you practically have to knock down $200k just to break even, I'm starting to look hard at rationalizing my life. My oldest starts college in well under a decade, with two more shortly to follow. We need to change our approach.

Over the last two weeks, I've had severe problems at work, thought my marriage was going under, and underwent the greatest Perfect Storm of Suck I've ever experienced.

But at least I got to make a really good pee joke.

I was asked to speak at an AA meeting in NYC on Monday night. It's a crazy-ass old-school place called The Mustard Seed... in the basement of a Manhattan brownstone. At the end of the meeting, someone was sharing about how the feeling from drinking during a relapse is never the same as before one got sober. She was saying that she never felt that moment of pure static that she, like me was always chasing.

When she was finished, I said: "That maybe true about drinking, but I can tell you that the peeing in your pants part feels exactly the same!"

Only in a room full of recovering alcoholics would that have gotten the laugh it did.

Anyway.

The problem I'm having is finding balance: pushing the agenda when it's right to push the agenda, and backing the fuck off when it's not my business. They are both important, and I'm good at neither.

Struggle, baby. Struggle. Maggie just pulled in. Gotta run.

Love to all. Even you, the mom's who bought their kid's cookie costumes in order to sell girl scout cookies.

Revelations, part 1 of 2.

Never before have I wished for the promise of Communion to be more true than this morning. Watching my daughter receive this Sacrament for the first time, I realized that my faith in God on behalf of others is much stronger than my faith in God in reference to myself.

These things should not be different. Faith shouldn't be categorized. I would like to understand the meaning of this disparity. But I don't.

I've discussed my blogging life with Maggie, and that's for part 2. For now, it's time for the party.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the fancy coat who didn't realize that it might be in the way of the folks who were going to kneel in church.

Now this, my friends, is a dilemma.

This blog is no longer private, and it doesn't look I can post stuff here... the REAL stuff, that's actually on my mind, without people I don't want reading it...um... reading it.

God, I loved this domain name.

Fuck.

Love to all.

I guess I'm back, after all.

This is an excerpt from an IM session between me (in the interview room with a super-jittery candidate) and my Senior Salesperson, who was in the other room. We begin when the interviewee says "fuck." I'm on the right. (Click to enlarge.)


It's nice to know my employees think I'm cycling back up. Holy crap.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who made me rephrase, and rephrase, and rephrase.

Wiggle.

I realized today that if I didn't post something, I was going to take this blog offline. In fact, I had downloaded the whole site for a historical backup, and was ready wipe the whole thing from the ftp site when I decided to take the evening and think it over. I'm pretty sure I'm glad I did.

This has been a truly dark week for me, where personal events latched onto old psychological patterns and spider-webbed my emotional state. I've been frozen. Wrapped up.

Part of me plans to write about it, part of me... not so much. So pardon me in advance if I wind up writing something about sock puppets, just when it seemed I was about to get all deep and shit.

Love to all. Even you, Dad.

Correction, and a career confession.

I flippantly commented to Renratt that she should start a fictitious blog, pretending to be her husband. It was a joke, of course. Because:

1. Who the hell needs more competition for "hottest daddy blogger?" I'm already stuck in 2,793rd place. And that's out of 300 people! Argh!
   
2. I started playing out the "spouse writes a blog as other spouse" scenario, and I just... just.... well, it's clearly an utterly stupid idea. I couldn't handle reading Maggie's interpretation of what's going through my head... probably because it would be way too true.

Moving on.

My bio says that I'm the CEO of a media firm. That's not quite true. I'm the CEO of an creative employment agency that staffs writers, art directors, CG artists, retouchers, etc. I'm not a headhunter, because my belieft is that there's enough excellent unemployed or underemployed talent in NYC that I don't need to get down in the sludge like that. At least not as a standard method of operation.

I've run my own show for 11 years, with the exception of a 2.5 year period when I sold my company, and then worked for the company I sold. (That's the company that was just sold again).

This merger isn't going well. My sales are down for the first time ever. Admittedly, they ALWAYS have nosedived when there's been a brand change, but I thought that this would be different, because of the transfer of personnel, etc.

I think I've been holding back from giving the new company the kind of badass differentiation required in a field that is often considered morally suspect, quality-inconsistent, and pain-in-the-ass-ish.

Why hold back, if I'm the fucking CEO?

• Fear of failure.
• Fear of disapproval.
• Fear of rejection.
• Having lost the feeling the my blood flows in this company's veins.
  

It's not like I haven't been working my ass off... making real progress in both working method sand technological assistance... but I haven't been doing the things to make this brand something different, more attractive, and an inherently better choice for clients present and potential.

Well, it's pretty much time to put up or shut up. So I'm completely rewriting the website (same visuals, totally different content), rewriting our direct mail (and doing more of it), and, well... I'm just doing a base jump. That sums it up.

I'm report in on my progress, because the first round of this needs to be up and running in a week, at most.

Whoa. What a screed.

Love to all. Even you, the gentleman having a extended, full-voice conversation with himself, punctuated by long, frustrated sighs.

Damn, dude.

I feel humorless, flavorless, colorless. What a weird day.

I don't know how to sum it up, other than to say that one of the partners at my firm created an absolutely fucked up situation, and refused to shut up long enough to let it get clarified, in spite of my pleading. I tried being direct. I tried humor. My responses ranged from:

I’d like to table this discussion until you fine folks have a chance to meet and discuss...

to

Dude. Stop.

to an aside to my friends:

Gun cocked, at temple. I’m offing myself now.

But, now that all the partners have met and the crisis has apparently passed, it appears I missed the technique that the other partners learned over the last 10 years: the man must be ignored at certain times.

(Mind you, I may be the partner with the highest percentage of ownership, but I've only worked with these guys for 4 months).

One of my partners is a mad genius. In equal parts.

Anyway, it seems that, as per the original plan, I get to run wild for the next 90 days, doing everything I see fit to get this thing on better footing. At that point, we'll regroup and see where we are.

It's a two way street: they get to decide if they want to stay involved, and I get to decide if their involvement is worth the loss of total ownership.

For now, though... it doesn't matter. I need to focus on doing for this brand what I've done for others... fabulous differentiation, baby. Planetary uniqueness.

Love to all. Even you, the semi-familiar lady with the longer hair than she had before.

Note to self, #523.

Not all spouses find it cool or fun that their husband was nominated for "Hottest Daddy Blogger."

You, on the other hand, should go vote for me right now.

Love to all. Even you, Neil Gaiman.

What?

What do you do when the bigger company that, ostensibly, had the resources to fund a new division suddenly says "We're not sure about meeting staff payroll in three weeks?"

What do you do when it turns out the "absolutely nonegotiable" requirement for you to discard four years worth of concerted branding efforts turns out to have been absolutely negotiable after all, and actually preferred by the partners who never mentioned it until today, when it was too late?

What do you do when you think you might have made a HUGE fucking mistake?

I have no answers to these questions. None at all.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who exaggerated a little.

Never. This. Busy.

Maggie is curating a show at a local gallery. It's her first show.

I am doing the website. Since I am overwhelmingly SLAMMED at work, the only time I have to work on her website is when I'm coming to and from NYC on the train. And at night. And in the early morning. I am trying not to be a dick when I feel Maggie isn't getting me information fast enough, or in a clear enough way.

I fear that I am failing.

If I could stay up 24x7, I would.

Truth be told, I'm writing this from the potty. That is how busy I am.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who wouldn't stop tapping his foot.

We interrupt this here entrepreneur...

...for a bit of capitalistic jealousy.

See, in 1996 I started a company. It's media related, but not a pure media firm. I need to correct my bio.

In 2000 I sold it. I tried to work for the company I started, but it was a disaster. The five owners who bought my firm started infighting. One eventually bought the others out (we're still friends to this day). I was left, floundering in a crappy Westchester office for 2.5 years, working with people who were... nice-but-talentless... drinking too much... and watching my New York client-base get utterly alienated by one of the ickiest people I have ever met, someone who my boss would eventually get banned from working in the NY.

From 2000 - 2003, I lost pretty much everything I had invested from the sale during the stock market collapse. I had really wanted to invest the kids education money in t-bills, but I allowed myself to be convinced that the best long-term investment was the market. It never occured to me we might NEED that money just when it was nearly gone.

I left the company I started in 2003. When I left that firm, my boss said to me: "I'm sorry for ruining your career." She meant it without sarcasm.

In 2003, I started another company, and built a new brand for four years.

In 2007, I folded that company into a firm that, ostensibly, could help take us regional, if not national. The only absolute on my part: we needed our own door. The only absolute on their part: we needed to change our name. The month before we closed down my second company, I was featured in an article about branding. Ha. Ha.

