For lent this year...

...I'm giving up yelling. Seriously.

Today was a crazy day. I interviewed, like, 5 different tech guys for this open job we have. There's a particular kind of "I'm smarter than you, and will try to prove it, but not so much that you might actually learn something because sharing knowledge would be the death of me, and by the way my last boss was an idiot" kind of tech guy that makes me just want to scream. Fortunately, only of of the five qualified 100% in taht category.

For me, right now: Dead Sea Salts, a bath, and Wired Magazine.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. "I will not accept anything less than $120/hr."

WTF?

How I wake up at 4:54 am without an alarm clock is beyond me.

Love to all.

Found... and oops.

So, my missing friend didn't have his cell, and never got my message. I saw him at the morning meeting I attend. He was okay. Sad, introspective... but generally okay. Around 7:10, about five of us were doing the pre-meeting chit-chat thing,when this young, attractive woman comes in, looking all nervous. She stood there, looking at the room, trying to figure out what to do.

So I said, in my friendliest way: "Howdy! Come on in! We look busy, but trust me, we're not. Have a seat!" She kept staring, like she was scared out of her mind to be there. So I said: "No, really. We're totally harmless!" Then, my friend approachest the woman, and they walk outside together. It was his wife.

His much, much younger wife. Oops.

It's 9pm now. I just spoke at an evening AA meeting. I don't talk about AA too much on this blog, mostly because being in AA facilitates the rest of my life, and I don't want this blog to be a "recovery blog." There's enough of those out there. And I don't want people think that I don't approve of you drinking, smoking pot, etc. Because I'm good with whatever works for you.

But since this was a new meeting to me, with a bunch of people I haven't met before, I just want to say: AA is the coolest thing ever. That all these people who were completely unable to stop drinking on their own can stop drinking by sitting down with each other and following a few usually-simple instructions...

...man, that's just baffling. Almost as baffling as alcoholism itself.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Glaring on the 7:52pm train out of Grand Central Station.

Call in, man.

So, a friend of mine (friend A) just called me from Atlantic City to say another friend of mine (friend B) apparently got in an argument with his wife, packed a bag, and walked out. He's been unreachable since. Since my Atlantic City friend is going into a business dinner, he called upon me to try an contact Mr. Missing. So far, his phone is going to voice mail.

Now, I just want to say that only in the world of New York City ex-problem drinkers would the three of us be friends. Friend A used to be, um "connected." I don't believe he is now, but I'm not entirely sure. Friend B runs a respected financial consulting firm. Friend B is 25 years older than me (15 years older than friend A).

I've been waiting to hit "publish," hoping he would check in. He hasn't.

Love to all.

Technology Depression and Blog Love.

I want a MacBook Pro, but it's not happening. The main programs that I use: FileMaker Pro, Photoshop, Dreamweaver, and Microsoft Office all have to run in emulation on the new Macs, which means "slow." And the Macromedia and Adobe products might not be updated to Universal Binary status for another year. Or more.

So, I can't justify a $2,500 MacBook purchase when, even though the new machines have 4-5X the raw processing power, my programs will crawl until native updates come out. Drag.

Switching topics: after being away for a week, it's so funny how happy I am to scroll through my little blogroll and see what people are up to. But hell, if I can't have the Zubes over for dinner, and if ITS from Digital Objective insists on staying in Montreal instead of getting his sorry ass back to NYC where he belongs, well, I'll just keep on reading.

Love to all. Even you, the folks I don't mention because it's maritally inappropriate.

1250%, baby.

Last night, we gave our attempt to go out to dinner 1250% of the effort it actually required. I used Google Maps to get directions from our little house to the restaurant, which kicked off a 50-minute, 25-mile odyssey through windy, snow-covered roads.

The directions said, effectively: Turn left, turn right, turn left, turn right, turn right.

The directions should have said: Turn right. Go 2 miles. Stop.

By the time we got there, my youngest was completely asleep. He slept through the whole meal in Maggie's arms. She said it reminded her of pregnancy... her arms, legs, and butt slowly went numb as dinner progressed. Happily, if you're ever in Warren, VT, make a beeline for Chez Henri. It's super good and fun.

(Side note. I just tried to wipe a stray period off my screen with my finger.)

