Nearly lost my shit.

There were lots of kids playing together at a memorial day service. Three of them were mine. They were playing tag. This big kid (it’s all relative, he was 11 or so) walked by my youngest (who is four) and my kid tagged him, even though he wasn’t playing. He turned to my boy and said… “Hasn’t anyone told you not to talk to [he put his hands on my boy’s shoulders] STRANGERS?!” And at the last word, he shoved him to the ground.

I advanced on the kid without thinking. I was in a rage.

However, I am happy to report that I didn’t touch him, threaten him, or use foul language. I told him clearly that big kids had no place touching someone that much smaller than him. He tried to make an excuse, but I cut him off. After I walked away, he apparently started crying. And when he saw me a little later, he ran. At first I felt kind of bad.

But after thinking about it for awhile, I decide that, no, I don’t feel bad at all. Sometimes it’s okay to lose your shit a little.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. 11-vs-4.

I just thanked President Clinton.

So, I walked up to Bill Clinton today, and said: "Sir, I just want to thank you for everything you've done." He looked me in the eye, shook my hand, smiled...

...and then his dog got into a scuffle with another dog.

Love to all. Even you, you silly golden.

Oh, they've got me.

I already know I'm going to engage in some serious conspicuous consumption.

My mileage is coming up: I'm running between 20 and 25 miles a week, and I'm trying to get into a groove for when I start training for the NYC marathon in earnest this summer. A few days ago, I got an email, announcing this.

Now, I've got an iPod Video and a iPod shuffle. I run in Asics Gel Kayano sneakers. But I can see myself getting totally overwhelmed by technological compulsion. I mean, the Nike sneakers transmit running data to the iPod Nano, giving aural feedback on distance, progress, etc. It's the perfect combination of all of my gadgets. Only in new, different gadgets.

Lord help me.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who off-handedly asked me to bring "ice cream and cookies for 20."

Sweet revenge, or overkill?

Ostensibly:

Some dude buys a laptop on eBay. Gets ripped off. Can't get the problem resolved. Finds all kinds of personal stuff on the seller's hard drive. Creates a web site.

Craziness. What do you think?

Love to all. Even you, Amir.

Our two new additions.

A new chimney, and a new tree. Maggie and I both love birch trees, so we bought one about a month ago. The chimney... well... aside from being monstrously expensive (can you say "through-wall copper flashing?"), I was pleasantly surprised at how much I like it. I mean, it's a chimney. How much joy can a chimney bring?

Turns out: quite a bit.

I think this house is the first place I've really considered home. Strange as that may seem.

Anyway. Today was packed. PACKED! Morning mass, then a trip to Rye Playland, then home, then a 7-mile run, then swimming with the kids, then tennis with my oldest... then Maggie went out, so I put the two youngest to bed.

I should be exhausted, but I'm not.

Love to all. Even you, the lifeguard with a tendency to chit-chat instead of lifeguard.

Do I need gay porn?

NO.

As you might have guessed from my previous post, I'm a big supporter of gay rights. Hell, I'm even a dues paying member of the HRC. But I'm thinking of withdrawing that support, because they seem to have sold my name to gay publishers and pseudo-pornographers who now solicit me via the postal service.

I've already told places that call my house in the evening that, if they ever call us in the evening again, we will cancel our membership. I also offer them my daytime numebr. I say this without being too angry or rude, there's just enough craziness in my family life that I don't need places that I support to be bugging me for more support.

Hell, if I need gay porn, I'll go fucking buy it. But I don't need it sent to me unrequested.

Oh, wait: if lesbian porn is gay porn... then I guess I do like gay porn. Whoops. Anyway.

Love to all.

How gay is this?

Seriously. How can anyone but a painfully-closeted / self-hating / utterly confused person start, join, and/or maintain an organization like Exodus International? What a fucked up group. If you go to the site, read through some of the FAQ. It's really quite scary. Specifically, pay attention to how they begin many FAQ answers by seeming at least a little rational... but by the second paragraph, they turn sneaky and twisted. For instance (italics are my inserts):

Is there a connection between homosexuality and predatory behavior, like pedophilia?
We cannot presume that all homosexuals are at a higher risk level to molest children or develop into pedophiles than are heterosexuals. [Note the use of the word 'all' - sneaky.] Nor would it be appropriate to allow the label homosexual and pedophile to become interchangeable. At the same time, homosexual men who are unable to sustain healthy peer relationships might well find the potential for age-
inappropriate attractions more real than they thought possible. [Utterly pointless, backed up by nothing, but implying a real connection.]

It goes on to draw a further relationship between pedophilia and homosexuality, since, according to these wonks, homosexuality and pedophilia "share an arrested sexual and emotional development." Of course, it says, this relationship cannot "necessarily" be drawn.

Sneaky, gross, icky.

The thing I never understand about the whole Anti-Gay thing is what exactly is wrong with being gay? Who does it hurt? How does it negatively affect anyone? What's the downside? Hell, what's the upside?

It's just a way of being. Nothing more, nothing less.

Love to all. Even you, Mike Haley.

I need a separate trailer for my ego.

I didn’t mention this in my last post, because I didn't want to mess with the vibe, but I want to mention it now. It’s WAY too good for my ego. Sorry in advance for the blatant self-props.

So:

At dinner last night, a 26-year-old former model told me that I had a “special kind of hotness” which, apparently, “gets better over time.” She pointed at the dude next to me (a 6’3”, muscular, extremely good-looking guy with a great chin) and said “Him, he’s gorgeous, but he’s plain vanilla gorgeous. You’ve got something different. Not everyone’s going to think your hot, but those of us [editor’s note – us!] who do think it’s REALLY hot. Maggie must be walking around saying ‘Oh my god, I have such a great package here.’"

All I could say was: “Thanks!”

Now, I will NOT tell Maggie this. Nor will I show Maggie any of the pictures from the dinner last night that contain the model. I’ve learned my lesson. And hell, lying or not, I'll take those kind of compliments any day of the week.

Love to all. Even you, the so-harried lady with the bluetooth headset.

A strange looking table.

A former stripper, the head of a securities compliance firm, a lady who toured with the Who, a senior partner at a major law firm, a singer, a fitness model, a former model who just went back to college, a university professor, a city-employed gardener, an international architect, a well-known interior designer, a CNN intern, a legal recruiter and me…

…all having dinner, and all having a blast.

These are just some of the people from my main morning AA group in NYC. In some ways, these people know me better than my family. And I, them.

We were gathered together for a surprise party to celebrate one of our members’ 20th year sober. She’s a graceful, gorgeous, super-smart woman who will help anybody, at any time. She was genuinely surprised by the dinner.

Looking around the table, I was truly and wonderfully touched by group’s purity of communication. There was no agenda, no sense of clique. We were just an eclectic group of people, brought together by a common problem, celebrating one of our own.

Nice.

Love to all. Even you, the person who should have been with us, but hasn't found their way.

169.8 - The Adderall Diet Plan.

On May 12th, I weighted 181.5 pounds.

Tonight, I way 169.8.

I haven't weighed under 170 in a long, long time. Craziness. I've always said my "fighting weight" was 167. I wonder if I'm going to make it back.

Love to all. Even you, the good-hearted crazy lady with the perfect diction.

Burn me up.

I have 9 saved messages on my cell phone's voice mail, They are all from my daughter. Every now and then, a message hits its 21 day storage limit, and my voice mail asks me if I want to delete the message. Each time, I store the message for another 21 days.

For some of them, I’ve been doing this for 2 years.

Each time I hear one of her messages, at age 4, 5, or 6, asking me if I could buy “The Incredibles,” asking me if we could play games before bedtime, asking me when I’m coming home… oh my God… I feel such an exuberant rush of thanks... so unbelievably lucky and happy and dizzyingly in love with this girl… it feels like my heart might burn right through my chest, and light up the world.

Love to all. Even you, the perplexed looking guy reading “Truman.”

Growing up | Side effects

37 is a strange age. As a friend 63-year-old-of mine said to me: “You’re young, but you’re not that young.”

Right now, I’ve got to make some major changes in my business life. Not drastic… but significant. I need to find a brilliant, ethical, entrepreneurial-but-loyal, equity-minded salesperson to join me in my company. Someone who wants to help me take the foundation I’ve built and help me get it to the next level…. and reap the benefits thereof. Someone who will, eventually, be my partner.

Any career-minded folks looking for a staff sales position in NYC?

One of the unexpected side-effects of Adderall is that, now that I’m working all day long without jumping up and sprinting around every five minutes, I can see how I am absolutely unable to do everything that needs to be done. I need help, and at a high level. Not to mention, it would be great not to be the only person generating ideas. I’ve been doing that for a decade, now.

That is not to say that I’ve been doing a bad job. Saleswise, on a year-by-year basis, we’ve gone 300k, 600k, 1000k, and are tracking this year at 1200k. I just think we can be a 3-5 million dollar company, with some help and properly applied efforts. And this the second company I've launched in this field... I sold my last firm to a competitor in 2000.

I’m going to say this, because I never do: I’m very good in my field.

Wait.

Wait.

Whoa! I didn’t explode! Phew!