Today, I found out that the first company I started was acquired by an international firm, that's taking the brand national. Now, I haven't been there for four years, but the branding, website, writing, etc., is still almost 100% mine. And they're going to update it, apparently, but also keep the attitude and spirit largely the same.

So. What does this all mean?

1) Nothing at all.
2) I'm pretty good at the branding thing after all.
3) I'm fucking JEALOUS.

I don't really have anything else to say about it, except it's going to be weird to see my company sprout up nationally. It makes me proud and angry and happy for my boss/friend... and ever so jealous.

Ah, well.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who thought that Seth Godin came up with all that shit.

To the random lady on the train...

...who recommended that I check out Heroes.

Thank you. More later on the Spitzer announcement.

Love to all. Even you, Sylar.

Sleeeeepy.

Is it that I'm skipping Adderall this weekend, or that I coached three hours of soccer and probably have strep again? Who knows. I was told today that I expend an unbelievable amount of energy when I coach... so it's probably a combination of both.

Either way, I'm tired.

It's been a hard week, and it's time to reset my compass and get things moving in the right direction. No more teeing off on people, even if they "deserve" it. No more focusing on what's annoying me. I need to follow the 12th step of AA and try to practice the first 11 steps with everything in my life. If I can fix it, great. If I need to accept it, it's 1-11 time.

More on this later, maybe. For now, dinner.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who said certain kids were "uncoachable."

Why it's great to be a sober dad.

Enough said. Thanks there, God.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who threatened my client for no apparent reason.

Good disease.

Once again, a post from NFH has me thinking.

It's interesting to me how certain disorders / diseases that affect mental health and require treatment are sitgmatized, while others are slowly being accepted. But acceptance doesn't always equal "more cure," and acceptance doesn't always mean "better treatment."

Me? I'm a total alcoholic. You give me a drink, and it's over. I can't stop. And believe me, brothers and sisters, I have tried. When I drink, I drink too much. When I drink too much, I do things I shouldn't do. And I withdraw. I isolate even among crowds. I can't look people in the eyes. When I was at the worst stages of my drinking, it physically hurt me to make eye contact.

If you met me now, you'd know how utterly antithetical to my personality that is.

But hey: Alcoholism is a somewhat accepted and largely understood illness and, at least here in NYC, you won't get TOO many weird looks if people find out that you're a drunk-who-doesn't-drink... although I'm generally a fan of anonymity.

Other illnesses are not only unaccepted, but they're less straightforward. At least with alcoholism, others can plainly see the drinking, and it's easy to explain as along the lines of allergy. (How it affects the spiritual and emotional side of things is another story, but that's why people are baffled by AA, sometimes.)

With mental illness, there's a LOT of gray area. And sometimes people are too quick to treat the edges of normal as something wrong... which can rebound to cause people to NOT treat people who need it. It's a really undefined, lots-of-room-to-fuck-up situation. And I have no solution.

It's tough, man. I'm so glad I have alcoholism, and not schizophrenia, BPD, or something else. I'm glad that I have a disease that can be permanently arrested. And that's clearly defined.

Well. I think I'm afraid to say what I want to say, because I don't want to be labeled as some leftist freak. But you know what? It's true: everyone needs therapy.

No. Let me rephrase. Everyone needs a sponsor.

Is it possible to have an AA-like experience/group/relationship without first being decimated by addiction or illness? Honestly, I don't know. Desperation and powerlessness lead to a strange acceptance of... well... of magic.

Yup. Magic. You can call it God if you want... and I often do as well... but AA is magic.

All this to say that I don't know WHAT kind of help, support, therapy, etc., could have helped that kid before he turned so completely fucking deranged, before he killed so many people. But if he had a sponsor, like many AAs have a sponsor... he would have had someone in his life who, without judgment, could say:

Your thoughts are not unique.
People have been where you are now.
We will love you until you can love yourself.

And maybe that would have made all the difference.

Love to all. Even you, Cho. My god.

Oh, binary diversions. I love you!

Ah, Intel-Native Adobe Applications... you make me forget my troubles. Welcome to my dock, my little friends. I love the way your icons bounce in near-unison when I launch too many of you at once.

Thank you, CS3. Thank you for being ported to Xcode.

Love to tall. Even you, Quark.

Blogger down! Blogger down!

Well. I've been quiet for the last few days.

It's been sort of a perfect storm of suck:

• Maggie needs knee surgery.
• Yesterday was my mother's birthday. Man, I miss her.
  
• Today is the 18th anniversary of when I went to rehab the first time. I stayed sober for seven years, then started drinking again, couldn't stop for another seven years, then finally quiet again. One day at a time, baby... no more of that shit for me.
• Our basement, which had pergo flooring (if I knew then what I know now), is being semi-gutted as I write this.
• An ex-employee sent a client of mine a semi-threatening letter. The client owes me $30,000. This is not going to help with collections.

So I've been down a little. But you know, it ain't Katrina, and all because I've got 10's of thousands of dollars in uninsured repairs to do, that doesn't mean my life is over.

I've had to reset my newsreader to "all read," so I can start fresh. The number of unread posts in my favorite blogs was overwhelming.

When I get home today, I should have a completely different basement than I did two days ago. But the family is still the same. And the job. And me. So, life is generally good.

At the peak of my depression yesteraday, my son said to me: "This is pretty bad... but in a way, it's kind of exciting." That knocked me several levels towards normalcy, because the kid was right. Then, just as I was starting to feel better, Maggie came home with a huge coffee and a giant box of pastries. This was in response to me angrily saying that we don't have MONEY for coffee (when she offered me Starbucks). Thank goodness Maggie knows when to ignore my stupid, dramatic ass. Between her ad my oldest, I returned to self.

Love to all. Even you, the guy driving the wrong way, and in the wrong lane, in the parking lot this morning.

Floodette.

There's water coming through every seam in the basement flooring. It's a floating floor, which means, well, it means there's a very shallow lake down here.

Yikes. More later.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. I Brake for Puddles.

My dating method.

My blog friend over at NFH has wrote a post that concluded with a request for advice on meeting nice people for, you know, hugging and stuff.

I thought about it, and answered with my only tried and true method for dating. I wanted to share it with you here:

Start drinking too much. WAY too much. When you want to stop drinking, don’t stop. Keep this up until you NEED to stop and HAVE to stop and TRY to stop every day but can’t. Continue this for years.

Have a God-inspired, seemingly random, micro-white-light experience. Stop drinking. Go to AA. Meet people in AA. Meet someone in AA who is way out of your league but who is not your typical “type” who thinks you’re on the edge of sanity and possibly a heroin addict, and who avoids you. Make some friends who turn out to be that person’s friends. Discover that person is your neighbor.

Stalk that person in a non-sexual and non-threatening way. Leave random notes on their car about the migration patterns of birds,
music, other things. Be a stalker for friendship only.

Wait until the day where that person is so bored and lonely one day that they break down and come over to your house. Become friends with that person. Try to set that person up with one of your friends. Have it fail miserably. Have that person come to your house one night in a really sad mood, and have a big ol’ cry in your room. Comfort that person without the specific intention of the smooch that follows.

Like the smooch. Repeat smooch.

— and that is the *only* method that has ever worked for me, in terms of a successful method for finding a long-term relationship.

— please note: it has only worked for me once.

Love to all. Even you, burpy mcbubblegum.

Imus and Hymietown.

Okay. So Imus has bee canned for his idiotic, racist comments. Good.

But did anyone notice how Jesse Jackson, who came down on Imus like a ton of bricks, didn't respond when when he was asked the difference between what Imus did what he did he called New York City "Hymietown?"

So, I'm asking you. What's the difference? Not between the men. But between the idiotic, racist comments.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who sent me a raft of racist photographs.

My day, in an excerpt:

Dear [client],

First: Thanks for all of your help. I’m hoping that we can get some firm payment schedules and adhere to them.

The problem is: not only are invoices getting much, much older than [your company] agreed would be the case, but you have made payment promises that were not kept. The money being paid this Thursday is for one invoice, but the lion’s share of the $16,000 that you said was being paid in March is now not being paid until possibly next week... but that hasn’t been confirmed, either.

And that’s really the thing: once payment is promised and missed, the account gets flagged and we need to resolve the situation ASAP.

Could you tell me when you’ll have solid info on what’s being paid next Thursday, and beyond?

I hate saying this, but escalation is an option, and one that I am actually required to exercise if another payment is missed, or we don’t receive a clear idea of how we will be paid in a timely manner. This is not a matter of choice, it’s a matter of our corporate financial health and my contractual responsibilities to this company. It’s my least favorite part of my job, but it’s one I cannot sidestep.