We're heading home today. I'm looking forward to catching up on all my geek stuff, reading all the blogs I read, and chillin' in the homestead. My back is a little better. I was able to go from lying down to standing without that weird-ass twinging that makes me grab onto the nearest wall, spouse, or child.

When I start blogging from home, will my writing go back to normal? God, I hope so. Either way, I owe you all coffee.

Weren't we meeting at the diner? All of us?

Love to all. Even you, the plow guy who can hit 45mph in reverse.

Roe v. Wade or My Right Foot?

My stupid-ass back has me mixing bodily metaphors and stuck in my PJs.

And clearly bored.

My oldest is out with the ski patrol this morning. Maggie took him at 7am. Maggie was also up throughout the night with my daughter, who is running a fever. So, everyone say a collective "Go, Maggie!" She's being supermom.

I think she's a little pissed off at me for hurting my back. She said "This time, you are going for physical therapy." I'm not arguing with her. While it's not my fault that I hurt myself, I think if I had kept up the diet, yoga, etc., I probably wouldn't have done it. Bleah.

Plus, running season is starting. I have four races scheduled over the next two months. I've got to recuperate, baby!

Oh. Almost forgot: the South Dakota legislature just banned abortions, which might well lead to our Bush-enabled Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade. Just wanted to mention this, for those of you keeping score on Bush v the U.S. Constitution.

Love to all. Even you, whoever makes this useless drug.

I'm back, baby!

In this context, though, that totally sucks. My back, that is.

I realize that V and Kelly will be disappointed, but I didn't hurt myself during any sort of high-energy sex romp with Maggie. I survived that just fine, thank you very much. No, I hurt myself taking a half-fall on my first run of the day.

What sucked most was that this was right at the start of the run... two lift-rides up to the peak of Sugarbush. I took a half-spill, recovered, and crank. End of story. I was lying there on my side thinking: "Oh, shit. How the hell am I going to get down the mountain?"

It's frustrating, obvious, and utterly stupid: how direct my stress levels relate to my back injuries. On the way up the lifts, I was telling Maggie how I was having a great time in spite of the kids making me crazy... and now that we were on the lift for a day of skiing, I was starting to get righteously psyched. Sadly, whatever stress-cables had knotted themselves together in my lower back unwind more slowly than I would have hoped.

Am I whining? I so, I apologize. A little.

The upside? Throwing out your back requires that you maintain perfect posture if you want to make it down the mountain without the assistance of the ski patrol.

So now, I'm walking around all stooped over. My daughter does a perfect imitation of my feeble little walking motion. Ha-fucking-ha.

Anyway: I'm going to publish this sucker and lie down now. I promise to be significantly more interesting sometime before spring. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the speedy kid who made me turn.

Injury report.

Threw out my back on the first run. Not pretty.

Love to all. Even you, spine.

These kids need playdates.

On the one hand, it's really nice here. On the other, my kids are driving me up a freaking wall.

• My oldest: contradicting EVERYTHING everyone says.
• My daughter: picking on my oldest, deciding she hates everything.
• My youngest: refusing to go anywhere. Constantly running away.

I love my kids tons. But if I had to do it over again, yesterday would have been the last day of our trip. They're going nuts. Still, we're trucking them off to ski school now, so hopefully we'll get 3 hours of pleasantness... and maybe their collective mood will swing to the better.

Love to all.

Things I don't say.

Sometimes, as the concerned, caring, parent that I am, I want to say to my kids:

"WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR JUST THREE FUCKING SECONDS?!?!?!? WILL YOU STOP ASKING FOR YOUR FUCKING MOTHER EVERYTIME I TRY TO TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE, GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO EAT, OR BRING YOU TO THE BATHROOM?!?"

But I don't say those things.

Today was one of those days where all the kids were overtired and, by the end of the day, intensely cranky. Collectively, they had an excellent morning... and even had a half-decent rest-of-the-day, but in turn, each had a serious backtalking breakdown session that almost had me hiking back to Westchester. Especially my youngest.

On the upside, I definitely challenged myself today. I skied with Maggie on a bunch of intermediate (and one black diamond) trails, and tried to keep up with her. I failed, but I did put in the effort. At one point, it was snowing so hard visibility was practically zero. That made it intense and fun.

