14 hours later...

I'm on my way home from painting and arranging the new office. Are we done? Nope. But everyone can print, the cams are up, the databases work, and the DNS routing is good to go.

I'll head in on the 5:01 train on Tuesday, try to do an hour's work or so before heading to my morning AA meting.

I've got a lot of mixed feelings about 2006. It was a strange, wonderful, difficult, and interesting year. My goal for 2007, I think, is consistency.

If I'm going to run: run frequently but not too much.
If I'm going to lift: do so in moderation.
I need to focus on the new company without being obsessive.
I need to focus on being a level-headed family guy.

I need to try and keep to the middle ground.

Hey. Happy 2007.

Love to all. Even you, the 20-ish girls in Grand Central station wearing way too much bling and way too little skirts.

Yay, I'm not a hypochondriac!

So, I went to the doctor's. He was like: you need strong antibiotics and albuterol, like, right now. Does anyone else out there fell vindicated when the Doctor tells you it's a good thing you came in, and don't wait next time?

I sure do.

Love to all. Even you, critter.

An Iraqi woman's persective.

I read this just now. I'm still processing it. It's terribly sad.

I've said it before: George Bush has taken this country's greatest recent chance for generating enormous amounts of worldwide goodwill (the tragedy of September 11, 2001), and turned it into a sick, twisted, hate-filled and murderous disaster -- from OUR side.

Every time George Bush talks about anything "Faith-based," I want to throw up. It just seems the height of hypocrisy.

Love to all. Even you, operator.

p.s. This is quite sobering, as well.

Mild collapse.

I've been running on piss-poor combination of 4.5 hours of sleep, Excedrin, and Robitussin CF for the last three days. I'm exhausted.

We completed the move from my place on 11th Street the new offices on 41st and Madison. Bye-bye East Village!

I don't understand one of my employees, sometimes. I like her a lot, and she's incredibly nice and honest and works really hard... but she also can be really needy.


Like, we had discussed her coming by on the Sunday before Christmas, because she was going to be in the nearby towns looking at houses... and she did call that day, but it didn't work out. But then she called me on Christmas Day to see if we were busy... even though she knew we were having a family over.

Like, today, knowing I'm dog-tired and completely fighting with a URI, she asked me if I would drive her home to 96th street so I could come meet her cats. She didn't actually want a ride (she declined). She only wanted one if I was going to go see her cats. And when I said that I didn't want to park my van with my stuff from the move in it, she said: "You don't have to come in."

Was she going to bring her cats OUT?

I know this sounds like nothing, but it's kind of cumulative. I can't explain it better right now, in my sickity-sick state.


Anyway: I feel calm enough to get sick now. My chest hurts, and I'm lying in bed, writing this, about to watch Dead Man's Chest.

Love to all. Even you, the toothless pedestrian crossing 14th street on a major, time-consuming slant.

Era.

My company is closing tomorrow.

It's been four years since we opened... almost to the day. And these last four years are, I think, the years where I finally grew up a little. I got sober again, I got married again, I learned a whole ton about love, lust, faith, pain, and hurt.

Mostly, though, I learned one thing: I have got to get over myself.

Life is easier when I realize that I'm not such a big deal. That my problems are petty and my joys should be shared and if I can make the people around me feel somewhat happier, then things pretty much rock.

I've done this before. Sort of. I sold my last company in 2000 for something in the very-low seven figures, and promptly lost most of what I got in the stock market crash in 2001. Live and learn. The difference, this time, is that I'm going to be the largest (albeit minority) owner in the new company. I'm going to have partners. Instead of working for the people who bought my company, I'm going to be part owner of a whole new deal. And THAT is pretty exciting.

My title doesn't change: "President & Technical Evangelist." But I have partners, more employees, and a much more complicated social and corporate environment to navigate.

I'm worried. And excited. And scared. And I'll let you know how it goes.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who just LOVES Chad Pennington.

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

A little Wii baseball action at Clan Championable.

Life is a little crazy right now. My chest hurts, I'm fighting off a sinus infection. I'm trying to get this new company off the ground. Maggie is out for a while. My daughter is seriously disrespecting her mother. My oldest is taking WAY too much candy.

And life is just fine.

I need to go upstairs, give my two youngest a bit of Dimetapp, give my youngest Pulmocort, take some advil, put the two youngest down, take some Robitussin, and go to bed. That's a lot of drugs. Ah, seasonal sickness.

Love to all. Even you, the 42 year old guy who hasn't unpacked his stuff six months after moving into his own apartment.