If you could let me know when we will have specific information on what is being paid a week from Thursday (and beyond), that would be really helpful.

[High level VP] is the person who signed the contract agreeing to the payment terms, so he will have to be the point of contact if things escalate.

My sense is that it will not come to that... and for that I’m seriously grateful.


* * *

Love to all. Even you, the lady on my left who is cracking her gum every five seconds, occasionally interrupted by the guy on my right who is coughing all over the place.

7 hours later.

Well, I let myself sleep in - read 6:30am - today. Hopefully, that'll perk up my spirits a bit.

It's not like I'm depressed, exactly: just stressed.

Thanks for putting up with my melodramatic outburst.

Love to all. Even you, the kitten who mistook my big toe for a mouse.

Like cold air. Like drifting.

My body has a built in stress meter: psoriasis. A few weeks ago, I'm fine. Yesterday, I go for a run, and when I 'm done I notice a fine trail of blood from my kneecap to my ankle. Doing the dishes tonight, I dabbed my elbow with a dishtowel and it came away bright red. It's time for a little ultraviolet radiation: tanning booth, here I come.

I am full of fear and insecurity.

I gave up my company to join with another. There are five partners. I have the plurality of shares. More than three times the next shareholder. But I do not own the majority. Three months in, this is starting to feel like a bad idea.

I look at how I've shifted tactics to handle the branding change, the new personnel, and I think I'm doing the right thing. But hard work doesn't pay the mortgage, and I live in a really, really expensive fucking town. When the TAXES are $24,000/year, well, doing well just doesn't cut it. Where I live, I am one of the least financially successful people in town. And that's kind of fucked up.

Time will tell, but I feel completely under the gun. And my left hand is bleeding.

Love to all. Even you, the five consecutive grownups who didn't say thank you.

Here we go again.

I might skip the New York Marathon next year... scheduling all these races is becoming kind of impossible. But! I'm definitely going to make sure I qualify for 2009, because there's no WAY I'm missing it when I'm 40.

Next year? Maybe Chicago. I heard that's fun.

I need to change my fitness strategy starting this week. Less cardio, more weights. I've got a little over 2 months until summer, you know.

Vanity, vanity.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. I-Can't-Do-A-Dish.

Love.

Hi. Maggie got this magnet for my car. It says:

To declare other's love as wrong is to not really understand love at all.

I think that pretty much sums it up.

Looking forward to having a few minutes later to catch up on my blog reading. The last few days have been nuts. For now: Easter Dinner. Yum.

Love to all. Even you, Mike Leavitt.

Redux, but with results!

So, I'll redo that "give me a ring at work" experiment someday. As it was, I got a whole bunch of really nice emails, but only one phone call. So, you might think I'd be disappointed. I mean. One person called me. Just one.

But. Um.

HA! Ha HA! I got to talk to a fucking ROCK STAR, so I'm pretty much completely psyched.

Now, I have to admit that I was so momentarily thrown off that I interrupted her about a million times, but Miss Britt is like, one of my favorite bloggers. And the cool thing is that she sounds exactly like she writes... smart and snappy and happily edgy... and she's got a pretty awesome laugh. No, I'm not in love.

But it's cool to have your like verified.

Anyway. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, which means Church, family, sugar, joy and tension. I should probably fight a few rounds on the XBOX 360 in preparation.

Love to all. Even you, the rescheduling relative who should be a little. more. enthusiastic.

Oh, Eric.

Eric is the one on the left. I'm on the right. Palmer is my administrative assistant.



The cool thing about Eric is that he never would have done that on purpose, which makes it so much funnier.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who doesn't quite get that "I don't ever drink" means that I won't do shots with him just once.

Old. Old old old.

I put in a couple of white gold earrings in last night. I haven't worn earrings in a while, so I figured gold'll let me get used to 'em again, without any nasty germ things happening.

Within a few hours, my oldest and Maggie both expressed surprise that I would be wearing earrings again, since I had "stopped doing that a while ago." Implication? I am too old to wear earrings now.

Ugh.

I don't know why that bothered me, but it did. I took 'em out.

I might be a little bummed today because of work stuff, too. I just can't get this company CRANKING... partially because not everyone is fucking HERE at the same time, and it seems like that's not going to be the case for a while. I have to figure shit out.

Man, this was a cranky post. Sorry.

Love to all. Even you, the person who told me that they were using ALL CAPS to be SARCASTIC.

Call me, baby! --- Rescheduled!***

***Rescheduled due to posting difficulties! See below.

So. Those kind folks who listened to my little interview almost universally said that I don't sound like what they thought I would sound like. That my voice was softer, gentler, and less gravelly than the tattoos would indicate.

Two quick things:

1) I have the world's least threatening tattoos: A daisy, a sunflower, a tulip, a heart, five stars, and a dove. They don't scream "macho." They burble "happiness."

2) Put your mouth where your comment is. Shoot me an email at rich at championable dot com, and if I know you a little from the blogworld, I'll send you my direct number at work. I may not have a lot of time to chit chat (crazy day today), but I'd love to say hello and find out what YOU sound like. I'll put up a list of folks I talked to if it works out.

This might be a really dumb idea, but what the hell. It's Friday.

Love to all. Even you, the gum-smackin', mystery-readin', foot-tappin' redhead from this morning's train.

***Update: I somehow turned off commenting, so I'll try this again next week-ish. Eek!

How can you not be insulted?

After the Supreme Court ruled that the EPA could and should regulate greenhouse gases, Bush said that he's already done enough. Besides, he said:

Whatever we do must be in concert with what happens internationally. Unless there is an accord with China, China will produce greenhouse gases that will offset anything we do in a brief period of time.

Holy SHIT.

Okay. I hope nobody fell for this. But, just in case:

1) If the United States puts out, say, 10 tons of carbon, and China puts out 10 tons of carbon, that's a total of 20 tons. If we put out 2 tons and China puts out 10 tons, that's TWELVE TONS. But what Bush is saying is that if we put out 2 tons and China puts out 10 tons, that's STILL TWENTY! Is anyone out there not insulted by this? Does the man actually think we shouldn't do anything until everyone ELSE does the right thing? That doesn't sound like the "American Way" to me. We sure didn't have a worldwide consensus on invading Iraq, did we, George? And you sure as hell don't have a NATIONAL consensus on it, now!

Doesn't anybody remember Bush attacking Kerry for considering world opinion on national issues? Argh.

2) There IS an international agreement. The Kyoto Treaty. The US didn't ratify it. I mean, if the guy is looking for international consensus... THAT WAS IT. AAAAAH!

3) Just for the record, the law this guy is hiding behind in order to CONTINUE POLLUTING is the one he hypocritically named the "Clear Skies Act." Which, um, allows companies to pollute MORE.

Again: Is there anyone who isn't radically insulted by this evildoer?

Seriously. There's people I disagree with, and there's this fucking murderous idiot. People are dying every day because of his lies... but now he is working to ensure that people die on a planetary scale over the long haul.

God help us if we elect someone remotely similar. God help us for the next two years.

Love to all. Even you.

Bachelorhood.

For the last two days, I've been a bachelor. Maggie took the kids and left for Washington, DC. She decided that it was the only way she would be able to survive Spring Break. That's right: she preferred two 5.5 hour drives and tourist traffic vs. being at home alone with the kids for a week. I think that makes sense, but I'm also kind of surprised. She's normally less impulsive along those lines. But last week she decided to take off, and she did. So, bravo.

For the last two days, I've been a bachelor: strip clubs 'til 2am, after hours bars until 4am, barely getting home in time to drink some listerine and drag my sickly ass into work for three hours, just to slip out at lunch. Gotta pack in the debauchery while the Missus is gone, right?

Um. Okay. Not true.

Let's see. Yesterday, I forced myself to sleep until 6:30am. Even though I woke up sans-alarm at 5:09, I WILLED myself back to sleep until 6:30. Took the 7:45 train into Manhattan, was at work well before 9am. Sure, I skipped m morning AA meeting, but it was nice to have a relaxing morning.

Last night... deep breath... I had a SLEEPOVER. My friend Eric, who graciously volunteered to come up to Westchester after hearing that I hated being alone in the house (I get scared of ghosts and shit. Not crazy-style, but I just don't like being alone, and that's one way it manifests. Okay? Sheesh.).

Eric met me at Grand Central, and we took the train to my house. We went to dinner at the local French Bbstro, then back to my house, where he proceeded to completely kick my ass in Wii sports. Particularly bowling. The dude can bowl.