I eagerly await your application for employment.

Love to all. Even you, the tired-looking woman with the red-rimmed eyes.

Sad news.

At 5:18am Eastern, my boxer shorts were attacked and killed by a kitten.

Fortunately, I was not wearing them at the time.

Love to all.

24 Season Finale.

You BASTARDS. You complete jackass loser scumbags asshole meanies.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

I can't believe they did that.

Love to all. Even you, Kiefer.

Haiku at dusk.

Ping pong with the boys.
This time they almost beat me.
I am getting old.


Love to all.

Girl friends.

This post is related, but not a response, to this one over at Tiny Coconut.

Do I want to have sex with every female friend of mine? Is it possible not to want to have sex with every female friend of mine? Is that even a problem?

Answered in order: Yes. No. Maybe.

Here’s the backstory. I’ve been reading, digging, and commenting on Tiny Coconut for a pretty long time. It’s a smart, honest, and introspective. The author (TC) and I have become friends in that weird way that consistent cross-commenting bloggers do. She lives across the country from me. (On the lesser coast, I might add.)

We have never, ever flirted.

Turns out, TC was coming to NYC. So I suggested we meet for coffee. I mean, it would probably be my only opportunity to actually meet this lady who I’ve come to like. I can honestly say that I had no ulterior motive: I just wanted to shoot the shit for an hour and see what she was like. We made plans to meet last Friday.

The evening before, I decided that in all good conscience, I should get permission from Maggie to have coffee with TC…. and she promptly said “No way.” I was momentarily miffed until she said “How would you feel if I said I was going to lunch with some strange guy I met on the Internet.”

Hypocrite, me.

Here’s the craziness: I’ve had lunch with female friends upon whom I’ve had major crushes. I don’t know if it was that I was actually hiding something in those cases (albeit something weightless and never acted-upon) or that these were local folks that I already knew from AA or work with whom plans were made spontaneously… I’d like to think it was the latter, but I suspect there’s a healthy dose of the former. But as my sponsor said, the great thing about using certain AA women to learn to develop healthy cross-gender friendships is that you can’t fool around with them:

The “you’re busted” reaction would be instant, complete, and overwhelming.

I was talking about the TC thing with my sponsor, and when I told him my motives were pure, he said, “You are SO completely full of shit.” And I immediately realized that he was right. Fuck.

What he pointed out was this: if something were to click… and I don’t mean something adulterous… but if TC had a great laugh, a lovely smile, or a sense of humor that hit me the right way… would I groove on it? Would I sit there, basking in the subtle glow of tickled libido and innocent flirtation? And if so, should I be there?

The answer of course, is whatever Maggie says it is.

Which brings us to a comment TC made in her post:

I know there's nothing untoward going on here, unless forging a new friendship with a man is by definition untoward.

I think the answer here is that there’s always something a little teeny bit untoward going on. And under most circumstances, there’s nothing wrong with that. But if I’m in a relationship where security and equality matters, I have to respect my partner’s opinion.

I will say this: When Maggie said no to TC, I said, “Okay, but I’m keeping FemaleFriend1 and FemaleFriend2.” And I am. And since I am, and since I’m not going to be sleeping with either of them, I just might not tell Maggie every single time I have coffee or lunch with one of ‘em. Maggie knows about them, knows I’m friends with them, so does reporting in do any good? But even writing that, I feel like a giant-ass hypocrite.

Ugh. I’m done. This is the most inconclusive post I’ve ever written.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who almost bit off the Monsignor's hand at Communion.

THIS is a plane hitting the Pentagon?

This video is the United States government's proof that a commerical airplane hit the pentagon?

Whatever it was that appeared for a split second was flying unbelievably low and level to the ground... and at that height, an airliner's wings would have hit multiple light poles that were in its flight path.

Forget conspiracy theory, though. Does anyone see this as proof? Seriously.

Love to all.

Good morning?

I woke up by being kneed squarely in the balls by my wife.

I am fairly confident that it was an accident.

Love to all. Even you, a-little-too-eager-to-hug-me-Maggie.

Way to go, Maggie!

After ten years as a full-time Mom, my beloved has secured a job at an Art Gallery. She starts next week. I'm super proud of her... she sent out so many resumes, answered so many ads, and consistently trudged the path of Employment until she was successful.

Of course, having interviewed over 3,600 people in my career (yes, 3,600), I already knew that she was a hot ticket.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the gray-black teeth.

The greatest product name EVER.

Neuticles. Testicular implants for neutered pets.

God, America rocks.

Love to all. Even you, the crazy old dude in Madison Square Park.

Why I am where I am.

Over the last year, several blogfolk have asked me: Who are you?

Let’s recap.

I’m 37. I’m married. I have three children, two dogs, and three cats. I live in an upper-class neighborhood in a town in Westchester, New York. My family might be the lowest-earning family in town. I am not kidding. I work as the head of a small creative firm in New York City. With one takeover-based exception, I’ve been running my own business since 1996. It’s a very-low seven figure company.

I love people, and I’m pretty sure I love you.

I was raised Jewish. I was active in temple, growing up. In April of 2003, for reasons that would take a whole new post, I converted to Roman Catholicism. During my conversion classes, I said to the Deacon: “I’m pro-choice, pro-Gay, and don’t believe the Pope always has a better connection to God than everyone else. Should I leave?” After he answered, I stayed.

I am a silly person who does silly things for silly reasons.

Growing up, I was fast-tracked to the “smart group.” I did kindergarten and first grade in the same year. In third grade I was put in a class for gifted students, and allowed to make my own schedule. I played Coleco Football for six months straight. It was in that program that I learned to do almost no work yet get good grades. This lasted me pretty much all the way through high school (where I was editor of the literary magazine and captain of the debate team) and college (where, at the school I didn't fail out of, I graduated with honors even though I went to class only on exam days). Now, although I work hard at my job, I'm only just learning to organize my life.

Until I got in trouble at age 15, I was friends with everyone.

I am an alcoholic. I don’t remember too much of the late 80’s. I was thrown out of school twice, but eventually made it to rehab (with the help of my parents) and got sober in 1989 at age 20. In 1996 I thought I was “cured” of alcoholism (I was 20 when I quit, after all), and started drinking again. It took me seven years to get back to Alcoholics Anonymous. I’ve been sober since September of 2003.

I hope to stay that way forever. (Yeah, yeah: one day at a time.)

Before 1989, my drinking led to many blackouts. I would wake up in my car at dawn, and not know how I got there. I destroyed the side of my car, and have no idea how. I had approximately thirty one-night stands. I only contracted one icky thing, which was curable. When I was fifteen years old, I drank approximately ten shots of alcohol in ten minutes, and went psychotic. I hurt some people very badly. I consider life, as I live it now, to be a constant amends for that day.

When I started drinking again in 1996, it was a little different.

Instead of the explosive, outward-acting drinking of the eighties, I was locked in a viscous one-on-one battle with alcohol. I hid vodka bottles in my office and at home. I would buy two bottles of wine for each bottle I opened publicly, so I could drink more than everyone thought. If I only drank 6 tall-boys an evening, that was considered a success for me. I was yellow, bloated, and I had a constant pain in my side. In 2003, Maggie said: “Is this what Jesus wants for you?” I answered “No,” went to A.A. (where I still go every weekday), and I haven’t had a drink since.

My father has problems. Big problems.

Good people at heart, my parents were very generous with material and financial things. They were affectionate and smart and funny. My father, however, has a history of either (undiagnosed) Borderline Personality Disorder or some intense strain of Paranoia. He decides that someone in the family is evil, harasses them with letters, faxes, and emails (depending on the decade) explaining why they are evil and how they will pay for being evil, and he marshals everyone around him to agree that said person is evil and cut that person out of our lives.

He didn’t talk to his mother for 15(ish) years. His brother for 18(ish). These periods go back to the 1970's.

In 2002, my father decided that, since childbirth, I had been trying to destroy his marriage. After a yearlong barrage of threats, hate mail, hate email, hate faxes, and phone calls, we brought his letters to the local police department. They read them, and promptly offered us the choice of having him arrested, or simply warned. We chose the warning. Six months later, they moved to the west coast without telling me. As far as I know, everything I had since I was a child was thrown away.

If I could, I’d give both my parents enormous hugs. I miss them.

My father did some strange and brutal things. If he was angry at us and couldn’t sleep, he would sometimes stand at the bottom of the stairs and start counting. We were supposed to be standing at attention at the top of the stairs by the time he got to a three-count. It wasn’t frequent, but it had a pretty big impact. When, in grade school, I was having, um, issues with peeing in my underwear, he forced me to wear a huge diaper around the house, and hung my underwear from the mailbox in the street, for the neighbors to see. I would have daily underwear inspections, which made me very nervous to pee, lest I drip. He had unusual academic rules: straight A’s, or grounding. I was grounded a lot. In middle school, he made me get behavioral reports signed by each teacher, each period, every day. The teachers didn't really understand it. And trust me, I was a pretty well-behaved kid in school. But the most important thing to understand about my father is this: he lived in black and white. The birthday cards he wrote were like Devotionals, and would praise God for giving him a son like me. The next day he would tell me that I was evil, a horrible thing constructed from a formless black mass of hate. I believed the bad things he said about me, and I have a long and undistinguished history of suicide attempts, starting at 8 years old:

I put one hand in a bowl of water, the other in a light socket. Ouch.