What is love?

"To love someone is to have them in your heart.
And I have you in my heart, Daddy.
...
...
And Mimi."
- My youngest boy. Age 5.

Mimi, of course, if one of the dogs.

Love to all. Even you, the old lady sleeping upstairs.

Merry Christmas from Clan Championable.*

From my heart to yours.

Love to all. Even you.

* pics by maggie.

*Really* stuck in my head.

For years and years, I hear the same thing when I perform certain actions. For instance:

Whenever I brush my teeth with my Sonicare toothbrush, I hear the Beastie Boys:

Intergalactic planetary, planetary intergalactic.

Whenever I have to type a lot of consecutive spaces on my computer, I always hear (one space per syllable):

I like to be in America!
O.K. by me in America!
Ev'rything free in America
For a small fee in America!

In the first case, it's the note that the toothbrush hits. In the second, I guess it's a pattern thing.

Which brings me to a point of great comfort: I think there's very little chance that I'm going to go crazy. I've been there for a good long time, now.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who realized about 20 years too late that, maybe, taking action to financially support his family is a good idea.

Thought process.

I ran 5.65 miles tonight, then jumped in the shower. I finished up, dried off, and was getting dressed for bed. As I was putting on a t-shirt, it slipped from my hands...

...and my hands were directly above the toilet bowl.

As the t-shirt fell, I immediately felt a twinge of panic, followed immediately by "Oh, crap. This sucks." Hot on the heels of that thought was "Shit. Did I just pee in that bowl?" Then: "No, it's relatively clean." And then: "But you know, if I drop my shirt into a bowl full of pee, thats pretty hilarious."

Then I caught the shirt. Event averted.

Love to all. Even you, my shifty friend with the contagious grin.

State of the Richie (and company)

• I'm officially closing my company and forming a new one with partners. Next week is the last operating week of my firm. Oh. My. God.
  
• Mimi has fully recovered from her emergency room visit. While they initially detected nothing wrong, it turned out she had eaten a sock. Yeah, you read that right. A SOCK. Did you know that dogs-eating-socks are the #1 reason for emergency room visits by dogs? Neither did I. And frankly, I'm not sure if I believe it.
• Maggie is officially 40. Last night, it was a Catch-22 of husbandhood wherein she was a little irritable and tired and reading... and therefore didn't want to talk to me... but she kept saying "'I'm SO old." And when I tried to soothe her, she said "SHHH!" Alas.

How are you?

Love to all. Even you, the lady who kept speaking to her blackberry about how it functioned.

Snippets.

Snippet I:

Youngest: Dad, you gassed!
Me: No, I didn't.
Youngest: Fine. You farted.


Snippet II:
Youngest: Dad, I want to get dressed like you.
Me: Fine, but don't put your underwear on your head.

Love to all. Even you, whoever got into a fight with the parking attendant at the wedding yesterday.

Real quick, part II.

Just got back from a wedding. One of the partners in my new business just got married, for the first time, at age 45.

With the exception of my own, it was the best wedding I've ever attended. It was emotional, funny, heartwarming, the band rocked, and I made Maggie really happy by dancing with her. I don't like dancing all that much, but when I saw how happy it made her when I made an attempt, I stayed on the dance floor for a lot longer than I think she expected.

The groom. Well, the groom should pretty much be dead.

The groom had done a lot of drugs in the past. A lot of DIFFERENT drugs. And even when he was brought down by a heart attack, stroke, and anyeurism... he kept doing them. Hell, for over 20 years, the guy had tried and failed to clear up his act.

But, like will happen in AA, he got involved, got his shit together, and has been sober for a few years, now. It's incredible to see.

There were about 10 of us from my home group in Manhattan, and seeing all these people I love SO MUCH, and then meeting all of their SPOUSES... holy crap. It was fun.

Happiness.

Love to all. Even you, the huge dude who, it turned out, didn't know the woman with who he, er, "dirty danced."

Real quick.

We just had our family holiday party. It's an annual thing that also doubled as an unannounced birthday party for Maggie. She's turning 40 on Monday.

I'm tired.

I just wanted to say, though, how totally awesome it was to have 50 people to our house... neighbors, old friends, people we've met through our kids... all coming over to drink a little, eat a little, and genuinely share cheer and happiness.

I'm living a blessed life.

Love to all. Even you, the folks I wish were here, but weren't.

Salesperson, meet your boss.

After explaining to me the details of a conversation she had with a client, I asked my new salesperson if she had brought pixie dust to the meeting.