I found out that I'm pretty much only used to skiing in crappy conditions. There were spots today when I was actually in fresh powder, and I had no idea what to do. Ice doesn't bother me, but good conditions throw me off.

I'm rambling.

Oh, I should mention that we had an hour and a half to kill without the kids, and Maggie was like... let's go back to the house. If you know what I mean. I love it when she's like that.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the SUV who tried (and failed) to drive around the line of cars waiting to drop off their children at ski school.

Phobic Incompatibilty.

I'm totally afraid of heights.

When I was younger, I tried to conquer this fear by climbing various buildings near where I lived. Drunk, I once scaled one of those huge water towers (the kind with the tube ladder on the side and the flashing light on top). Sitting the top, holding on to a little cable (that led to the light), I slammed a few more beers and found myself unable to climb down... and terrified to be up there. That kind of sucked.

Fast forward about twenty years.

Here at Sugarbush in Warren, VT., I keep getting freaked out by the both height of the chairlifts and the views of the mountains: the one I’m ascending and the ones in the distance. It feels really weird, because I’m simultaneously appreciative of the vista and on the verge of falling off the lift due to vertigo.

For a sober dude like me, It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling drugged up… with the exception of my bouts with pneumonia. I kind of like it... which says something about me.

I did my first black diamond trail today. Very… slowly…

Love to all. Even you, the lady who made us go back downstairs in the restaurant.

Bush vs. Americans, #38

If you need a pure example of how our President justifies obviating the law, brands people who disagree with him as traitors, and, in general, is trying to shovel more totalitarian authority into the Executive Branch of government, read this quote from the New York Times:

"Unfortunately, we're having this discussion," he said of the debate over wiretapping. "It's too bad, because guess who listens to the discussion: the enemy."

First of all, the man is a hypocrite. This comment was made well after his administration started to retroactively attempt to get authorization for the secret wiretap program. (Not the retroactive authorization for the individual taps themselves, which is different).

But the worst thing is the real message: don't disagree with Bush, because that's aiding and abetting the Enemy! And you know what that is, don't you? Treason. Prosecutable or not, our President is implying that if you question his progam of secretly recording the private conversations of American citizens, then you are helping the Enemy.

I believe that Al Qaeda is an enemy of ours. But I also believe that by sacrificing core American principles of freedom... or more clearly, by crapping on the Bill of Rights, President Bush is doing more to help the cause of the Enemy he can possibly imagine.

Love to all. Even you, the folks who would shut down this blog.

Kaboom!

After an 8-year hiatus, I hit the slopes today. The last time I did this, I felt timid and out of control. Today, weirdly, I felt perfectly fine. I took a group lesson, and the instructor actually called me “aggressive.” In a good way. I told Maggie this and she was like: “What? You?”

I don’t get it either. Something’s changed in my internal skiing program.

The kids have been, in turn: cranky, hyper,, gleeful, angry, mopey, and deliciously fun to be with. Each child has had a crying jag, complained mightily, and had a total blast at Sugarbush. It’s been totally up and down. Such is life.

We just got back from a really neat fireworks display. Now, ice cream. Then, bed.

Love to all. Even you, the snowboarder who ran over my friend’s kid.

"Ultimately..."

Did anyone here Dick Cheney's comment to the press about shooting his friend? I was blown away. He actually said: "Ultimately, I'm the one who pulled the trigger."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'll tell you. It means: "In spite of all the mitigating circumstances, I guess I'll accept responsibility because I have to." Guess what, angry jellybean, there were no mitigating circumstances.

Why can't these people just say "Damn, I really made a mistake?"

Love to all. Even you, Dick.

View, and lack of dickishness.

It's 2 degrees Farenheit here in Warren, Vt. That's pretty cold (to this New Yorker), but we're going to wait a couple of hours, bundle up, and head out to the mountain. The two younger kids have ski camp, I have a group lesson, and Maggie is going to hook up with some friends of ours to hit the slopes with my oldest.

I'm going to try not to be a complete dickhead.

If I had to name my personal Behavioral Achilles Heel, it would be that when I'm nervous, scared, or uncertain, I lash out at the folks who are closest to me... in the form of quick-temperedness or general irritability. So join me in a little prayer, will you?