I didn't sleep well. Eric crashed around 10 in the TV room (we have a convertible couch), and I went upstairs and read until about 11pm. I woke up throughout the night... and was pretty much wide awake from 3:45 on. I got out of bed at 4:45, had breakfast, and woke up Eric at 5am, as planned.

And now we're on the train, heading into Manhattan. Eric's asleep.

I woke up this morning thinking: "Holy crap, things have changed. In the past, I would have used a few nights alone to get COMPLETELY shitfaced. Now, I'm lucky enough to have a friend volunteer to keep me company... and not try to get me in trouble.

So: In spite of the deep and lasting pain of Wii humiliation, I'm riding an early train to Manhattan. My head is clear, I'm not hungover, and life is mostly solid. I don't know if I'm supposed to be proud of a lack of debauchery... does one take pride in the fact of not doing things wrong? I don't know. But I I'm grateful for my life and family, and the bald-headed dude sleeping in the seat across from me. Rock on.

Love to all. Even you, the soccer dad who refuses to volunteer to coach, but wants to tell me how to do every little thing.

Do I sound a little funny?

Okay, so I was a guest on an internet radio show called Dad at Work.

They found me through this here blog, and were nice enough to ask me to do a show with 'em. This was actually the second time I did the interview, because the audio apparently got messed up the first time I did it. This one was done three or so weeks after the first one. I was nervous at the start, but settled down, I think. It was a neat thing to do... the host, Jeffrey Levine, seems like a nice dude.

So. Um. Let me know what you think. But be gentle. The show is right.... here.

Love to all. Even you, the skittishly hands-off dude with the flat arches.

Can't break free!

You ever get stuck in a mental loop?

It's 5:30am, I'm putting my shoes and socks on, and I've got one sock over my hand, sock-puppet style, when I decide to type a comment on someone's blog. But NO, I figure I can real-quick-like type with my hand in sock-puppet mode, and for some reason, I decide to STAY in sock-puppet mode, even though I can NOT freaking type in sock-puppet mode!

Damn.

Love to all. Even you, Doctor Steven Brodsky.

Best. Comment. Ever.

Some people, whose lives may have not been touched directly by something/someone, will be very insensitive about that thing. And, some people, are just dicks.

- Callisto

I just think this is really the perfect explanation for certain types of behavior.

Love to all. Even you, Captain Boredom.

Sudden awesomeness.

So, I'm on the phone with a friend of mine, walking through Grand Central Station. These three big 20-somethings walk by me. And right as they pass me, one of them says: "Man, it's like Grand Central Station in here!"

Oh. My. God.

I told my friend to hold on, and ran after the dude who said it.

You see, I've been coming through Grand Central Station for a 11 years, and I've never heard anyone make that joke before. It's like the most obvious joke ever, and it never occured to me. It was well delivered, and it was FUNNY.

I caught up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, surprised. I said to him: "Excuse me, dude. But I've been commuting forever, and I've NEVER heard anyone make that joke before. I'm kind of stunned. That was awesome. Well done."

He said: "Glad you enjoyed it. Glad I was here for you."

Then I continued my phone call with my friend.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who keeps letting his newspaper dangle over my computer monitor.

Tact.

I was reading a blog which referred to a blog so I went to the blog's blog. Say what?

I'm not going to mention it by name or link to it or anything, because this post isn't about the blog's owner, really. I don't know the dude at all. Could be a saint, could be a serial killer. I do know, though, that we have two degrees of link separation, so we've got mutual blog-friends. Besides, the last time I visited did a link-list visit, I got in all kinds of trouble.

Anyway.

The splash page of the blog has the slogan: "Tact is for pussies." The main banner is a picture of Adolf Hitler riding in a car, with the blog's owner (ice cream cone in hand) photoshopped in so that he appears to be sitting next to him.

As an ex-assistant Hebrew School teach who converted to Roman Catholicism in 2003, my first thought was: "Oh, yuck." I mean, I'm a big fan of irony and weirdness and all, but I personally don't see any reason, ever, to dilute what each and every person on the planet should think of every time they see a picture of Adolf Hitler. I feel strongly enough about it that I won't visit the blog again. Even if someone I like likes him. Even if he's a really cool dude.

I just don't want to see it.

Call me overly sensitive, but I've got no interest in peeking at a photographic Hitler cartoon on a semi-regular basis.

My second thought, though, was "I think me and this dude have different definitions of the word 'tact.'"

For me, tact isn't a weakness. It's a form of respect. And a lack of tact doesn't mean fearlessness, or not caring what other people think. Tact means "sensitivity in dealing with others or with difficult issues." I take that to mean that approaching things tactfully is actually a sign of strength and self-confidence.

It reminds me that I need to be more tactful with my children, my spouse, and the people who work for me... that I need to approach people with their needs in mind.

Tact, baby. It's for the strong.

Anyway: the dude's blog... or at least the title and header image... gave me a good bit to think about. So I'm grateful for that. It's interesting how I can sometimes react strongly to a few little words.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who justified stealing.

Temporary Dickishness.

Well, I'm over it.

I had a back and forth with the guy last night, and he explained the things which made him change directions. And while wouldn't have made the choice he made, the reasoning was... dammit... the reasoning was sound.

What's made me feel good about entire process was:

1. Professionally - he validated my interpretation of one of his pre-decision emails yesterday... the tenor of which indicated that he had suddenly gone from accepting to not - I told my staff this... so I'm glad my between-the-lines radar is still calibrated.
2. Personally - I practiced restraint of pen and tongue. Or anyone else. And now, although we lost out on closing a quarter-changing deal, we have a new potential client (he's running creative at a mid-size ad agency), and a new fan of our process. He wrote me this morning to say: "And I have to say you both have been one of the best experiences I've had with [people like you]. I also can refer you to at least 2 art directors who are looking to get out of [another company] before it shuts down."

So that's nice.

On this here blog? I wasn't so nice. But hey, if I can't vent here, where the fuck CAN I vent?

Anyway: today's another day. Capitalism + ethics = my company. Onward.

Love to all. Even you, the social studies teacher with the frequent, heavy sigh.

Played.

Biggest deal of the year. Big fee. Perfect match client and candidate. The client did everything the candidate wanted. Best benefit package I've ever seen. Hell, the senior management of this nationally renown publishing firm -- the President, Creative VP, more -- all stayed up late into the night to get this guy an offer that would make him happy, because he said he had to make a decision by early this morning.

But then, once the offer was in, he suddenly had to do "research" into something else that would take all afternoon. That was when I got suspicious.

It seems he was just playing them, in order to get a better offer somewhere else.

I understand weighing your options. I really do. But if you say: "This, this, and this would be perfect." And the response is everything you wanted plus quite a bit more, without any negotiation, you should damn well live up to your word. I know of very few companies that make the kinds of offers that these folks did. It's a rare and straightforward declaration of value.

Sure, I'm pissed that my company isn't getting a commission. It would have been tremendous. But I'm MORE pissed that this guy led us on.

Anyway. I'm going to allow myself to be miserable for another hour or two, then get over it.

Love to all. Even you, fucker.

Good question.

Evilynmo from Letters from Eve tagged me with a "7 songs you're currently into" query. This took a trip to my iPod(s), and the various "play count" lists. I think that this is only the second time I've ever responded to a tag... I liked the idea of taking a look at what I'm actually listening too... not to mention the fact that Evilynmo kind of kicks ass, in a totally wholesome and my-marital-status-appropriate way.

So here's the scoop (Song - Album - Artist):

1. Silent Shout - Silent Shout - The Knife
2. Beyond Reach - Come Clean - Curve
3. Idioteque (live) - I Might Be Wrong - Radiohead
4. R30 Overture - 30th Anniversary World Tour - Rush
5. Honey - Big Beautiful Sky - Venus Hum
6. Marvo Ging - Push the Button - The Chemical Brothers
7. Stolen Car - Central Reservation - Beth Orton

And there you are. I think I'll make a playlist of just these songs... just so I can listen to them until I'm ready to move on.

Love to all. Even you, the big lady with the lack of bodily control.

More on Atlanta, Commenters, and Decatur.

First of all: let me apologize if my comment on Decatur (and Decaturians) seemed sweepingly negative. My comment related only signs put up by a neighborhood organization, that were well-meaning but kind of depressing... like "The pain will end," or "You'll catch your breath" or something along those lines. Basically, they were trying to make us feel better about problems that may not have existed... but accidentally reminding us that we might be out of breath soon, or in lots of pain. It's like asking someone with poison ivy: "Does it itch?" :-)

Of course, it was totally from a good place. It just was funny.