Normal kid behavior wasn’t considered “naughty,” it was considered evil: an affront to him, an attack on my mother. This was a big one for him... he used "protecting his angel," i.e. my Mom, as an excuse to do almost anything. In retrospect, it's sad and weak and pathetic.I'll stop talking about him now, but:

When I look at my kids and think of these things, I want to punch my Dad dead in the face.

I am married to a genuinely nice woman. Maggie is a little bit older than me, which is cool, because she’ll hit forty first. I love her a lot, and worry that all the time we spend on kids and work will eventually drive us apart through simple lack of familiarity. She's got gorgeous blue eyes, and great curves. She's as smart as I am. Maybe smarter. Maybe. She's definitely more educated. She doesn’t read this blog… a deal we made together after she discovered (and asked me to delete) an entry on lust. I love her, and want to be a better husband.

Maggie doesn’t believe that I am as attracted to her as I am. But I am.

I developed two primary defense mechanisms/outlets, growing up: alcohol and hyperactivity. Alcohol created static in my head, and static is what I wanted. I also developed an off-the-scale ability to do dozens of things at the same time, for a few seconds each, without really paying attention to any of them. I couldn’t concentrate on any one thing or conversation for longer than a few seconds. This has slowed down a little as I got older, but after 2.66 years of being sober, I realized it was time to address this.

I’ve been on ADHD medication for 5 days now. By the length of this post (and I promise not to do this again for a long, long time), it's working.

My children have changed everything for me. My oldest is just like I was, and it’s been incredible for me to see how what he does, both good and bad, is normal. Things that my father termed evil are laughably not. And when he tries (often successfully) to compete with me for his Mom’s attention, it’s not because he’s trying to rip my marriage apart. He just loves his mom. My daughter is the single greatest thing to happen to me. Just looking at her causes my heart to turn cartwheels. She’s also the most difficult kid we’ve got. Maggie says she’s a lot like her. Maggie's parents find some humor in this. My youngest is coming into his own. He’s funny, gorgeous, smart, and intense. We've gotten much closer since I quit drinking.

I’ve got a lot on my plate.

I’m a soccer coach. I’m on my Church’s music committee. I’m active in Alcoholics Anonymous. In 2004, I started to run a lot. Since May, I’ve run 9 half marathons, 1 marathon, and a whole lot of shorter races. I'm running the New York City Marathon this November.

Wish me luck.

For the last three months, I've had consistently trimmed hair and a beard. This has never happened before. I used to change my look every three weeks. I've had long hair, sumo hair, box braids, blonde hair, purple hair, and multi-colored hair. My facial hair shifted constantly with the sole exception of always having hair on my chin.

I've got a weak chin.

I'm a drummer. My old band put out a couple of singles in the mid-90's that broke a couple dozen CMJ charts Top 50. Now, I play drums in Church, and whale away on a Roland electronic kit in my basement.

My life is an adventure, and I'm lucky to be alive.

Love to all.

Uh oh.

But understand this: there will be terrifying times in the last days. People will be self-centered and lovers of money, proud, haughty, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, irreligious, callous, implacable, slanderous, licentious, brutal, hating what is good, traitors, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, as they make a pretense of religion but deny its power. Reject them. 2 Timothy 3:1-5

That sounds a little too much like Bush & Crew for comfort. With the exception that George is very obedient to his parents... he even restarted his Poppa's unfinished war! Hm. Maybe "parents" in this case refers to the U.S. herself, and her Constitution.

No matter what, I better go to confession tomorrow.

Love to all.

Employee/Friend Feedback: Adderall, Day V.

Getting out of my seat and roaming around the office:
Down “about 98%” according to one of my employees.

Number of friends normally bugged via on the cell phone:
Normal: 5-8
Today: 1

With the unusual (and first-time) exception of bugging Shqipo, I seem to have had a totally chill day. The only problem is that for the last two days, I've mostly forgotten to eat anything. Whoops.

I'll get used to this shortly... and hopefully stop posting about it so much. Sorry.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who kept staring at my screen.

37 year revolution.

I can't believe how different a low dose of adderall makes me feel. To you, they're amphetamines. To me, they're the perfect calming agent.

At work today, I left my desk about 1/10th as many times as normal. The dude in the coffee shop up front said "Where you been, bro?" And the receptionist asked me why I hadn't come around to chat. The reason: I was working. All day. I even thoroughly cleaned my office. Not the usual This-Cleaning-Will-Self-Destruct-in-Thirty-Minutes kind of thing, either.

Being able to focus is outrageously cool.

Love to all. Even you, Roderick.

Senator McCain: You must argue about the war.

Let's quote the man (excerpted form this CNN Article). My italics.

"Americans should argue about this war," McCain said. "If an American feels the decision was unwise, then they should state their opposition and argue for another course. It is your right and your obligation. I respect you for it. I would not respect you if you chose to ignore such an important responsibility.

So to all you folks who say that you can't support the troops and be against the war, who say that being against the war is somehow un-American, that disagreeing with the President is akin to treason... I say:

I'll take John McCain's opinion over yours.

Of course, I support your right to say such things, no matter how barbaric and totalitarian they may be. The beauty of America lies in such freedoms.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who dropped a jar of peanut butter in the A&P, and walked away.

Partial-Birth Domestic Spying.

"Oh, it's just phone numbers."

This is what someone very dear to me said when I asked her about the latest "Bush shreds the Constitution" story to hit the news: the Feds are building a massive database of domestic and international phone connections. She was right, on the surface: it's not a massive library of audio files. It's just what numbers called what numbers, and when.

It's the "partial-birth abortion" tactic of rights erosion.

In the same way that Anti-Choice activists are trying roundabout ways to erode abortion rights (the South Dakota law notwithstanding) through waiting periods, outlawing abortion at a certain time period, etc., President Bush and the NSA are removing your rights in a more indirect, underhanded way.

It's just phone numbers.

Forgetting the obvious fact that phone numbers can be easily cross referenced with a variety of other databases to generate much more person-specific data... the very monitoring of American citizens in any respect is, in my lay-opinion, a violation of due process.

This is America. We have extraordinary freedoms. And in my opinion, these freedoms are based on near-absolutes. Free speech that doesn't incite harm or crime should always be free, no matter how gross, disgusting, or vile it is. People are innocent until proven guilty, which means you cannot search or monitor their personal lives without cause, and without following due process.

We are becoming the hypocrites of the world: espousing democracy abroad while slowly dismantling it at home.

Love to all. Even you, General Hayden.

Are you surprised?

If you check Google Trends to see which area of the world searches for certain words... here's what comes up as of 8am Eastern Time, USA:

Regions Searching for the word: "Sex"

1. Pakistan
2. Egypt
3. Vietnam
4. Iran

Regions Searching for the word: "Sexy"

1. Pakistan
2. Iran
3. India
4. Saudi Arabia

I just LOVE that Iran is on the list. Gives me hope for the future.

Love to all. Even you, the overcoaching sideline mom.

Like father, like 9-year-old son.

Me: Hey, kid! You've been in the bathroom a long time, are you okay?

Him: I'm nearing the end of a long and treacherous journey.

Me: Of pooping?

Him: Yes.

I'm perfect!

According to the Doctor I met today, I meet "nearly every criteria" for ADHD. Yay, me! I get an "A" in Attention-Deficit Class! Woo hoo! She was concerned, though, that I might have a completely different kind of anxiety disorder, due to my nutjob father. So she started me on low-dose of Adderall about 15 minutes ago. If it felt like speed, I was supposed to quit immediately, and we'd discuss other options. But it doesn't.

Weird how a stimulant can make certain people calmer.

Love to all.

Restaurant Review: Del Posto, NYC.

Underwhelming, in a very cool room, for a whole lot of money. The company was good, though.

That's all I got. You were expecting Frank Bruni?

Love to all. Even you, the jackass who left the first comment I've ever deleted.

Date Night = let's play Dress Up!

I don't dress up for work too often... but I'll always dress up for Church. Or a date.

For Mother's Day, I scored reservations at Del Posto... a hot new restaurant on the West Side of NYC. Of course, I got them for tonight, because Sunday was booked, booked, booked.

I'm meeting Maggie in about two hours, and friends: this is none too soon. Because I swear to God, Maggie and I are, independently and together, on the verge of a total freakout. Between recurrent cases of strep, ADHD testing, absent babysitters, job interviews, delinquent clients, and severe overtiredness, well... bad things could happen at any moment.

So I'm wearing my best suit, one of my favorite ties, and we're heading to an early dinner. It'll be nice to chill, talk, and try some interesting new food.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who reeks of stale, stale smoke.

Testing, testing... 123.

The NYPD conducts these crazy exercises where a gigabjillion police cars converge on a specific area. Often, that area is Grand Central Station. I walked into one of these exercises at 7am this morning.

Alpha-male declarations.

I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do. But hell, since I just uploaded an IM conversation which was completely inappropriate, I might as well show more of the petty side of my personality. Here we go.

