Big party, no hangovers.

It was a black-tie affair, mostly. Every now and again, someone walked by in drag, in leather, or in jeans. I'd peg the formalwear-to-not ratio at about 97:1. All told, we were two-thousand people at 200 tables in the Grand Ballroom of the New York Hilton at 54th and 6th. The mood was raucous. Peals of laughter rippled across the floor with great and wonderful frequency. Every speaker was met with loud and boisterous approval.

But no hangover for me, this morning. Or for any the two-thousand people at last night's shindig. Why? It was the Bill W. 71st Anniversary Dinner, and every single attendee at the $100-per-person affair was sober. Even the guests.

To sit in the ballroom, look across at the thousands of attendees, and think: "all of these people lost the same battle I did, all of these people reached their own point of desperation, and all of this people are having one hell of a time..." Well, it was pretty fantastic.

Very few problem drinkers make it to AA. Fewer stay. Last night was, as one speaker put it, possibly the biggest room of blessed people in New York City... at least at that moment.

How lucky are we?

Faith Converter 2.0

I just discovered Faith Converter 2.0.

"Found an admirable tome but it's in praise of the wrong god? Faith Converter is a godsend for priests, vicars, rabbii and holy men of all descriptions. Preach next Sunday's sermon from the Vedas, Noble Eightfold Path, Torah or Das Kapital!

The premier theological plagiarism solution for OS X, Faith Converter converts text between twenty-seven different religions, encompassing Atheism, Biopsychosocialism, Buddhism, Christianity, Communism, Confucianism, Druidism, Falun Gong, Hinduism, Islam, Juche, Judaism, Keynesianism, Linux, MacEvangelism, Mahanism, Maoism, NIMBYism, Roman, Scientology, Shinto, Sikh, Stalinism, Taoism, Thatcherism, Trotskyism and Veganism."

Try it out. It's awesome.

Sometimes....

Sometimes you just have to say "fuck the damage." Seriously. I was in this AA meeting a couple months ago, and this lady I really like (friend-style) was all depressed, and saying that she didn't feel like she had the right to be happy.

So I went up to her afterwards and said "Dude, God has personally authorized me to tell you that you have the right to be happy." And I MEANT it.

Everyone has a right to be happy. Although people's definition of happiness can be wacky. For me, happiness is the absence of fear. Period.

Everything else is gravy. Fortunately, I have lots of gravy.

The saddest syslog.

My system logs seemed very sad this morning. My translations are in brackets.

Oct 26 06:17:18 SymMissedTask - parent[185]: waketime is: Wed Oct 26 06:17:18 2005
[forgot to wake up the kid]
Oct 26 06:17:54 mDNSResponder: Advertising AntiPickle. IP 70.200.79.180
[whose kid is this, anyway?]
Oct 26 06:17:57 mDNSResponder: ERROR: Only name server claiming responsibility for "AntiPickle." is "."!
[nobody wants this kid]

So sad. And yes, my computer is currently named “AntiPickle,” because, at the point where I got it I was tired of dealing with petty problems… aka “Pickles.” I have a new machine coming in today, so I have to think of a new name.

Yeah, I’m a geek.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who blamed my friend for her own mistakes.

Wife on steroids.

Maggie is much better. Phew.

If you go to the hospital, bring an advocate. Bring someone who will politely(!) talk to the doctors and nurses about what they are doing and why. Don’t be a prick. I repeat: don’t be a prick. Regardless of how competent or incompetent the people are, you’re going to need them on your side.

This is the advice that was given to me, and boy... it's dead on.

Case in point. Maggie was in the hospital. She was sent home with steroids and benadryl. They didn’t work. She was in the hospital again the next day, really fucked up this time, and they put her on an IV drip of more powerful steroids. And benadryl. But they said they’d switch her to Atarax.

So, they go to send us home, since the IV steroids were working very well, and they gave us a prescription for the SAME USELESS MEDS that didn’t work the first time. We said, “Do you think that’s a good idea?” The doctor said “Well, we can send her home with a prescription for what we’d give her if we admitted her to the hospital.

“Good idea,” we said.

While her physical symptoms are a lot better, I gotta say: These steroids made Maggie a little wacky. The doctor actually said “I have to warn you [pointing at Maggie]… or rather, I should really warn YOU [pointing at me] that these drugs can make you loopy.”

Look. This is my blog, so I’m gonna just say it. Maggie was wacked. She was up all night doing stuff, marching around the house. She was really hard to talk to, quick to anger, and generally nutty. Honestly, seeing her like THAT was harder than seeing her covered in hives.