The race was hard. It was really hot towards the end. And Atlanta isn't hilly, in terms of steepness, but uphill grades can last for a mile. Hell, mile 25 was a hill.

When I came to a long, long, hill, I prayed:

Thank you, God, for the opportunity to run up this hill. I am so lucky to be living a life so blessed.

I finished the race like I try to finish every race: at a sprint. This was hard, though. I tried to get myself to sprint and was, like, stuck. So I fucking GROWLED my way to a sprint, literally roaring (which I don't normally do, mind you) my way to speed... and the last 100 yards were full-on, with people yelling "GO RICHIE GO!!" It was a totally awesome moment.

I crossed the finish line and couldn't breathe for a second. And official came over and asked if I needed help. Something in the way I answered made her smile. I guess I looked bad for a second, there.

I walked back to my hotel room and immediately called Delta and switch my flight so I could leave that afternoon. There was no reason for me to stay in Atlanta, with Maggie, kids, and friends back at home. I thought I would want to recover for a day, but I didn't.

So I got the 4:45 (after trying to switch again to the 2:45, since I left myself WAY too much time to get to the airport), got my car from the LaGuardia lot, and was home by 8pm.

Phew. Adventure over.

Finally: thanks, thanks, thanks for the comments. It's such a cool thing to have blog-friends out there.

Okay. Shower time.

Love to all. Even you, the light-heavyweight who used his elbows.

ING Georgia Marathon: a personal record.

Holy crap.

I beat my NYC time by almost two minutes... although this was way harder, with 80-degree, sunny weather with reaallllly long hills.

I came in at 3:43:47. Yowza.

I just changed my flight so that I can go home tonight. This was fun, but there's no reason for me to be here, and I miss my family.

Love to all. Even you, the Decatur group that put up the most depressing "inspirational signs" I have ever, ever, seen.

View from the top.

Jeez.

If you're ever at the Omni Hotel in Atlanta, and you come back for the second time to see if your room is ready, and you think you were a little snippy about it when they told you that it's still not ready, and then you apologize for sounding snippy...

...the nice check-in lady might suddenly find a kick-ass room at the top floor with a cool deck overlooking the CNN Atrium.

I mean... I know I should be nice because that's the right way to be... but it's kind of cool that there are occasional perks to not being a dick.

Love to all. Even you, line cutter.

Terminal.

Terminal as in, posting from.

Gate 1, LaGuardia, Delta. Security line was lllllong, but I got here in plenty of time.

Whoops! They're boarding already. Crazy.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who is making a loud stink about getting bumped previously.

Atlanta, here I come!

Me? I'm heading down via airplane. My family, via the writing on the back of my shirt.

Got to get up at 4:30am tomorrow for my 6:59 flight. Talk to you from Atlanta.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who got mad because we sent her pay stubs to the address she gave us.

No no no no no.

I have strep. Low fever. Icky.

They gave me a 3-day course of Azythromycin so I don't have to take anything the day of the race. I feel like crappity crap.

Love to all.

So important.

I had dinner plans with my oldest last night. He asked me last week if, one night, he and I could go to the diner together.... just the two of us.

I got home from work at 7:25pm. My son sprinted over to me and said: "Are you ready? are you ready? This is going to be so awesome!" For a minute, there, I thought that he was confused about what we were doing... then I realized he was just thrilled to be hanging out with me.

So, God: I don't know what I did to deserve this, but: Thanks.

We were out the door by 7:35.

Dinner in our house normally takes 15 minutes at best. And it usually involves my daughter rejecting whatever Maggie made, and my youngest wanting to be finished quickly so he can have desert.

My oldest and I chilled out over omelettes toast for an hour. We had a really wide-ranging conversation about school, friends, my father, smoking, alcoholism (he does NOT know that I'm a recovered alcoholic... he actually brought it up in a completely different context)... it was, as he said later, "awesome."

He said some amazing things. He said he's glad Maggie told him about my father (and my trying to contact him recently) because it makes him understand that my father is sick... and instead of getting angry at him, he just feels bad for him. "It's sad for you and me, Dad, but it's REALLY sad for him."

My goodness.

He said: "We have a lot of traits in common, Dad."

He said: "I can tell you've worried about work, because you've been a little irritable."

He said: "I love spending time with you just you and me."

He explained the intricacies of the 5th-grade school day. He did a fabulous imitation of one of his teachers when she gets mad. He told me about his new hockey and baseball teams.

We decided to have dinner together once a month from now on. Frequent enough to be a really good thing, but infrequent enough to keep it special. Again, his idea.

So, the only way I can wrap this post is to say it again: Thanks, God. Seriously.

Love to all: even you, the commuter guy who repeatedly coughed jelly doughnut onto the train floor.

Let's not do that.

5:32am - two of my kids have been up for a while. Usually, I'm the only one up when I leave for work. Both have sore throats. Mine's been a little weird the last two days, too.

I do not want to get sick before Atlanta.

I think I might try to sleep in tomorrow morning, since that's my last chance to get a good night's sleep until Monday, most likely.

Love to all.

Insecure.

!--begin geek rant
My company is financed by an outside company. It's the only way we can afford to grow. It's an expensive proposition: they get chunk of sales off the top, and in return we get 95% of our receivables within a few days of billing them. Such is the tradeoff of the small business concern.

Sales data is entered remotely, via their extranet.

They had to set up another account for us today, because of something we were doing that required a different accounting method. I called the rep because I hadn't received my password.

She said: "It's the same as your current login."
I said, "No, I actually changed our password right after you set up the account."
She said "But I just got it and gave it to your partner. Isn't it -"

And then she told me my password.

Now, in every fucking half-secure system on the planet, passwords are encrypted, and tech people should only be able to CHANGE a user's password, not look it up and give it out. This security method allows tech people the ability to help a user who has forgotten their password, but unable pull the user's password and get into their account.

And if the passwords are just STORED somewhere in employee-accessible form, they're ripe for stealing.

I told my rep this.

She said: "What would you do with any of that information, anyway?"
I said: "For starters, I'd take all of the stored employee data and go on a massive identity theft binge."
She said: "Well, we won't hire YOU."

Ha fucking ha.

I'm kind of blown away. This place is owned by a fucking BANK. Then again, I should have suspected as much when they told me that fixing a Java error in their accounting software was a "feature request."

Shit.
!--end geek rant

Love to all. Even you, Pedro the tech guy.

Briefly.

• Up at 5am.
• Train at 5:45am.
• AA meeting at 7:30am.
• Work at 8:40am.
• Work completely non-stop until 5:35pm.
• Train home at 6pm.
• <-----I am here----->
  
• Arrive at home train station at 7pm.
• Pick up son at hockey at 7:10pm.
• Get Maggie home at 7:20pm.
• Maggie leaves at 7:20pm.
• Put youngest kids to bed at 8pm.
• Run 4 miles at 8:15pm
• Try to sleep sometime before 11pm.

Love to all. Even you, Chompy McChewalot.

Not so funny.

"What's Bush going to do after he leaves office... teach?"

The audience laughed heartily. It was, after all, an NPR show, and NPR is famously liberal, right?

But you know what? It's pretty pathetic when the idea of your current President attempting to teach a course is obviously laughable, because the guy's so factually inept and logically splintered.

Leader of my country, indeed. Sigh.

Love to all. Even you, the guy with the tan khakis and dust-covered fleece pullover.

Small claims, big money.

I just came from New York City small claims court. We had three different claims against the same company, covering various invoices over the course of time. The client is a notorious deadbeat who has scammed dozens of people out of tens of thousands of dollars. The way I found out that we were in serious trouble was when my new partners saw we were working with them. Turns out they had owed them $40,000 a couple of years ago.

The owners of my first company got tagged as well, having worked with them a year ago. I found this out over lunch.

This time, though, it seems they are actually declaring bankruptcy: the CFO, the Creative Director, and other employees of their firm are sending resumes out left and right.

Small claims court was actually fun. My friend Lisa went with me, and we basically chit-chatted for three hours. She wanted to see what it was like, because she's starting a claim of her own.

My case was called dead last. DEAD LAST. The funny thing? The only other time I was in small claims court, the same thing happened. Dead last.

My opponent didn't even bother to show. This is good, because I presented my well -documented (if I do say so myself) case without opposition. This is bad, because it means they can present an excuse to the judge, if they so choose. If the judge buys it, we have to do this again.

Anyway. I'm a bit fried and a bit tired, but I'm really happy that I have a business that can get tagged for 12 grand and not close, friends who will sit with me in court for hours, and a family at home that will be glad to see me... if they're awake.