Oh my fucking God.

I’m sitting on the train in a 3x2, two-rows-facing-each-other configuration, facing what could possibly be the least attractive couple I’ve ever seen. This is NOT because they are physically repulsive. If I saw pictures of either of them, I’d wouldn’t think twice either way. They are 6’s or 7’s on a scale of 1-10. They are in their mid-40’s.

It’s their attitude that gets me.

They come storming over, and the first thing the guy does is snort. I mean SNORT... this dude is hawking BIG snot back up into his head. And he’s proceeded to do that about every 45 seconds since he sat down. He looks at his wife and says in a cigarette- or cigar-crunchy voice “Jesus Christ! [unintelligible] You want to sit in? We can let this guy take the middle."

Mind you, I’m already sitting down. So, um, thanks for letting me do that retroactively, bucko.

They sit down across from me… one on either side. She has an enormous bag which she doesn’t put up in the luggage rack, making it impossible for anyone to sit in the seat across from her. He drapes his coat across the seat next to him, making it impossible for anyone to sit in the seat across from me.

She has a Dell laptop, and I guess she’s reading. She’s only hitting the down-arrow, and she’s hitting it REALLY hard. BANG BANG….BANG BANG!

He is reading a magazine. I can’t tell which one. But when he turns the pages he’s snapping them. And then he snorts. Twice, now, he’s emitted one of those enormous yawns that just announce to the world: I AM SITTING IN THIS CHAIR.

In the animal world, the dude would have come in, peed all over the place, and gone to sleep.

The woman is dour. Very dour. Her husband radiates distaste. He’s had several very loud conversations with a friend of his. SNORT. YAWN. SIGH. He sits back with his arms over his head… making sure he’s taking up as much space as possible. He’s a non-stop cavalcade of body noises and alpha-male declarations.

Ugh. My town is full of people like this. I really need to make a better effort to make to to befriend the folks that I like…

Snort. Sigh. Yawn.

Love to all. Even you two.

[Rated R] - I'm the one on the right.

This is an IM chat from this morning, between my old business partner and myself. I'm doing a little work for one of our ex-clients, even though our company isn't officially open anymore. I do NOT normally talk like this: this dude and I have a, um, nuanced friendship that includes a somewhat ribald component.

It's my friends last comment that made me laugh out loud... which is hard to do.

Grayscale world + Liver Enzymes

The coping mechanisms I developed as a kid and a teenager aren’t working for me as an adult. Blame it on sobriety. Blame it on semi-maturity. They just aren’t.

This has presented itself before: alcoholism saved my ass. There were some bad, bad things that happened as a result, but if I wasn’t an alcoholic, I wouldn’t have made it to 21. The thing is, when I tried drinking again at age 26 (thinking I had “gotten over it”) I wound up in a seven-year, losing battle against booze, without any of the psychological benefits.

Blackouts and social isolation might have helped me cope from 12-20, but at 30, it didn’t do anything but slowly bleed the color out of all the awesome possibilities of my life.

Grayscale world and elevated liver-enzymes. You know?

Now that I’ve been sober for 2 and 2/3 years again, my whole hyperactive, can’t-sit-still, can’t-focus thing is really becoming a pain in the ass. Half the time I get up from my desk to walk the floor, I was in the middle of doing something and don’t even remember getting up. My memory barely works, and I can’t read things that don’t intensely interest me unless they are broken up into tiny little headline chunks. It’s like I’ve become MTV, circa 1995.

So, this is all coming up because:

1. It’s really bugging the crap out of me.
2. I’m getting tested for ADHD on Friday.

Now, I’m fully aware that as a converted-to-Catholicism, Upper-Middle-Class White Guy living in the middle of one of the wealthiest towns in the country, I’ve got little to complain about and a lot to be thankful for. And I am. I’d just like to be able to think about those things without getting distracted fifty times.

Love to all. Even you, the grey-suited, nose-wiping-with-thumb dude in the seat across from me who keeps coughing into his newspaper, thereby angling his germs right into my fucking face.

Honorable Hypocrite.

I've had it. I give up. I'm done.

For the last few months, I've tried to engage two conservatives in rational conversation about Iraq, the ACLU, etc. One of them, I've decided, acts as a parrot for the other. So I'm dismissing that dude retroactively. The other has reduced his arguments to "I don't believe you."

As in:

Me: I believe troop strength at the start of the invasion of Iraq should have been 300% the size it was.
Him: I don't believe you actually believe that.

That's a dead end for me. I mean, can you think of a better way to say "Fuck you" than to call someone a liar? I can't. Other than, of course, "Fuck you."

Are we really that polarized? Is there no room for discussion without insults and sarcasm? Increasingly, it seems not. It's sad.

A friend of mine pointed out today how Newt Gingrich is an incredibly smart dude who totally knows his shit... he pointed out that, while in Congress, Newt got caught up in the expediency of throwing bombs instead of working things out. And it worked for him, for a while. But in the end, it did him in.

As a country, we have to stop resorting to saying utterly useless things like "Liberals hate the military." Or "Liberals hate America." Let's talk about individual issues. One at a time.

Sensibly.

Love to all. Even you, the honorable hypocrite.

Controversy? Where?

Maggie and I watched Brokeback Mountain last night. (Yeah, we're a little behind the movie curve... but such is the lot of surburban parents-o'-three.)

It was a beautifully filmed movie. Well acted. I don't know if it was my drums-damaged hearing damage or what, but I could barely understand what Heath Ledger was saying half the time. And there are scenes of intra-family tension which are precisely the kind that I hate to watch... because they make me tense, too.

For the life of me, I can't imagine anyone being offended by this film. If you were, leave a comment saying why. I'd love to know.

Love to all.

Why I love Maggie, Part 723

I walk into the house, and I hear my oldest half laughing and half-complaining... he's saying "Mom, don't say that!" And then I hear Maggie yell, in this guy-newscaster kind of voice:

PENIS PROTECTOR!

Apparently, this was her way of reminding him to wear a protective cup to baseball practice.

Tonight, my oldest is away at a sleepover. I just put my other kids to bed... and now Maggie is saying good night. We're going to try and watch a movie. This deserves italics, because it's so freaking rare.

Also, I'm gonna try and, um, score.

Love to all. Even you, the stretch Hummer that didn't signal before it made such a huge turn.

Been there, done that.

The dude across the aisle on the train just pulled out a pint of Smirnoff vodka and took a big slug.

Brother, I’ve been there.

Love to all.

Small business ownership is fun!

So, my accounting person redflags a client who has a history of slow payment. He doesn’t owe us a huge amount, but it’s passing 60 days. When she called the client, he said that he would pay us in “a week or two.”

So I called him.

I wasn’t mad. I just wanted to make sure we were getting paid. I said “Hi, it’s Rich from [My Company].” He said “Yeah?” I said “I was wondering why it’s going to take another couple of weeks for us to get paid, and to let you know that we have to invoke interest charges if the invoice passes 60 days.”

He went nuts… he starts cursing me out… he goes on a tirade about how the project he was hiring us for didn’t happen in the end (an irrelevant point)… he went on for a pretty long while, actually. I think he used different iterations of “fuck” about 10 times. And then says that because I called him about the invoice, he’s not going to pay it at all. It was so over the top and unexpected that I said: “Hey, you realize that this is Rich from [My Company], right?” He did. I thought that maybe he was confusing us with someone else.

Now: about twice a year, something happens that makes me lose it with a client. The last time was about 8 months ago, when, after hearing a completely illogical reason for not paying us, I lost my temper and said: “Excuse me, are you a fucking idiot?”

This time, I did better. I was flustered. I was mad. But instead of getting angry and yelling, it went like this:

Me: “How old are you?”
Him: “What?!”
Me: Are you over 50?
Him: No!
Me: Are you over 40?
Him: Yes.
Me: So you’ll tell me the decade, but not the year? Why is that?
Him: Are you out of your fucking mind?

I was building up to saying: “Clearly, you’re someone who has suddenly realized that he’s getting old, but hasn’t accomplished anything. And you’re taking it out on me.”

• But he said: “Sue me for the money, okay?”
• And I said: “Sure. Love you!”

And he hung up.

I get off the phone, and pull out a collections tactic I’ve only used twice… and it only works on people who I know desire direct conflict.

I wrote an email that appeared to be addressed to a third party. It was in a casual, letter-to-a-friend style, and basically said “Hey, man, you were right. This dude is trying to screw us. I have to head down to small claims court next week, but I was going anyway because we have to file against [fictional company]. But I HATE small claims. ugh. Why does this guy have to be that way. Bleah.”

And I sent it to HIM. By “mistake.”

Five minutes later, I had an email back saying that I sucked, etc., but that he would pay me this Friday. Clearly, his fear of ¬being “exposed,” however irrational, had come into play. Sometimes, being raised by a Borderline has it’s benefits.

And that’s my story.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Spitter Guy.

Acceptance.

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Love to all.

What I eat.