The last time I talked to her, she seemed a bit better. We have a babysitter tonight, so I’m going to go play Paddle Tennis. Even though I’m exhausted, I could use the exercise.

Love to all. Even you, the nurse who doesn’t like people from “our town.”

Shit, shit, SHIT.

Maggie is back in the hospital. She woke up this morning with her lips, mouth, and eyes totally swollen. Her body is covered in hives. I've never seen anything like it. She started to feel faint again, so I packed the kids into the van and took her to the ER.

Listening to this fucking doctor, I almost lost my shit.

"She's not going to die from this," he said.

I said, "You just told me that if her throat starts to constrict, she could be in real trouble, right?"

"Right."

"Then, are you saying that she's past the point where her throat might constrict?"

"Not necessarily," he said.

"So, what you're telling me is that she's not going to die right this very second?" I was incredulous.

"Right."

I went home to drop off the kids. I called Maggie. After I left, her throat started to constrict, and now they are taking things a lot more seriously. My in-laws are inbound, and I'm heading back to the hospital as soon as they get here. When I last talked to Maggie, she told me she was going to take a nap, and that I should come by in a couple of hours.

Love to all.

The best laid plans...

My business partner (and one of my better friends) is getting married right now. Literally. Right now. I was supposed to be there, but clearly I'm not.

Maggie woke up this morning with a severe allergic reaction to antibiotics, which wound up with her in the emergency room via ambulance. Truth be told, it started Thursday night, and wasn't much improving over the last day or two. She tried to call her doctor, but was only allowed to talk to her nurse. The nurse was rude and dismissive. She called the kids doctor, since he's an allergist, but he refused to get on the phone.

Way to go, Mount Kisco Medical Group. Nice fucking job.

So this morning, when her eyes and mouth were swollen, we decided to go to the ER. But as she started to get ready, she nearly fainted. She asked me to call 911. The EMT guys, and the police, were totally stellar.

She's developed an allergy to pennicilin. She's never had one before. Nice that the folks at Mount Kisco Medical Group wouldn't take her seriously enough to actually discuss this with her.

Covered in hives as she is, she's in no condition to go to a wedding. And I'm not going to go more than 15 minutes from her. I'm taking the kids to a movie and dinner out, but I'll be in cell range AND within a short drive the whole time.

Ugh. Double ugh. One because I was really looking forward to the wedding. The other because Maggie is super-uncomfortable.

Love to all. Even you, the MKMG nurses who don't take female patients seriously.

Some Dog Shit Named “Glade.”

Are you furious over the Harriet Miers nomination? Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Green, Conservative, Liberal, whatever: You should be.

George Bush thinks you’re stupid. He always has. He thinks he can get away with shit just by NAMING things differently… Unfunded mandate that will bankrupt local school districts? Call it “No Child Left Behind.” Want to reduce pollution controls? Call it the “Clear Skies Act.”

He would name dog shit “Glade,” thinking that you wouldn’t notice the smell.

But the Miers nomination… this takes the cake. It shows a complete lack of understanding and principal. And it’s not whether she’s a nice person, or even about whether she’s pro-life or not (clearly, she’s pro-life), it’s about the fact that she’s completely unqualified to be a Supreme Court justice. Period.

1) She asked for a delay in her hearing so she could “learn constitutional law.” OH MY GOD. You don’t cram for a Supreme Court nomination hearing! Clearly, folks other than judges can and should be nominated to the Supreme Court, but Constitutional expertise is a requirement. That’s the fucking JOB!!!

2) Her answers to the Senate’s written questions were returned by Republican and Democratic Senators alike as being “incomplete” and “insulting.” She was asked to do them over. Hey, man, I only got to submit my college essays once. Why does she get a do-over?

It’s pathetic and scary. Bush has proven over and over that he’s driven by cronyism, but this is just BEYOND.

And it’s beyond politics and issues, too.

New Aphrodisiac!

Married? Long-term relationship? Things getting a little dull with in the bedroom? A little "by-the-book," as they say? Have you recently opened your eyes in the middle of lovemaking only to find that:

1) Your partner is playing on a PlayStation Portable?
2) So are you?

Well, folks: I have the CURE. It’s nearly-instant, and all it takes is a few minutes of your time. And best of all: it’s FREE! That’s right: FREE!

It’s all detailed in my new book: “How to turn your partner into a crazed nymphomaniac by doing the dinner dishes and keeping the bathroom clean!”