Love to all. Even you, The Weiss Family.

Shark! Sharrrrrrk!

In the summer of last year, I told my son that when he beats me in ping-pong I would let him watch Jaws. I was confident in the fact that it would take years. YEARS! The DVD would remain on the shelf, unwrapped and pristine, until well into the 2010's. Heck, we'd probably need to buy the NEXT video format, because DVD would be totally obsolete by the time he beat me.

We watched it last night. I forgot what a terrific movie it was. Quint is the man.

Love to all, even you, Mayor Vaughan.

p.s. 21-19.

Sensitive, unbelievably self-aware.

My son was really touchy last night. We were playing Fight Night 3 on the XBOX 360... and little jokes that were normally part of our banter made him get all sullen and depressed. He was playing the game with this really sad face, doing that thing kids do where they make every body gesture with that sad air of defeat.

At first, I got a bit annoyed, because it's no fun to play with someone when they're acting all bummed out. But I self-intervened and instead asked him what the scoop was...

...and lo and behold, he talked.

My 10-year-old boy is so unbelievably self-aware that he actually said: Dad, I think because I don't react when I get picked on so much in school I get upset by things that normally wouldn't bother me at home.

So we talked about the kids who make fun of him. The kids who constantly use the f-bomb. Who make fun of him because we don't let him watch TV-MA or most TV-14 shows. More importantly, HE talked about it, and how it made him feel.

It's hard for me to talk to him about this stuff, because I want SO much to:

1. Give him advice, which he doesn't want.
2. Go and beat the crap out of the boy's fathers with a fucking bat, which would be setting a bad example and, um, illegal.

In the end, I did a lot of listening... but also told him that he should know that he's not a doormat, and if he feels that kicking some kid in the balls would shut that kid up, well, I'd back him up if he got in trouble for doing it.

Now: I wouldn't say this to most kids... including my other two. Because they'd consider it a license to do it. But my boy doesn't. He just REALLY needs to know that we're there for him, and that we'll support him. Maggie has given him her own version of this speech.

We're meeting with all of his teachers in a little over a week to talk about how things are going for him, socially and academically. I'm interested to see their persepctive.

This parenting thing can be hard... but what I have to remember is that it's not as hard as being a kid.

Love to all. Even you, the parent who tried to kick an oncoming sled.

ADHD recap, week one.

For those of you keeping score, I just finished my first work week on 40mg of Adderall XR. And I finished it a tad early, because it's snowing like crazy where I live, so I want to get home while the roads are still passable. I'm actually leaving the Miata at the train station... Maggie is picking me up in the 4wd.

So: what's interesting about this medicine is, first of all, how much it's taught me about the LAST medicine. When I first started Adderall (fast release), I became a smile-free superman, handling every task, folding every piece of laundry, cleaning every part of my office.

And when that effect starting wearing off, I thought the medicine wasn't working anymore.

Now I know differently.

Adderall XR is much more subtle. I don't feel RADICALLY different, yet I'm able to work at my desk for a couple of hours at a time. I am forgetting to eat, though. Have to work on that.

The thing is, I think THIS is what Adderall (fast) was supposed to do in the first place.... not the Superman thing. I wish that my doc had given me a little more experiential advice.

Anyway. VERY interesting evening with my son tonight. I'll write about that later.

Love to all. Even you, the irritable woman who gets mad when other women are irritable.

Take me home, baby!

These are the shoes that'll take me through the Atlanta Marathon. I put six miles on 'em last night. They're brand new Asics Kayano XI's (forget the XII or XIII, new "old" Kayano's ROCK).

I'm getting psyched this, even though it's still a little over a week away.

Love to all. Even you, grumpy bus stop person.

Like nations.

When nations are under a strong dictatorship, there's often little civil unrest. Frequently, it's when people are given a taste of freedom that things get crazy.

When an alcoholic quits drinking, s/he often panics. NOT because things have suddenly gotten worse, but rather because they can see, without an alcohol- or hangover- induced haze, just what the situation actually is.

And me: having started treating my ADHD again, I can see the depth and breadth of the things I need to accomplish more clearly, and the sheer LENGTH of my to-do list is scaring the crap out of me.

Change for the good is scary.

Love to all. Even you, the CFO who keeps semi-committing.

Why I'm not writing about politics as much.

I used to write more about politics, and I'm sure I will again... but what's keeping from doing it now is simple: The current administration is SO absurd, and SO criminal, that it's too obvious to write about.

And I just LOVE the way people take "responsibility," like the Attorney General did recently over the utterly despicable, planned firings of U.S. Attorney's who didn't toe the Bush line. Apparently to "take responsibility" is simply say "I take responsibility."

Absurd.

Clinton + blowjob + not being honest about blowjob = impeachment.

Bush + fake reasons for war + shredding civil rights + exposing CIA agents + political firings of non-political (after appointment) workers + lying + lying + lying = ...

= ...

= Halliburton taking all their no-bid contract money and moving to Dubai.

Absurd.

Love to all. Even you, Albert O. Cornelison, Jr.

Shovel, pop-start, 40mg, life goes on.

My oldest smacked my Miata with a large metal shovel. It was an accident. It made a big scratch in the left front quarterpanel. But the Miata didn't feel anything: it was dead anyway.

When I got home last night, my car was still dead.

My oldest and I pushed it into the street, Maggie got in, we started it rolling down the big hill, got the hell out of the way, and watched Maggie pop-start it.

All's well that ends well, I guess.

I didn't mention that yesterday was my first day on 40mg of Adderall XR (I'd been ramping up from 20). It's a completely different experience than Adderall "regular." It's WAY less intense, with none of that "superman" crap that I experienced last year. It's definitely helping me to focus, but is definitely not making me all serious all the time. Day two starts in about half an hour. Haven't taken it yet.

Maggie approves, which is huge... and which is different than last time.

I missed a cell call yesterday with "no caller id." When Maggie calls, it's "blocked," so it wasn't her. I immediately thought that it was my parents, and my heart sank and soared at the site. Of course, I actually have no idea who it was. They didn't leave a message.

One day at a time, I'll accept this whole situation.

Again, thanks for all the comments. They mean a lot.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who coughs into his newspaper, which angles it into my face.

Weepy. Icky. Angry.

I slept in 20-minute spurts last night. Got out of bed at 4:00am. Showered. Had a cup of coffee. Decided to catch the 5:00am train. Got in my car.

Dead battery. Maggie accidentally left the key in it, and in the on position.

Ok. I'll take the 5:25. I get my shit together and walk the two miles to train station. I arrive 30 fucking SECONDS too late.

Now I'm in the station, waiting for the 5:45. I feel like crying. I know it's about my parents, not the train.

My sponsor says it's time to let go. I've done all I can do, and it's time to move on with the rest of my life. I think he's right, but I just can't BELIEVE they'd abandon my sons and daughter like this. Choosing anger over love, sickness over family...

...I want to break windows. I want to scream. I want to fucking understand this.

I've got nothing else right now. I'm a wreck.

Love to all.

Words fail me.

From my parents:

As a prerequisite to consideration of your offers, Maggie must first create, sign, and provide to us a document retracting pointedly, unequivocally, in its entirety, and to our satisfaction the complaint she filed with the [local] Police Department – of which we have a copy. She must then submit that document at the appropriate level to the [local] police, and provide to us verifiable proof that she has done so. Then, and only then, will we consider the offers contained in your email copied below.

No introduction, no signature.

This is in response to:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I'm writing to tell you that I'm truly sorry for all that has happened. We all miss you, and that if there's anyway to move past this, we would like to. I am more than willing to simply start anew.

I've been thinking about this for a while, now, but it was really a conversation I had with [my son] this morning (before hockey league tryouts!) that cemented the timing. He's a super-awesome 10-year-old boy, and I want you to be in his, and our lives.

And, with equal importance, I want him to be in YOUR lives.

I don't want you to miss out on a kid like this. (And the rest of 'em are pretty terrific, too!)

You are totally welcome to call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx if you would like to talk (my cell), or, during the week, at xxx-xxx-xxxx (my office).

I have the Atlanta Marathon in two weeks, but if you wanted me (or me n' [my son]) to fly out for a weekend in April, I'm sure we could figure that out.

I hope this note finds you well and happy. And warm!

Love,

Rich

Words just fail me. I mean, forget the fact that Maggie actually STOPPED the police from arresting my father after they read the frightening and threatening letters and faxes he was sending... the fact that I haven't spoken to them since 2003, and that they are putting this weird power trip /prove yourselve to us/ revenge thing ahead of having a relationship with their Grandchildren...