Breakfast - 5am:

• Oatmeal (plain)
  
• 2 ounces Aloe Vera Juice
• 5 shark cartilage capsules
• 2 ClearLung capsules
• 1 multivitamin

Lunch a - 10am

• Peanut butter sandwhich on whole wheat bread (triple decker)
  
• 3/4 lb of cut fruit (sometimes switched with spinach)
  
• 8 ounces of raw spinach (sometimes switched with fruit)
  

Lunch b - 3pm

• Peanut butter sandwhich on whole wheat bread (triple decker)
  
• 8 ounces aloe vera juice
  
• 5 shark cartilage capsules
• 1 multivitamin

Dinner - 7pm

• Whatever Maggie makes (Aweome food. Maggie's a great cook.)
  
• 5 shark cartilage capsules
• 2 ClearLung capsules
• 1 multivitamin
• 2 ounces aloe vera juice
  

Looking at this, I realize that I'm a complete freak.

Sometimes, I go ballistic and eat like, a pint of Ben & Jerry's and 15 Oreos. I'm trying to do that less. But looking at what I eat the reast of the time, it's no wonder.

Love to all. Even you, the incompetent insurance appraiser who just told me "I have no idea why we didn't talk to your body shop."

Bad Dad.

Me: I love you, [daughter].
Her: I love you too, Daddy.
Me: Look how big you are today!
Her: Yeah! Soon you'll be a grandpa!
Me: WHAT!?!?!

After some joking discussion, we agreed that she'd wait at least 20 years for grandkids. But the whole time, my internal response was: Who does she have a crush on, and how can I destroy this boy?

Man. I've got to prepare for her to get older.

Love to all. Even you, the ex-client who screamed at me this morning.

Stephen Colbert at the White House Correspondents Dinner.

Oh my god, did he rock the house. If you head over to college humor and search for Colbert, you can get three big clips of his speech. (Ignore the porn, etc., unless that's your thing.)

God bless the man. Fearless.

Love to all. Even you, the old lady with the sharp elbows.

Outside my office....

This was the scene outside my office today. There was a pretty huge gathering/march in Union Square, NYC.

Only have a second to post this. So... well...

Love to all.

Hey, Mom and Dad: Matthew 7:17-20

Likewise every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit.
A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them - Matthew 7:17-20

If my parents would read this and get it, then they'd know how I feel about them, and how they should feel about me. Because I'm some tasty-ass fruit.

Love to all. Even you, the old dude who gave Maggie the finger this morning.

GarageSale Cam: the movie

Well, it's all done, now. I'm exhausted.

[Movie removed because of bandwidth restrictions. Sorry!]

Love to all, even you the lady who came three hours after the thing started and said "Is this IT?!?"

GarageSale Cam: Live!

Ladies and Gentlemen... the sale is on.

This camera should update every minute or so:



Love to all, even you... whoever tries to out-haggle me.

GarageSale Cam: Live (tomorrow!)

I'm going to see if I can set up the camera that's built into my laptop to do a constant update of the garage sale tomorrow. If you are really bored, feel free to check it out.

We'll be doing this craziness from around 9:30 to 2:30 U.S. Eastern.

If you see an image below, the test is working.




Love to all.

I love my wife...

...but she get's hyperstressed before events. Birthday parties, holiday dinners...

...and garage sales.

It's a good thing that, on balance, I'm about three hundred times more irritable than she is, or else I could take this moment to be all self-righteous and pissy.

"Pissy?" Is that a word?

Anyway.

Love to all. Even you, the baseball coach who tried to sneak his ace pitcher back into the game when it suddenly became tied up.

Sometimes, I hate people. - updated!

So, my wife is parked at the elementary school. She says hello to her friend, whom I shall call (for no reason, and with no ill feeling) "Tweak." Tweak then proceeds to drive into my wife's car with her big SUV. My wife's car was stationary. Tweak gets out of the car and says "My fault! I'm so sorry!" The police are not called.

After getting home, Maggie calls Tweak for her insurance. Tweak says "My husband says not to give you my insurance information. He says it's your fault because you were parked illegally."

Now, regardless of fault... there is absolutely NO reason not to exchange insurance information. I mean, our insurance company would find it out anyway, and all it creates is an unnecessarily combative situation.

Maggie and I get into an argument on the phone as I tell her to drop everything, go to the police station, and file an accident report. She gets mad at me for being bossy. She is probably right.

Then, Tweak calls Maggie, all apologetic and crying and saying "I don't know why I acted that way." And then the truth comes out: she had called her insurance company and they said that she was totally at fault: the moving vehicle that hits the stationary vehicle is to blame. End of story.

So now her insurance company is paying for our car to be fixed, and I'm left thinking that her husband is one of those guys who turns into a jackass under pressure. Did I mention that:

1. Our daughters are in the same class?
2. The husband runs a company with over a billion dollars in assets? (That's a B.)

I mean, holy shit. Even if you think you're right, play it honest. Fucker. I realize this is the point where I'm supposed to pray for people who piss me off. So I will.

Love to all. Even you, Tweak's husband.

PS: Update! Actually Maggie wasn't even IN the car. She was parked at the pickup spot for the nursery school. The car was empty when Tweak hit it.

Give the oil companies a 20 year lock on ethanol.

Seriously.

About the post below this one, Ginamonster said, tongue-in-cheek:

yeah, but then someone in the oil business might lose money, and we can't have that!!

But she's right. We have to incentivize the living shit out of an ethanol conversion. Make it worthwhile for Big Oil. So I say: give American-owned oil companies a 20-year lock on ethanol distribution, as long as they have a development and distribution process in place within a finite amount of time.

Yeah, that's right. I used color. Because this is important. It may seem unfair, pandering to Big Oil, but that's the reality of things. We've got to get this thing done, and this is how to do it... in my layman's opinion.

Love to all. Even you, the grumpy old lady who hip-checked me on the 6 train.

A better idea for that $100.

How about giving everyone a $100 credit to convert their cars to run on ethanol?

The actual conversion costs, well, $100 dollars. So this would be perfect.

Prior to that, of course, you'd actually have to grow more corn... but with millions of acres lying fallow, I think we're more than prepared for that. Why haven't we started a national ethanol conversion? Brazil did, and they are achieving exactly what we are talking about: losing our dependence on foreign oil.

This is a relatively inexpensive process using existing technologies. What's the holdup?

Love to all. Even you, the dude who beeped before the light turned green.

The wrong kind of gas.

Four Republican Senators are introducing a bill to give $100 to every citizen for gas. That's, what: 33 gallons of gas... or 2 or three fill-ups. Hmm. I'm not sure that's going to solve the difficulty involved with our dependence on foreign oil.

But that's not what bothers me.

In what I consider to be an underhanded and devious move, embedded in the bill is a provision which will open up a section of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil drilling.

By embedding a provision that Democrats and moderate Republicans MUST vote down, the Republicans turn an empty gesture into someting much worse: a political charade. Clearly, the Republicans aren't interested in helping you afford to fuel your car. Rather, they are forcing the Democrats to vote down the bill so that the Republicans can say: "Look, the Democrats don't want to give you a rebate."

$100 or gas? That's a lot of hot air.

Love to all. Even you, Senator Santorum.

Let's get ready to haggle!

The last time Maggie and I had a garage sale, we lived in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We weren't married, and we were about to move to Brooklyn, NY. I weighed about 20 pounds less than I do now (I'm not currently overweight), I was playing drums in a band, and my hair was really, really long.

The two things I remember about that garage sale:

1. I sold my Toyota Corolla.
2. Maggie was driven batty by the haggling moxie of some of the pro-level yard-sale people. This one lady was trying to talk Maggie down from a quarter to a nickel on a colander, and I remember her saying: "NO! IT'S A QUARTER. THAT'S WHAT IT SAYS!"

The ad is placed in the local paper. The signs are ready for deployment.

Next Sunday, we sell.

Love to all.

How not to criticize, aka "Web Loafer" is a retard.

If you're going to write someone because you think they are being mean or insulting, perhaps it's best to try NOT to be mean or insulting when you tell them this.

Here's a comment left on my blog:

I am on a personal crusade to call out those that use the word retarded in everyday hostile speech. You use the word to put someone down. You probably aren’t half the man my twin brother is.
My twin brother is retarded, 60 years old and can you think of some other word to show your lack of speakablity. Because you cannot speak without cursing, slandering or hating, I am calling you out.
Enough with the retarded bit,
Buy yourself a dictionary,
(I'm sure you are not ready for the Collegiate Dictionary, but you have to start somewhere)
Try the High School Version.
Don’t eat the covers off of the dictionary, this time use it to learn words that mean something, retarded means something to me, not to you; grow up.

Here's my reply:

You think that insulting people without using specific words is somehow better?

Fuck you, you hypocritical retard.

Love, Rich

I mean, jeez.

Love to all. Even you, "Web Loafer."

The wrong woman.

I admit it. I’m a little flirty.

When I was younger, I would get huge crushes three times a week. I'd see a woman with the right kind of look, smile, voice, speech pattern, curves, etc., and that would be it. I'd be head-over-heels. For about 48 hours.

I've calmed down a little at 37.

I still get crushes. But I can honestly say that in the last year-plus I've only had two. So that's good. And both of those were with/on people that I became actual friends with. So THAT'S good.