You’ll see, in a few easy steps, how YOU can turn YOUR partner into a ravenous, over-sexed love-junkie who will stop at nothing to have you.

Here are just a few of the tips you’ll find inside:

1) Secrets to effective rinsing.
2) Flushing: what is it?
3) Why dry sponges/paper towels are ineffective.
4) And more!

Buy it now! Make checks payable to Rich | Championable, or simply send letters of immense appreciation to rich at championable.com.

Sources.

So. Why the outburst yesterday over long-over crap with my parents? 9th-step stuff, I think. At this point in my whole self-assessment deal where I’m supposed to seek out those I’ve harmed and make amends for the injuries I’ve caused. Assuming, of course, that doing so wouldn’t harm the “amendee” or others. Clearly, my parents are on the list of people that I’ve harmed in the past. But the idea of making amends is hard to swallow when the at least one recipient of such action is mentally ill. And mean. And partially hates me.

Oh, well.

“It’s a sin,” Maggie quoted to me today, “to wish upon someone a life without grace.” And as soon as I heard that, I remembered my father saying “How dare you breathe?” I remembered him saying: “Every since you were a child, you’ve been trying to destroy our marriage.” I remember him saying: “Evil. Vile.”

So, it’s hard for me to thing of them in terms of the harm I’ve done. But heck, that’s the challenge here, isn’t it? Not to mention: I’m not exactly free from that sin, am I? No, sir.

Anyway, thanks for putting up with my crazy-ass self. I’ll be back in form presently.

Love to call. Especially you, with the half-broken mouse..

Dear Kids

I don’t care what kind of shit you do to yourselves, how strange you make yourself look, or what kind of weird stuff you do to your hair: I will absolutely buy the class photos from your senior year of high school.

Why didn’t my parents get copies of my high school picture? Something about me having a very silly-looking orange stripe in the very back/left of my head, where I applied a bunch of peroxide. No pictures, because I did something that deviated from their big Rich Recovery Plan, which was basically the Rich-is-the-Root-of-All-Evil,-But-Has Admitted-It-So-It’s-Cool-Now Plan.

The other day, I was riding the train across from an archetypical Westchester Dad. A clean cut, well-dressed dude. His teenage daughter was with him, and man, was she decked out. Enormicon-style pants, multiple dyes in her hair, some piercings, and, well, she didn’t look good. Even in a goth-chick kind of way, it was kind of off. Did the Dad seem to care? No. They chatted away and did their thing.

Smart poppa, that one. I salute you.

Shit. It doesn’t matter now, anyway… my parents threw away every piece of my childhood memorabilia they had in their house just before they moved to California without telling me. And I’m sure, just like he did with his mother, my father has physically cut me out of all the pictures he has hanging up in his new digs in California.

Fuck them. Fuck them. The older my kids get, the more I’m absolutely disgusted with my own parents. Assholes. Idiots. Losers. Fools. Weaklings. Sick fucks.

So anyway, my point: Kids, you have every right to get crazy. My job is to keep you alive and as happy as possible. I’m going to try and do that.

Love to all. Even you, Mom and Dad.

Chew with your fucking mouth CLOSED.

Holy SHIT. Three separate times today, I found myself sitting (trains) or standing (subway) with some jackass who was chomping wetly and open-mouthed at a wad of gum, smacking so loudly that I’m still stunned they didn’t soak down the other fucking passengers with their rude-ass saliva.

This is one of my biggest peeves, personally. It’s up there with timeliness, professionally. That is all.

Love to all. Even you, the people who chew with your mouths open.

WTF?

"The adobe updater must update itself before it can check for further updates."

It sounds like something for which I should avert my eyes.

Love to all.

Six second dispersal.

If I can wait six seconds before reacting to things that annoy me, the level of Peaceful Vibe in my house goes up by about 79%. If whip out the Dickhead Guns and shoot from the hip, well… status quo. It takes about six seconds for my self-monitoring subsystems to wake up from whatever they are doing (probably watching women-friendly pornography, if I know my internal moral gyroscope), and say:

“Whoa, brother. No big deal.”

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the enormous gold rings.

Tamiflu-resistant Avian Flu

Ever since I read the book "The Coming Plague," I've been a little bit microbially-paranoid. Mutiply-resistant TB, Ebola, Hantavirus, the Various Heps... it's kind of amazing that any of us are still alive.