God, please help me not to be a dick to my family. And thanks for the vacation. Also, if you would, please help me be the kind of dude you want me to be. Thy will, not my will, be done. Amen, and rock on.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned that, growning up, my family didn't ski (too dangerous), never went camping (too uncertain), etc., etc. I'm a complete aberration in this regard... largely because I married Maggie, who, prior to meeting me, shacked up in a log cabin with some dude in Aspen. She's a real outdoorswoman.

50% lumberjane, 50% Saks 5th Avenue. That's my lady.

Time to get ready for the day.

Love to all. Even you, real estate guy.

Retraction!

I’ve got dial-up! I’ve got dial-up! I’m writing this from our cool-as-hell place in Vermont, which has a really sweet view… I’ll post a picture of it later tonight. It’ll only take me 75 hours to upload at 56k.

But thank God I’ve got something. I couldn't stand being away from you people for a whole week. God, I’m a junkie.

Love to all.

Good night and good luck: see you in 8 days.

I'm taking the family and heading to Vermont for a week of skiing. When I get back a week from Saturday, I think we should all get together for coffee at the diner on University and 12th in downtown Manhattan.

Who's gonna join me?

Love to all. Even you, the lady who paused to examine... something... in the subway turnstile at Grand Central Station.

The job, part II: fear of failure.

Such a weird conversation.

The folks who want to hire me asked me to fly to Boston to meet with senior management. I said that it didn't make sense for me to meet with those people until we agreed on some baseline items like salary, employment contracts, bonuses, non-solicits, etc.

So we went over those today. He didn't seem too pleased with my salary. He said "that's high, but considering the size of the office, it's not unreasonable." I said, "I understand, but this truly isn't negotiable. I understand if it's a dealbreaker, but I'm not trying to start high so we can haggle."

After we talked a while longer, my old boss suddenly says: "Well, a few internal candidates have crawled out of the woodwork. And our recruiters are trying to source some people, so we'll see."

And then, holy shit, I said: "Boss, if you have people who are competing with me for the job, hire one of them. I have no interest in working for you unless you think, hands down, that I'm the best possible person for the job. If you consider it a choice, go with the other candidate. Just as much as you want me to buy into your corporate culture, you have to buy into me. Great speaking with you, amigo."

Then I got off the phone.

I felt SO relieved after that conversation. And I realized why: I DON'T WANT THE JOB.

I think I'm so afraid of failure, of screwing up my own business, that I MUST consider any opportunity to bail, and that any opportunity will be my last opportunity. It's sad, in a way. In some ways, I'm the most confident dude on the planet. But my fear of failure can be so strong that I'm ready to bail on my own shop, simply because of chinks in my self esteem.

But you know what? My company is tracking at 50% over last year, which was 60% over the year before, which was 100% of the year before. Even if it DOES close, I've done a solid job so far. (Even writing THAT makes me cringe.)

So onward and upward, baby.

Love to all. Even you, the Earth Mother lady with the crazy hair.

"Roses of the Prophet Muhammed"

Oh, man.

So, when we were all pissed off at France when they didn't support us in Iraq, two Republican members of Congress spearheaded a movement to rename French Fries "Freedom Fries" and French Toast "Freedom Toast."

This was a stupid thing to do. For two reasons:

1. It was just childish. First-grade level at best.
   
2. It was done badly. If you had to rename French Fries and French Toast, they should have been renamed to it to something like "We give up rather quickly in major land wars Fries" and "How did we know they'd go around the Maginot Line Toast." Something like that.

Of course Iran, which is my hands-down winner of Most Insane and Dangerous Country on the Planet, decided to make sure we didn't outdumb them: today, they renamed Danish Patries to "Roses of the Phrophet Muhammed."

Oh. My. God.

First of all, that doesn't sound tasty at all. Second of all, it does sound blasphemous. I mean, you eat them, for pete's sake. I can't imagine buying a candy called "Tribute to Jesus" or "Moses and Chips." Although I guess Christmas cookies and Hamantashen are kind of along those lines. I guess.

But if you're so incensed over a cartoon about your holiest of phrophets, why would you then turn the dude with a dessert pastry? I dunno. It just seems crazy.

Love to all. Even you, the Danish, the Iranians, and the Republicans.