This post has nothing to do with those two women.

There's this other woman I have met in AA. I'm not in the least bit attracted to her. To be quite honest, she's frighteningly skinny: like scary, problematically thin, and when I look at her I think "Oh my God, what is she doing to herself?"

But she's nice. She's a smart, outgoing attorney with interesting opinions, and for a while there we were pretty friendly. We never went out for coffee, we never walked together on the street after a meeting... there was no "stepping-up" of the friendship to outside-the-room friends.

About three or four months ago, she started treating my like shit. When I said hello, she would barely sary anything. If I tried to talk to her about running ("Are you running in the Queens Half-Marathon?") she's barely look at me and mumble "no."

Weird shit.

So, yesterday I'm walking to Grand Central from a meeting on Lexington and 36th. I'm thinking about how bad at am at meditating, and how good this woman is. So, spontaneously, I decide to call her and tell her she's the Queen of Meditation, and that I hold her up as an example. I've had her number in my phone for a long time. I was actually going to give it to Maggie a long time ago (and did, actually), and I never erased it. And honestly: I've wanted to ask her what the hell was up.

So I call her, and she's like weird-icy. So I said:

Me: "Dude, are we cool?"
Her: "Yeah, we're cool."
Me: "Have I done something to piss you off?"
Her: "No, you're a married guy, I'm a single girl, so I'm trying to set healthy boundaries."
Me: "Oh. Um... well, that's good."
Her: "Rich, whatever validation you are looking for for me, you've got it."
Me: "Huh? No. I wasn't looking for validation, dude. I was trying to see if I had been a dick to you and didn't know it."
Her: "No."
Me: "Great. I'll be sure not to bug you again."
Her: "It's not bugging."
Me: "Okay. Um. See you tomorrow!"

Click. Then I erased her number.

The first thing I thought was: Damn, what a fucking ego! To think that she has to draw lines in the sand when we're not even on the same beach! Then I thought: Oh, wait. This woman has a problem with married guys. Then I called my friend and he said "Dude: Duh. She has a problem with married guys."

So now it's a compliment, I guess. Sort of.

Love to all. Even you, strange lady.

I’m down with ADD.

(Yeah you know me.)

After 37 years, someone who is not my friend asked me “Have you ever been tested for ADD?” A LOT of my friends have asked me that. But never a professional. Weird.

I said: “No.”
My therapist said: “Well, let’s.”

Now, this dude isn’t a prescriber, so I’m only going to him for a talking cure. But he works with a nice psychiatrist who’s going to test me for ADD. I don’t know how it’s doing to to turn out, but wouldn’t it be hilarious if I was placed on Ritalin at age 37.

Speaking of ADD: I work better when I’m distracted. I work fabulously on the train. Sometimes I think I should ride the train all day long and work wirelessly. I’d be the king of productivity.

Oh. Something is pissing me off, so I’m going to say it here. After therapy today, I briefly stopped by the house before going to the train station. Maggie asked me how things went. I told her about the ADD appointment. She was like:

"But what about the depression?"
Me: "I’m not sure I’m depressed. How do you think it expresses itself."
Maggie: "Irritiability, short-temperedness."
Me: "In that case, your cool. Our number one topic is 'How not to be a dick at home.'”
Maggie: "Oh, good."

Actually this isn't totally true. "How not to be a dick" is the second topic. "How to deal with the fact that your psychotic father and mother threw away all your shit and moved to California without telling you - after they had a year-long psycho freakout" is number one.

Anyway: the reason this got me mad was because I’m not allowed to ask Maggie anything about certain aspects of her personal life. It’s “none of my business.” Fine. But I don’t understand why she’s so interested in this, then.

Of course, the fact I’ve been sent to therapy for stupid reasons since I was four, and got in trouble if I didn’t tell EVERY DETAIL to my parents... and how if the therapist said “You’re parents are a little off” they would wind up in a legal battle with the therapist… well.. maybe I’m a little sensitive about being asked these things.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the strange grin.

Honest Greed: Verizon Wireless.

I've always been told that Verizon cripples their phones. Now I know it for a fact.

I was interested in a Treo 650, because it could be used as a dial-up modem with my Mac, I could take notes on it, and it has all kinds of zippy little features that I liked. I went to the Verizon store to buy it, using my "new every two" discount.

Being a freak, I always confirm things that I'm pretty sure about anyway, so I asked if the phone could do all the things it was supposed to do. Specifically, I wanted to know if I could use the Treo 650 on the 1xRTT dial-up network (which only uses minutes, so it rocks). The lady said "No, if you want to do data, you have to use our special data plan, which starts at $30/month."

I said "No thanks," and left.

Did some research, found out Verizon crippled the phones. There are patches available to restore the phone to it's original capabilities, but they make me nervous.

So I went into another Verizon store and said "Dude, can I buy a 650 and just set you all up with it's ESN?" He said "Maybe, but only if it's CMDA." Then it gave me a number to call to be sure.

So I said "Hey... why do you guys cripple the bluetooth phones?"

He looked at me, smiled, and made that little "money" gesture by rubbing his thumb and two fingers together. "Sorry, man. They just want you to use the expensive stuff." It was a drag to hear... but it was nice that he was so honest about his company's greed.

So now I'm stuck with this V710, which is slowly dying. Hmm.

Love to all. Even you, Verizon.

At war with the mystics.

This is a solid, solid album by the Flaming Lips. Get it.

Love to all.

Once again: "Before"

Once again, I'm going to try and organize my little Mad Scientist corner of the house. So once again, this is the "before" shot. Last time I tried this, the "after" shot was significantly messier. Urg.

This might also be a good time to say that Rich | Championable is powered by:

• PowerMac G5 dual 2.3 Ghz desktop
• Dell 2405FPW 24" LCD Minitor
• Roland Studio Drums with a TD-8 Brain
• MacBook Pro 2 Ghz Core Duo laptop
• PowerShot G6 camera
• Epson Stylus 2200 Archival Printer
• Midiman Radium 66-key midi Keyboard
• Personus Firewire Audio Inputs

Love to all.

Anything is nothing. Always is never.

If you want to have a dialog, you've got to get specific.

A good percentage of the political blogosphere can by the following:

Conservative Blogger: Liberals always attack Bush no matter what.
Commenter 1: Yeah! Stupid Liberals!
Commenter 2: You right-wing assholes are all insane.
Commenter 3: Hey, C2, go fuck a rabbit, tree-hugger! Ha!

And on and on. It's useless and stupid, except for the benefit it provides individual posters in terms of venting. I guess it's good for venting. Lord knows, I've been guilty of that... but even when I vent, it's about something specific. I think. Anyway.

So, what I'm asking is: the next time you comment on a political issue, get specific. Open a dialog. Don't respond to "The resignation of Scott McCllellan is a smokescreen" with "Liberals all hate everything Bush does." Do say: "Actually, the resignation of Scott McClellan isn't a smokescreen because he had the following role in policy..."

Don't say: "God hates fags." Say "Science has proven that being raised by gay parents causes children to spontaneously combust." (Although you should probably cite your references on that one.)

For my part, I will try not to call Bush a "self-promoting, isolationist, thieving, lying, contracts-for-friends" booger-head anymore.

Promise.

Love to all. Even you, skunk.

Meow. Meow. And Meow?

I've been sick for the last two days. I'm on Zithromax, and I feel like I'm getting over my latest round of URI craziness. Better than UTI, I guess. Ick.

So: I come home from work early to rest up for today (I'm the only one in my office today, due to a confluence of Jewish holidays and college classes), and the kids say "Daddy, we have a surprise for you in the TV room."

I'm thinking: Maggie bought a piece of electronics?

Ha ha. No.

Astrid is a very good looking, friendly, 4-month-old kitten who was dropped off at the local shelter when the people who originally had her moved overseas. (Gotta be honest, though, that story strikes me as somewhat bullshitty. Bullshitty? Is that a word?)

She's adventurous, not at all scared of the dogs, and doesn't seem to mind that one of the other cats appears to be stalking her. She wheezes a bit, and we don't know why. We do know it's not from any horribly contagious kitty diseases, though: she's been checked.

For those of you keeping count, that's a total of 10 animals in my house: 5 humans, 2 dogs, and 3 cats. Gender-wise we've got 7 girls, 3 boys. Oh, lord. The ratio has tipped past 2:1.

Pictures, of course, are forthcoming.

Love to all. Even you, the losers on NYC 92.3 fm who bleeped the word "pussy" off the air, even though it referred to a cat.

President Bush hopes you're retarded.

After all the shit that Bush and the people who run him have done, the man "shakes up" his administration by announcing the resignation of his Press Secretary. Oh, and and "a senior administration official" told CNN that "Bush confidant Karl Rove will no longer oversee policy development."

I see. So Karl will still be working there, but he just won't oversee policy. He'll be playing Gamecube and such. Lots of Super Monkey Ball for Mr. Rove.

Damn. Damn. The Bush Administration clearly thinks that we're a bunch of fucking idiots... that we won't notice that, um, Rumsfeld is still in office, and so is Karl Rove. But since Scott McClellan quit, some real reform must be under way. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Reform? That's impossible with this bunch, anyway. The only way we're going to change the self-promoting, isolationist, thieving, lying, contracts-for-friends doctrine of the current administration is to vote them out of fucking office.