...it's just sick, sick, sick. It's sick. And it's ONLY remembering that he is ill that prevents me from being truly angry.

Love to all. Even you, Dad.

Message from God.

Part of today's Gospel:

Then [Jesus] told this parable: "A man had a fig tree, planted in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it, but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, 'For three years now I've been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven't found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?'

" 'Sir,' the man replied, 'leave it alone for one more year, and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.' " Luke 13:6-8

Okay. So, maybe I'm supposed to try and fix things with my parents, but like all of you have said, not worry about the results yet.

What was especially Sign-like was that, the special song sung by the 4th-graders (it was the 4th grade mass today) was "Let my people go." Now, this is the song my brother and I REALLY got into at the Passover seder... and I've NEVER heard it in church before.

So, again: thanks there, God.

Love to all. Even you, big brother.

I guess no news is, um, no news.

I was sort of hoping to hear back from my parents today. I mean, even though the last time sucked, at least I knew right away where their mindset was.

But, as my best friend AND my sponsor said... I can't worry about results.

Ah, fuck. Let's be honest, here: it's not that I was "sort of hoping to hear back." I was hoping to hear something good. And to hear the voice of my mother and father or the first time since 2003. Regardless of what has happened in the past, they are my parents, I love them, and I miss them.

Thanks so much for the comments. It really means a lot. It says something about this world when you can get small kindnesses from people you might never meet in person.

Love to all.

Tiny little prayers.

Hey.

If you could say the littlest prayer for me, I'd appreciate it. I just sent my parents an email (after reading it to my sponsor), basically saying that love them and miss them and that I would like bygones to be bygones, and to move on. I haven't spoken with them in four years.

I don't expect it to work. But I should try not to expect anything.

Love to all. Even you, whoever programmed the Emjay phone system.

AIDS Denialists.

It's the same as murder.

This week's New Yorker has an excellent and disturbing article on AIDS denialists in South Africa. These are politicians and psuedo-scientists who claim that HIV does not cause AIDS, that retroviral drugs are poison, and that the entire HIV-industry was invented for the profit of Pharmaceutical companies.

(I think someone's confused antiretrovirals with recreational viagra.)

If you get a chance to read it, please do. What astouds me is NOT that there are people who think this way, it's how many people they've killed with their influence.

Love to all. Even you, Peter Duesberg.

Like father...

I love the fact that my five year old enjoys brushing his teeth more when:

1. He's using an electric toothbrush.
2. He's strolling through the house.

JUST like his Papa.

Love to all. Even you, liar-ass accounting guy.

Adderall XR thoughts, Day 1.

I can tell you that Adderall XR ain't Adderall, and that's a darn good thing. It doesn't come on like Adderall, which is terrific. And it seems to create kind of a low key effect that takes the noise out of my head, without making me Superman.

Hm.

I had lunch with my friend Eric, who told me that I seemed a bit "starey." Which was probably true. I also wasn't all that hungry. Hmm.

Anyway. I do 20mg for three more days, then on to 40. Then we hold there until April.

I'll make sure to post about things OTHER than Adderall XR, but hey: this is my life today.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who said the same word 8 times in a row. Loud.

Adderall redux: The XR edition.

It's been a while since my last attempt to treat my crazy-ass ADHD.

Positives:

1. The chatter in my head stopped for the first time ever.
2. I was able to actually do several consecutive hours of work at a time.
3. I could fucking focus on things, like completing a workout.
   

Negatives:

1. I was less funny.
2. I lost 25 pounds in 25 days.
3. I was borderline OCD.
4. I got too used to the spiky nature of Adderall.

After many months, I revisited my psychiatrist, and went over the situation. After much discussion, we decided that I would start on Adderall XR, a once-a-day, less-spiky, 12-hour medicine. 20mg for 4 days, then 40 mg/day.

I took my first dose about 2 hours ago.

So, here we go. Help or hinder? Friend or foe? I guess we'll find out.

Love to all. Even you, the interviewee who forgot pretty much everything.

Why I love my friends, part 29614.

This is a transcript of an email dialog between me and Eric, a dude who I've gotten to know (like, in real life) over the last few months.

E: Late lunch? 2:00?
R: How’s 1pm?
E: Conf call from 1:15 to 1:45. Thursday?
R: FUCK YOU.
E: I HATE YOU, I RESENT YOU, I DETEST YOU . . . . . I lurve you
R: I hate resenting you.
E: And I resent hating you
R: Together, we’re like a black-hearted candy of depression and discontent.
E: At least we’re candy :-)

It's the last line that I find completely endearing.

Love to all. Even you, the kids who tell my kid they're allowed to watch stuff they are clearly NOT allowed to watch.

My Daughter's Vacation.

Quoted verbatim (spelling corrected).

I went to Vermont! I was so good at skiing. I stayed there for a week! I got really homesick. When I went skiing with my Dad I could not stop. My dad fell and he told me and I said:

"I wondered who that was?"

Love to all. Even you, the guy who couldn't figure out the jump seat.

Back problems and an aborted run.

I was going to do a 20-mile training run, but at 13.5 miles I semi-tweaked my back and have NO interest in throwing my back out before the Atlanta Marathon. About an hour after this happened, my blog-friend TC posted about her husband calling mid-way through a marathon he is running today, right now, worried that he wouldn't make it.

The thing is, the dude already MADE it, because he's trying. He just inspired me to go to Atlanta no matter what. No matter what.

Love to all. Even you, whoever was driving the fast-moving Suburban.

Home gym.

And it only costs me college tuition.

Love to all. Even you, speechless guy in Target.

With THAT said...

Yesterday, I was feeling all googly-oogly about A.A., and how lucky I am to be sober.

Today, I'm using that as a jumping point to express a bit o' irk about 24, the TV show.

In THIS alcoholic's opinion.

• You can't take a five-second slug of whiskey, "spit it out," and then still be considered to be maintaining "continuous sobriety" in Alcoholics Anonymous.
  
• Nobody has a contact in their cell's address book that says "A.A. Sponsor." That's kind of an anonymity-breaker, I would think.
• If you're a straight dude, your sponsor is probably NOT a woman.

I feel like A.A. is often portrayed incorrectly and weirdly in the media. But how can it not be? It's an utterly unique sociological and cultural phenomenon, with no true leaders, a top-to-bottom reporting system, and incredible flexibility in what can happen from group to group to group.

Plus, it's magic. I'm not really kidding, here. It helps people, very often people are smart, strong-willed, driven, etc., but who couldn't put down the booze, to PUT DOWN THE BOOZE.

It's magic. Or God. Same thing.

Love to all. Even you, the lady at the next table who laughed and cried and laughed and cried.

Thanks there, God.

I've made no secret of the fact that I'm a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I've been sober for about three and a half years. For the seven years prior, I wasn't. For the seven years prior, I was.

This means I had a seven year relapse.

This also means that I didn't take my first legal drink until I was 27 years old.

This also means I better go to AA pretty much forever. Even though it took two years of not going for me to think that I didn't have a problem, I was somehow able to convince myself that I was too young... that I had solved my problems... that I wasn't really an alcoholic.

I got sober at 20, thanks to the intervention of my parents and a bizarre stroke of trust that I can only attribute to God.

I got sober again at 35, thanks to a comment by Maggie and a inexplicable change in attitude that I can, again, only attribute to God.

So, um. Thanks there, God. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who took a few to many percodans.

Frack!

Running late this morning. Slept in until 7am. Whoo hoo!

My daughter was playing the same little piece of music over and over again, and I realized that, without intention, she was playing the opening bars of the old "Battlestar Galactica" TV theme.

When my two youngest kids realized I was home (I'm usually gone when they get up), they chanted "Chase us! Chase us!" which means catch them and wrestle the crap out of them. So I did. I'm glad my youngest is only 5, because he accidentally caught me with a mean right cross to the jaw.

Work panic is settling to my whole chemical subsystem. Must run for the train.

Love to all. Even you, the dentist with the fantastic, incredibly expensive new equipment.

Anything for the kids.

Tonight's question: Daddy, will you get a mohawk?

Love to all. Even you, anglepark mcgoo.

Accident that wasn't, I am weak-spirited.

So, I leave my house at 6am (late morning for me. seriously. ugh.) and started driving to the train station. My neighbor pulls out behind me... it's this guy from way down the road. The dude's a tailgater. There's been a few times he's hung on my ass all the way from the train station to home.

I figure I'll a slightly different route to the train station, thus avoiding him having to be held up by me, and me having to worry about being tailgated. If I can't destress myself via not caring about potential tailgating (I'm neurotic like that), I'll destress by removing myself from the situation. Not bad thinking for early in the morning, right?