But this Avian flu, man. This has me worried. Since it's not a variant of an existing virus, we've got no defense. And it's an equal-opportunity killer. This flu doesn't just kill the old, infirm, and immuno-compromised (not to say that this would be a good thing if it did)... but it kills everyone. Equally.

The death estimates range wildly: the UN initially said up to 150 million people worldwide, although they took that back. . The CDC said that the next pandemic flu could take out 700,000 people in the US. It seems that the general consensus is a wide range: 2 - 10 million people, planetwide.

So what do I do? Stockpile Tamiflu? Maybe: but the first case of Tamiflu-resistant Avian flu virus was reported yesterday. And yes, it seems that someone was given low doses as a "preventative." When are people going to learn how to take their fucking medicine? Every single time you go off anti-virals or anti-biotics early, you are simply creating a stronger disease. Think about that, the next time you by an "Anti-microbial" hand soap, please.

Scary shit. All I want is for my kids to outlive me. Seriously. This is one thing that makes me worry that it won't happen.

Anyway.

Love to all. Even you, the person with that wet, icky cough.

So. I auditioned for a TV show.

Through the crazy-ass social network that is New York City, I was approached by a cable channel to audition to be on a new reality TV series. I would be a panelist, not a contestant.

The audition was at 3pm yesterday. On camera.

You should know, first of all, that I get stage fright. If I am even ASKED to do some kind of acting (I’m talking Company Skit, here) my hands sweat preemptively and my just just HAMMERS. It’s not pretty. Back when I was a rock drummer, I would sometimes be so panicky and stiff that I didn’t have FUN until the last song of the set. And then I was like: "FUCK! Now I want to play!" And then it would be over.

So, this time, I actually prayed. I said “God, if I’m supposed to humiliate myself, let me humiliate myself. Just let me do the job I’m supposed to do.”

And I had a blast.

They surprised me a few times. Asked me to do parts of my job on camera, in a roleplaying mode. I did. At the end, they said "Rich, you were amazing. If you don't here from us in three weeks, call me." So that's a good sign. After this, they said, they'd do a callback with the full panel of finalists.

Hmm. Strange what comes knockin' at the door.

Back from the Dead: Universal's Halloween Horror Night

My god, I’ve missed you. Each and every one of you. But I’m back, now. And after a really, really stellar strip to Universal Studios Orlando with my 9-year-old… it’s time to revert to being the Engine of Economy that I’m supposed to be.

Traveling with my 9 year old was a dream. In fact, he’s a tremendous companion in nearly every aspect. He's adventurous, an excellent conversationalist, and pretty flexible. His only “difficult” quality is his insanely high energy level. Score one for MY genes! He’s constantly climbing, jumping, balancing, sprinting, or just, well… vibrating in place.

The parks rocked. While Universal is no place for the under-48-inch-tall set, they put a lot of thought into the rides. Get an Express Pass, if your budget allows for it. You get to go on each ride once, relatively quickly. Although they don’t always scan the pass, meaning that, depending on your moral code, you can ride Express again. My favorite rides: Spider Man, the Mummy,

Halloween Horror Night at Universal Studios was a mix of Totally Awesome and What Are They Thinking? Although the latter is probably due to Age (Late-Mid-Thirties) and Position (Protective Parent).

Here’s the deal: Throughout October, Universal closes the parks early, and transforms the Island of Adventure into a huge spook zone, with seven different haunted houses. Each house has a theme… whether that theme is “grinding up human remains” or “house full of dead family members,” it is sure to include lots of fake blood, and dozens of people hiding behind every corner who try to scare the living shit out of you. Again, an Express Pass is even more important item here. Regular lines were 45 minutes, while Express was walk-on.

Also, throughout the park, there are tons of actors dressed as murderers (with real chainsaws), ghouls, ghosts, or enormous demons (stilts included). And if you act scared, they will follow you.

My son thought it was fantastic. In fact, sitting on a park bench sipping a PowerAde, he looked at me very seriously… fireballs from the gas jets reflected in his eyes… and said “Dad, I love it here. I would live here if I could. This is amazing.”

And I thought “Shit, kiddo, you’re gonna LOVE college.”

I had two problems with the setup. One was the way alcohol was pushed SO excessively. Now, I realize that I’m a total teetotaler, but I’m also very Laissez-Faire (sp?) when it comes to what other people do. But micro-mini-clad ladies walking around an amusement park with trays of Jello Shot syringes was a little much.