Do I sound pissed? I am. I have never, ever in my life scene a group of American leaders act with such arrogance. It's disgusting. I'm so mad, I haven't taken any of the easy shots at Bush's ultra-inane "I am the decider" statement. The dude is such a schmuck, it's not even fun to make fun of him.

Are we as stupid as Bush and the people who run his administration think we are? I hope not. I guess we'll find out after the next election.

Love to all. Even you, Don.

Idea from ITS: iTunes Shuffle Snapshot

ITS did this, and I thought it was way cool. Here's my current iTunes random playlist.

Love to all.

Things I'm digging, presently.

1. The way Mimi (the dog) flops down beside me when I’m on the floor.
2. Universal binaries.
3. Playing catch with my two oldest kids.
4. This thing Maggie does when she holds the back of my head when we’re kissing.
5. “Show Your Bones” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Love to all. Even you, the lady on the train to Westchester who sighed BIG.

Shrink.

To figure out who would be my best therapist, I participate in a little interview. And after talking to them for a little bit, the directors of the center decided that my therapist should be the ex-CEO of a major publishing company… a guy who retired at age 50 in order to become a shrink. I met with him this morning.

I’ve decided that it’s time to deal with:

1. My crazy-ass father. Not in terms of talking to the dude again, but rather coming to terms with the fact that I may never talk to him (or my mother) again. That, and the impact that they’ve had on my life to date.
2. My supposed hypomania/ADD for which, apparently, I ‘m going to be getting tested.
3. My obsessive thoughts about sex and finances. Mostly sex. But I was too embarrassed to just say “sex.” So I said “sex and finances.”

Anyway. I like the guy. He’s affable, smart, and doesn’t set off any of my “full-of-shit” alarms. He seemed appreciative… even relieved… of the fact that I’m heavy into Alcoholics Anonymous. I think lots of therapists waste lots of time with alcoholics who are still drinking… and a big subset of that group is happy to do so. This dude is clearly not one of those.

Anyway, I feel like I’m moving on to the next phase. Whatever that may be.

Love to all. Even you, the lecturer at the Mustard Seed.

Hee hee hee.

Maggie didn't know what a dingleberry was. Thank God she married a genius like me, so I could fill her in on such important and weighty topics.

Love to all.

60.

Today is my Mother's birthday.

I haven't spoken to her in around 3.25 years, after my father's Borderline Personality Disorder zeroed in on me and Maggie (after years of it being focused on my grandmother and uncle), and we had to get the police involved to stop his constant threats. A couple of years ago, they moved to California without letting me know. All my stuff from my childhood was thrown away. All of my pictures and notes and books and knick-knacks... all the stuff from my room that I figured I'd get, someday. Gone.

The only reason I knew they were moving was that other folks in my family realized I wasn't being told, and called me.

If my mother was sitting here right now, I'd say: Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you so much. I miss you terribly. I miss Dad, too. I know he's sick, and I don't blame him for how he acted. I'm sorry that, for a while, I argued with the two of you. I should have quit earlier. Maybe that would have prevented the buildup. By I doubt it.

I wish I had you guys back. I get lonely without you.

Love to all.

Figurative or literal...

...we can all effect our own resurrection.

(Easier said than done, I know. Boy, do I know.)

Love to all.

The just-right amount of crystal meth.

So there’s a medical treatment for alcohol dependence.

“In a six-month phase III trial, patients treated with Vivitrol (380 mg) and psychosocial support demonstrated a reduction in days of heavy drinking compared with patients treated with placebo and psychosocial support.”

My first, admittedly alcoholic reaction: "A reduction in days of heavy drinking? Who the hell wants that? I mean, why drink, then?"

Seriously. I don’t understand the point of this at all. Even if versions are developed which work better than this (which is highly likely), why would you want to get an alcoholic to drink again? Why is this considered a medically appropriate form of treatment? Would you do this with cocaine, crystal methadrine, or heroin?

I hear a lot of people in AA say how they’re glad they got to AA because of how it helps them with the REST of their life... You know? That's certainly the case with me.

Love to all. Even you, Thoughts-Like-Sledgehammer.

"All options are on the table."

Over and over, President Bush has said that "all options are on the table" when it comes to dealing with Iran. There are some who worry that this includes the use of tactical nuclear weapons.

A tactical nuke is a battlefield weapon. Instead of a city-buster, it's designed to be used with relative precision. Most folks think of nuclear weapons only in terms of megatons, but there are tactical nukes with yields of about 1 kiloton or less.

The moment we use nukes of any kind, we are forever granting free license for anyone else to do the same. End of story. I don't care if it's a Davy Crockett or a Peacekeeper: once we excercise a nuclear option, we've guaranteed that the U.S. homeland will eventually sustain a nuclear strike. This isn't World War II. This isn't a new technology being developed in a desperate and morally clear time. To use a nuke now is to write our a worldwide permission slip.

Which brings me to a broader point. What used to make this country great was the fact that we held ourselves to higher levels of conduct. I.E., we could demand fair treatment of prisoners when we treated prisoners family. Now, we've made a mockery of our moralism, and the whole world is laughing. Or testing their medium-range missles.

I don't know what's going to happen with Iran. As Vice-President Cheney pointed out, Israel might pre-emptively strike Iran's nuclear facilities, "and let the rest of the world worry about cleaning up the diplomatic mess afterwards." The Israelis would have good reason to do this, too... Iran is openly dedicated to their destruction.

All I know is this: we have got to stop the moral backslide in this country. We can start with this year's elections. We can make write our leaders to let them know that the nuclear option doesn't exist. And, well, we can pray that saner heads prevail.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Rumsfeld.

DON'T SAY THIS.

If you're going to call a company about employment, don't have this conversation:

Her: What are your hours?
Me: Hi. You mean today and tomorrow, or in general?
Her: Oh, is this a Jewish firm?

Love to all.

"I am Gay and an Alcoholic."

Apparently, if you query for this phrase on some search engines, championable.com appears in the results. So, whoever found me via this search, I say to you:

1. Go hit a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, my friend! It sure as hell works for me, and you'll find that there's nothing you have ever said or done that will ever be held against you. If you've tried and failed to stop drinking, AA works.
2. You'll probably find some hot dudes, there, too.

Love to all. Even you, the owner of the Toyota Land Rover that took up multiple parking spaces in the "compact car" row.

Well, thank God for that.

Seamless design eliminates chafing, while providing unmatched support.

I mean, my God, who likes to chafe? And who doesn't like support?

Love to all.

Eye candy is great, but...

..."older" women rock.

I use quotes so nobody kicks my virtual ass.

(Note: Skip this post if you don't want to read an objectifying, impolitic, ageist, and purely sexual analysis of women by a hormonally overloaded thirty-something dude.)

Why don't my friends believe me when I say that I'm totally into women over 40? Why doesn't Maggie? What's the problem here, people?

Look, I know some really hot twenty-somethings. One friend of mine works as a "fit model," and literally has the archetypical awesome body. And don't get me wrong: she's beautiful. But looking at her feels like a misdemeanor. And as a Dad, I've found that checking out younger women feels increasingly wrong. (Althought that might just be so that I'll feel good about stomping the shit out of anyone who ogles my daughter. Preemptive moralism, you know?)

Besides... these twenty-somethings look like they'll just break. I like real women... with real curves, bodies you can work with, you know?

Sex. Sex, sex, sex. Older women (according to me) have had enough time to figure out what they want, what they don't want, are much more likely to be able to talk about, and act on, their desires.

I guess this all bodes well for Maggie, considering she's turning 40 this year.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Mehlman.

You know it's spring...

...when I start taking the Vino to the train station.

Thus, it's officially Spring. Yay!

I mildly customized the thing so as not to get run over by all of the Westchester SUVs... the custom exhaust has no restrictor... letting me get all the way up to... check it... 40 miles per hour.

Love to all.

Thank God for the Generation Gap.

In fairly spontaneous fashion, Maggie and my oldest just took off for Vermont. We got a line on some property we might want to buy, and Maggie wanted to see it first hand. Last night, my oldest asked if he could go, too. After making him promise he would be at least a little patient, we said yes.

Now, my parent's worked in the same room, in the basement of their house, for 30 years. The idea of my father "letting" my Mom leave overnight... holy crap, it's laughable. Shit, when she decided to go to cooking school at age 50, my father went into a borderline-induced rage/suicidal funk because she was "deserting him." It was a bit scary and, retrospectively, utterly pathetic. Bleah.

Let's hear it for intergenerational change.

Love to all. Even you, my tardy, tardy babysitter.

Pagan? I'll TAKE it.

Twice a year, 'round Christmas and Easter, I always hear folks saying "Yeah, but the Easter Bunny is just an incorporation of Pagan Rituals, just like the Christmas tree! I has nothing to do with Jesus whatsoever!"