I turn down the alternate road, which turns out to be a lot snowier than the main road. I'm concentrating on the snow, when I see a car approaching from the left. This SHOULD be impossible. But somehow, I've come all the way to the main road in town, and I'm literally going straight THROUGH the stop sign, and I'm going to collide with this BMW, and it's totally my fault.

Slowdown. Clarity. Little arrows across my field of vision. Options.

If I tried to break, the guy would hit me. If I tried to make the turn, the guy would hit me. So I gunned it, and shot to the other side of the road, towards a plastic-fenced construction lot, so that I'd squeak buy and worry about stopping my own car in a few seconds, vs. having a two-car, my-fault situation.

I cross the road and brake to a stop. Accident avoided. The guy goes by, honking. He honks a lot. He's pissed. I back up. We're both going to the train station, so I decide to follow him to the parking lot in order to apologize. He must think I'm going to shoot him or something, because he starts driving funny... like stepping on his brakes, shooting forward, stepping on his brakes again.

I park next to him anyway. Wave.

I get out, and say: "I'm so sorry about that!" He's like "YOU ALMOST KILLED ME." I say: "I know! I'm really sorry. You know what happened? And I tell him. (I leave out the neighbor part, but mention the snow and that I didn't see the stop sign at all, and that it was totally my fault.)

Now, when I talk to people, especially if I'm apologizing, I sometimes, touch people on the elbow. You know what I mean. It's kind of a pat, timed with "I'm really sorry." This guy jumped back like I'd shocked him or something. It was weird. He also didn't make any eye contact for the entire time he kept looking to the left and right of me.

I guess I expected him to be somewhat accepting of my immediately taking blame and apologizing. Especially considering nothing actually happened. And I KNOW I should have just apologized without giving a crap what his reaction was, but I'm not quite there yet. I'm just not that spiritually fit.

It takes me a few seconds to realize that the guy is just trying to step around me so he can continue being pissed off. The only thing he said was "You almost killed me. You went through a stop sign." My response was, at first: "I know. I'm really sorry."

I should have let it go at that. But, like I said, I'm not there yet. When I realized that he was pretty much rejecting my apology, saying "YOU ALMOST KILLED ME" again, I said: "Oh, you don't want me to apologize. My mistake."

Shouldn't have said that. What I WANTED to say, but didn't, was:

"Oh, shut the fuck up, you jackass, crybaby, dickface, loser, arrogant, scumbag. I'm pretty fucking sure you and your BMW would have survived an 18 mile an hour impact with a 2000 Miata. I'm pretty sure there wouldn't have been a scratch on your heavily hairsprayed head. Nobody almost killed you, so stop whining."

I dunno. It's weird. I was apologizing for an accident that didn't happen, because I made a stupid mistake.

Are there really people who can fully "take themselves out of the results business?" and just do the right thing without worrying about the consequences and results? Can they promptly admit to being wrong and then not obsess over it?

I'd like to get to that point, but I'm not there yet. I think that's what I'm going to pray for for a while: "God, please help me do the right thing, and stay out of the results business."

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the extensive noseblowing ritual.

Confession.

Literally.

I went to confession today, for the first time ever. I'm not sure why it wasn't part of the initial conversion process, but I was never required to do it. And I've been kind of afraid to ever since.

But you know what? I decided that it's Lent, I genuinely want to change certain behaviors, and I'm genuinely sorry for my sins. So I went to confession.

I guess I kind of went big: I went to St. Patrick's Cathedral in midtown Manhattan. The Priest was kind of funny: I was the first one in, and he was kind of messing around on the other side of the confessional, and I actually heard him say "Who put this here? Idiot." I said: "You need help over there?" And he said: "Just a minute.... just a minute."

And then said: "Okay." And I confessed my sins.

He had some concrete advice for me. And he gave me a penance.

I left feeling really fantastic. And I still do. Craziness.

Love to all. Even you, the angsty gentleman with the too-big coat.

Is it me?

Or is the Oscar countdown a little... off?

Love to all. Even you, mopey.

Panic! Again.

I laid in bed until 2am thinking about work and money.

When I fell asleep, I dreamed that my company was completely in the hole, and that I had to fire all of my staff, and that property values had collapsed so I couldn't sell the house and escape to Vermont.

I think my brain has had enough vacation.

Love to all. Even you, the three repair dudes who came before the last repair dude.

Like stars.

I've never seen snowflakes like these. My 10-year-old was, without exaggeration, moved to prayer. They were huge, individual stars, falling to earth, retaining their individual shapes as they piled up.

We're leaving for New York in two hours. This has been awesome, but I'm also looking forward to home, friends, high-speed internet, AA meetings, and making my company significantly more badass.

Thanks, Sugarbush. You rock.

Love to all. Even you, the bulldozer driver who crashed through the garage.

Wheeee!

After this picture was taken, I skied down the "Spring Fling" trail at Sugarbush yelling "Wheeeeee! Wheeeee!" I yelled "Wheee!" that is, until I got to the race course. Then, I skied alongside the course (I'm not crazy, you know), repeating "Repave the past, Richie. Repave the past."

Because last year, I got totally stuck on that hill. Embarrassment city.

This has been a killer vacation. The kids improved by leaps and bounds (my oldest skied through the woods with John Egan for four hours straight, yesterday), the weather was beautiful, and, with the exception of some vacation-behaviour-adjustments, we all figured out how to accommodate each other nicely.

Although I'm sad to leave, I'm glad we'll be arriving home on tomorrow night, since that gives us the weekend to prepare for school, work, etc.

What a blast. I love Sugarbush. And I really love this part of Vermont.

We're definitely coming back next year, if we can.

Love to all. Even you, the teacher who temporarily lost track of my daughter.

Synaptic Breakthrough.

My youngest did one of those synaptic-connection things where he kind of practiced something for a few days, then suddenly GOT IT. Yesterday, he couldn't ski five feet without falling down. Today... well...

Today was the most fun I've ever had skiing. Although I missed the morning because of the furnace outage back in Westchester, I hooked up with Maggie mid-morning and went on some really fun runs with her.

I challenged Maggie to a race, and she completely smoked my slowpoke ass.

After lunch, we went on one more run, then picked up my daughter and son from ski school. (My oldest was at adventure camp for the day.)

I went three bunny-hill runs with my daughter, then up the big quad to the green runs. On the way down, my daughter suddenly took off. I called out "slow down, honey! slow down!" but off she went, around a big turn and out of site.

I sped up to try and catch her. When I came around the big turn, she was nowhere to be found. I saw her, finally, HUNDREDS OF YARDS AHEAD, near the bottom of the hill. Stopped. Waiting for me.

I passed a group of folks taking lessons. I heard the instructor say "like that little girl who just went by." I turned around to look at the instructor, crossed my skis, and went tumbling down the hill, losing a ski in the process.

I got up, got my ski back on, and went to meet my daughter.

I pulled into meet her, she said "Daddy where were you?" I said: "I fell down." She laughed and said "That was you I saw?" Oh, it was.

The next thing I know, Maggie is next to me, saying "Look! Look!" And there was our youngest, making lazy s-curves on the green hill, showing a control and ability that, compared to the day before, was leaps and bounds ahead. Startling, really.

Yay, synaptic connections. Youth is SO cool.

The four of us went on another couple of runs, then home. Maggie picked up my oldest when Adventure Camp ended.

The evening ended wonderfully: we dropped the kids at a Sugarbush Pizza and Movie night, and Maggie and I went out to dinner at "Timbers," the new restaurant at the bottom of the mountain. DInner was actually quite good... and Maggie and I tried about six different Vermont cheeses.

Reason number 217 that Maggie and I are a good couple: we both love cheese course.

Tomorrow, we look at Vermont real estate.

This was a GREAT vacation day. Possibly the best ever.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who tried to take my kid's seat at the movie.

Furnace timing: it's spooky!

Five years ago, our furnace quit on New Year's Eve.

Four years ago, our furnace quit on Christmas Day.

Yesterday, our furnace quit. Our babysitter, who's been checking on the cats, called to say that our hosue was 48 degrees, and that the furnace was off. My neighbor shut off the water main last night, and the repair folks are meeting the babysitter at the house sometime over the next few hours.

I'm dropping Maggie and the kids off at skiing in forty-five minutes, then coming back here to make sure I'm reachable during the repairs. Which sucks, because it's 25 degrees and climbing: looks to be a beautiful day to ski.

Alas. Hopefully I'll be able to ski in the afternoon.

Love to all. Even you, the folks who miscommunicated about who should be where, when.