The other problem I had was the R-rated-ness of the way women were presented. Kind of uncool for kids. Beyond skimpy warrior-demoness costumes, there were actually women pole dancing in cages suspended about eight feet from the ground. THAT, I think, went a little to far. I understand trying to appeal to the 18-29-year-old set, but in an amusement park, I think strippers cross the line.

Details, details. I got to spend four days with my older son, and we had a tremendous time together. From the parks to breakfasts to bus rides to beating the crap out of him in Epic Hotel Room Battles, getting four days with him was amazing.

Love to all. Even you, the kid who kicked my seat on the airplane.

See you on the 11th!

I cashed in my SkyMiles, got a couple of free flights, and I'm taking my oldest to Universal Studios in Orlando for a few days. Yeeeeeehah!

Love to all. Even you, the lady who hates roller coasters.

Okay: Check this out.

This guy I used to work with dates this woman from a major financial institution who knows this TV producer who is working on a pilot for a cable channel. The show is a reality show... loosely based on the American Idol format (panelists and hopefuls), but for something totally different than singers. In fact, it's in my field.

So, the guy told his girlfriend to tell the producer that I should be auditioned as a panelist, and the producer called me yesterday to ask if I would come in next Wednesday for an on-camera interview, to see how things go.

I said: sure!

Now I'm terrified.

Renewal of Vows, Part II: Micro-honeymoon.

Me and Maggie. Alone.
Drive into Manhattan.
Arrive at the Essex House. (View from the room pictured here.)
Dinner at the Park Avenue Cafe.
A long, uninterrupted sleep.
Morning.

Running together in Central Park.
Breakfast in the Cafe.
Strolling through MOMA.

...home in time to pick the kids up at the bus stop.

Love to all. Even you, the cabbie with an attitude.

Renewal of Vows, Part I: Lost in Blue

October 2nd, 2005 was a lot like October 1st, 1995: warm and sunny and beautiful.

As people arrived at the church, I felt nervous. And as people sat down, I began to feel self-conscious: was this whole thing a bit egotistical? What did people think of us for doing this? Was it too much?

The ceremony started. My boys walked up the aisle in perfect cadence. My four-year-old moved more slowly and deliberately than I’ve ever seen him. They both held pillows, upon which were our original wedding rings. My daughter followed the boys, slowly dropping handfuls of rose petals from side to side.

Father Mark started the service by addressing the fact that there are many faiths and many spiritual paths and that we should take a moment to consider how we, individually, coul move closer to God.. Clearly and rightly, he was acknowledging the fact that about 30% of the people in attendance were Jewish. He went on to talk about why we were here: that I had continued my spiritual journey, which had brought me to Jesus and the Spirit, and that two years ago, it was suggested that was take the Sacrament of Matrimony in the Church.

Then the ceremony got a little rough. My four-year-old started EATING the rose petals, and he and my daughter began bickering. One thing about my daughter: she does not quiet down. If you ask her to lower her voice, she repeats her complaint louder. My youngest alternated flower-eating with Pew Gymnastics. It was hard to concentrate on what was going on. Our friends did the readings, Father Mark read the Gospel. Maggie and I were called to the altar, leaving the kids to be managed by relatives in the row behind us. We stood in front of the altar, faced Father Mark, and were asked to confirm our intentions. We did. Then we were asked to face each other.

And suddenly, without transition, I was lost in the deep and perfect blue of Maggie’s eyes.

What had been a religious ceremony transformed into a true profession of unity, love, and mutual service. A Sacrament. I have never been so present and in the moment, and while I’ve taken vows before, I don’t think I really knew what that meant.

I do now.

Over the last 10 years (until two years ago), Maggie has watched her husband change, and usually not for the better. An alcoholic husband can create tremendous uncertainty and fear and instability. And while I kept it together from a parenting and financial standpoint, Maggie and I were solidly on the path to Not Making It. These last two years have been much more than a return to sobriety. It’s been a rebuilding. And it’s not a coincidence that I came into the church a few months before I got sober.

Over the last two years, I’ve come to understand what it means to be present, to be a husband, and, slowly, to realize that being happy is more important than proving my point all the time.

Please note: I suck at this, a lot of the time. I can be grumpy, irritable, self-seeking, and impatient. But I’m honestly trying to do better on a daily basis. And I can see the changes. The best and greatest sign of this, though, was when Maggie told me:

“You’re becoming the man I married again.”

The Sacrament of Marriage is all about helping your partner get to heaven: whatever heaven may be. And regardless of what heaven turns out to be, my job remains the same.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. No-Way-Out.

10 years. New commitment. New rings.

Love to all.