And they're right. But so what? Does the red paint job on your Honda improve it's handling? Does that striped tie make you a better businessperson? Of course not. But it helps with the presentation (and acceptance) of whatever it is your trying to do. And thus it was with the Catholic incorporation of Pagan ritual. Sometimes it worked resoundingly well. Other times it failed: All Saint's Day didn't manage to quash Halloween. And thank God for that, or else I'd have no reason to own a gorilla suit.

Much ado about marketing, you know?

Love to all. Even you, chirpy.

Time is limited! Act now!

Minor epiphany in Church today: I'm going to die soon.

Hopefully not that soon, but soon enough. 50 years, If I'm really lucky. Probably less. Which means it's time to get off my ass and try and do a better job at being less of a dick. I'm pretty much halfway done, lifewise, so if I'm going to start making some serious changes, the time is now.

I'm not talking about work. I work pretty hard. Shit, by age 37, I have already started a company, sold it, become a liquid millionaire, lost most of my money the stock market (my former broker thought Corning was a great investment in 2000), started another company, and took that one to a seven figures in sales within three years.

No, I'm talking about the fact that I can be a petty, small-minded, quick-to-anger dickhead with those I love the most. I need to change that. Little things like: instead of getting annoyed that my 9-year-old wants to drive by the skatepark (which would take us a whole three minutes out of our way) I just say... are you ready...

"Yes."

I'm getting better at intercepting and countermanding my inherent dickishness. But my goal is to not have to reverse myself, but to intercede before the initial response leaves my mouth.

This dude I know... a smart, hilarious, Irish ex-priest, told me his philosophy on marriage: "Say 'yes' at all times, unless you have a VERY, VERY good reason." Which dovetails with: "Would you reather be right, or happy?"

This is a good time of year to act on these things.

Love to all. Even you, the fucking scale.

I just couldn't help it.

So, I'm riding on the train, and this dude makes several long phone calls. He's discussing business. Loudly. He's giving out names, financials. It's clear he's an M&A guy, discussing what divisions of a company he'll jettison, which he'll keep, and what staff he'll clear out. I connect to the internet via my bluetooth phone, and just for kicks I start Googling the guy... and while I'm doing that, I'm taking notes on his conversation.

And then he gets off the phone. And he says "Was I too loud for you?"

Oh God. Here we go.

I say "Not at all. But I've learned a whole lot about you. Your name is XXX. Here is your picture [turn computer around to show his picture on my screen] You work at XXX. You joined there in 1987 after leaving XXX. You're currently trying to finish brokering the acquisition of XXX for $XXX... but you had to leave a voice mail for Mr. XXX, who is apparently your client."

He looked a little dismayed, but we wound up having a very pleasant 10-minute conversation. At one point he asked where I lived, and I asked him the same. He said "I thought you would have looked that up, too."

I said: "Oh, no. That would be creepy."

Love to all. Even you, the interrupting in-law.

Black edges.

There are two things I'm hesitant to talk about on my blog:

1. The extent of my issues with lust.
2. Flirtations with depression.

The first is because I don't want to get in trouble. Not like "you-cheated-on-me trouble," but "damn, rich, you THINK about cheating on me a lot" trouble. Not that Maggie reads this blog anymore, but... I don't know if I'm worse than most dudes, but this is definitely something I struggle with. It occupies way too much of my time.

The second. Well, it's weird and embarrassing and scary.

For the last three days, I've had cliff-like drops in my mood. They've been unlike anything I've had before. My chest gets all tight, and my vision actually blackens at it's edges. I couldn't look people in the eye. It only lasted a couple of hours at a time, but jeez.

What the fuck IS that? I mean, my natural state is pretty fucking perky.

Anyway, I'm a little baffled and bummed out, but this too shall pass.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who shot me a withering look for bringing a djembe on the Metro North train.

And that's that.

I'm so sorry to have put you all through this again. Really. If I ever, EVER talk about switching to Windows, please stop me. PLEASE. Use non-lethal , non-permanently injurious force, if necessary.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Ballmer.

sigh.

Okay. I've had it. This is just a representative window of like, 7000 just like it.

Love to all.

Motherf$#(r!

That's it. I've had it. Love. to. all.

Oh. My. GOD.

Well, thank goodness the document wasn't lost with the envelope. I guess. Sheesh.

Love to all.

No solution.

I've got your solution. Get a Mac.

DAMN.

Love to all.

I am the new Conservative.

I've just HAD it with these label-stealing bastards. George Bush is no more a "conservative" than Hu Jintao, and I've decided that's it's time for a little re-fucking-definition.

I remember the first time I heard the word "liberal" used as a weapon. It was against Michael Dukakis (remember him?). And all I could think about was "Jesus, why are the Democrats so afraid of that word?" To borrow Microsoft's philosophy, why not Embrace and Extend? Accept the word Liberal, and define it properly. Make the word an asset.

That didn't happen. In fact, Tom Delay used the word to explain why he's resigning. He doesn't want his seat taken by Democratic Liberals. He forgot to mention the whole "Oh, and I'm a criminal" thing. Whoops.

But no worries. I don't WANT to be a liberal anymore. Shit, if you take "liberal" at it's true meaning, President Bush is the consummate liberal...

1. Tolerant of the massive loss and wounding of American solders.
2. Generous with big government contracts for friends' businesses.
3. Open-minded about WMDs.
4. Non-interventionist when it comes to having criminals in his inner circle.
5. Exceedingly liberal with the Executive Powers.
6. etc., etc.

Now, me? I'm a real Conservative:

1. Fiscally responsible: if you don't have it, don't spend it.
2. Environmentally Conservative: Ethanol first (good for farmers!), Hydrogen later. And remember, I support giving American Oil Companies a 10-20 year lock on ethanol processing and stateside distribution.
3. Militarily Conservative: no pre-emptive War. (Oh, and with the New York Times article about how Bush was going to war regardless, and had even picked a DATE, we can clearly add "liberal with reasons for going to war."
4. Addendum to #3: maintain the strongest and most nimble military planet-wide.
5. Loyal to the second amendment: Only infringe on the right to bear arms if the gun owner isn't part of a well-governed militia. Infringe does not mean "ban."
6. Equal application of the Bill of Rights to every citizen.
7. Etc., etc.,

My point? Let's kick that pansy-ass liberal son-of-a-beyotch out of office and install a REAL conservative. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the bespectacled guy with the 14-inch iBook. Lucky bastard.

Stephen Colbert vs. Congressman Adam Schiff

Colbert: Did you pass legislation banning the very sort of unregulated donations that helped you win?

Schiff: Yes.

Colbert: Isn’t that the political equivalent of sleeping with a prostitute and then strangling her to hide your shame?

Schiff: I wouldn’t want to say that.

I thought one point Colbert made was pretty funny and quite possibly true: A Conservative is what George Bush says a conservative is, and that’s that. In that case, Conservatives stand for big deficits and big government. And if that is the case, what the hell is a liberal?

I have no idea what to call myself anymore.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who created a Coffee River on the 6:30 train out of Grand Central Station.

WTF is wrong with Windows?

Whine, whine, whine.

I switched from a Mac PowerBook 1.67 to a Dell E1505 Intel Core Duo laptop. 100 Gig HD, a gig of RAM... supposedly a speedy little Windows machine.

This sucker is SLOW. I mean... once you're in an application, it's okay. But try to multitask... try to switch between various programs... or keep 6 ot 7 applications open at once, and the thing just crawls. Crawls! CRAWWWWWWWLS!

It's killing me.

I'm stuck with this for 8 months or more: the day Adobe Creative Suite 3, Macromedia Studio 9, Filemaker 9, and Office 2007 for Mac are released... I'm buying a MacBook Pro again. But until then, I'm going to force myself to use Windows. It's my own damn fault for giving Maggie my PowerBook and buying this piece o' shit.

Anyone know if I can safely uninstall the .Net Framework? Will that speed things up at all?

Ugh. God help me. And if I'm using Windows, God help us all.

Love to all. Even you, the Big Voiced Lady on the other side of this office wall.

My new golf club.

It's the only private club I could afford: Club Ricardo.

Love to all.

Chill day, warm day.

I love to play catch. And now we're totally equipped. It's days like these where I wish this wasn't an anonymous (or 99% anonymous) blog, because I'd love to show you some of the pics I snapped of the kids tossing a baseball around.

But then again, if this wasn't 99% anonymous, I couldn't be honest about what a lustful, dumbass, panic-sticken worry-wart I am.

Worry-wart. Now that is a distasteful term.

It's a beautiful spring day in Westchester, NY, and I'm trying to take a day off from things like:

• Bill Frist and his fake adoption of cats from shelters in order to practice surgery on them.
• George Bush and his complete rejection of checks and balances.
• The FBI's spying on, and infiltration of, peaceful domestic groups, because of their anti-war stance.

No, instead of dwelling on the Great Polarization of America... instead of worrying that Americans are buying into the fact that criticizing Bush aids enemies of the US... I'm going to go out there, do some gardening, play some catch, run the scooter, and enjoy this glorious day.

Love to all. Even you, the oil tank company that cut a six-inch hole in the basement door.

Saturday haiku.

brand new baseball gloves
playdate, shopping, three mile run
suburban bliss, this


Love to all. Even you, the 50-mile-an-hour neighbor.