(I am the one on the right.)

Love to all. Even you, the flip-flopping client.

Oh, Mimi.

My dog started hacking and coughing and making gross noises at around 12:30am... she was having some breathing trouble, so Maggie called the Animal Emergency center to bring her in. Maggie's been sick, so I said "You call, I'll go."

Naturally, as she was calling, Mimi got better. Playful, even. So I took her downstairs to wait and see if she started hacking again. At about 1am, she started hacking again, so I got her in the van and took her to the 24-hour vet.

And here it sit. Right now, they're x-raying my Flat-Coated Retriever to see what the hell she ate this time.

Love to all. Even you, you sweet, crazy puppy.

This is getting a little TOO obvious.

Another day, another evangelical minister who hates homosexuals but turns out to be gay.

Look. Real men don't care who you love. Or who you bang. As long as everyone involved is a grownup.

Love to all. Even you, Reverend Barnes.

I've been saying this for years.

I've always held the view that the second amendment applies to "well governed militias." Now, some folks in Washington DC are taking the same view. Interesting to see what happens. The only thing about this that bothers me, though, is that I had always assumed this angle had been thoroughly case-tested. I mean, those words are IN the amendment. Has nobody challenged home ownership of handuns based on the wording of the actual amendment prior to last week?

If so, that's baffling...
If so, shame on me for assuming otherwise.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Heston.

Joe Kleinerman 10k: 12/10/2006

Time: 45:19
Pace: 7:12
Total: 641/4895
Guys: 566/2599

About 3 miles in, I felt the same sort of tearing in my left calf that I felt during the little race I ran on Thanksgiving. This time, though, I slowed it down a little and didn't try to push through it. By halfway through the fourth mile, I was able to pick it up again. It only hurts a little now. Phew.

Shower time.

Love to all. Even you, the burping dude who said "That was not my intention."

Ha!

We wore out the 22-year-old. She's staying behind to take a nap while I pick up my youngest from a party and Maggie brings my daughter to another.

Ha!

Love to all. Even you, the 4 cops who pulled over that one dude.

Lines? What lines?

My assistant / office manager is having mega-boyfriend issues. There's various issues of trust, potential alcoholism, verbal abusiveness, etc. It's the kind of thing that happens to everyone at some point, and the question always is: stay or go.

My opinion on THAT isn't really the point of this post.

The point is that Maggie and I invited her up to tony Westchester for a weekend getaway, where she can escape the drama, experience the "old people's" lifestyle, and basically just have a weekend of non-pressure. Does this totally obliterate the line between work and home? Ayup. The good thing is, I've pretty heavily examined my motives on this one, and I feel totally awesome about having her up for the weekend.

She's 22 years old... Which means she's WAY closer in age to my son than me, and equidistant to my daughter and me. Once she arrived in the house, she pretty much hooked up with the kids, and has gone off to play. I've checked in once or twice, and I'm definitely not needed in that crowd right now. In fact, there's already been a little bit o' tension between my oldest son and the other two kids over who is taking up too much of her time.

Twenty-two is so very, very in between. It's an unbelievably powerful, funny, tragic and interesting age.

Anyway. I'm sitting in the kitchen, having a nice cup of coffee, and writing this... in the background I hear happy screams and peals of laughter from the basement, where my assistant and my three kids are playing Super Smash Brothers on the GameCube.

I'm feeling all of my 37 years, and that's pretty much exactly where I want to be.

Love to all.

A mild case of the "fuck 'em"s.

I don't think I pluralized that correctly. Alas.

I tend to put people on pedastals: sponsors, friends, family. I think that they've got it together, and that they're always going to give me clear, untainted advice, and that they'll live their lives in outstanding fashion, setting a clear example for me to follow.

Yeah. That's supersmart thinking, there. But I do this regardless of how many events to the contrary occur.

We all know this. Pedestals lead, unversally, to disappointment... because nobody has their shit together. But that, my friends, is a huge-ass relief.

What I, Rich-At-Fucking-Championable-Dot-Com, need to do is close the gaps between realizing that everyone is somewhat fucked up, realizing that I am somewhat fucked up, and that it doesn't really matter in the end. Shit, it's because we're all a bit fucked up that life is such a wonderful and weird parade of delightful little experiences.

The things I've done wrong, would I trade them in for a less fucked-up past? With one real exception, no.

Anyway. This was something of a stream-of-consciousness post. Forgive me.

Love to all. Even you, the building security guard with the amazing glare who, for some reason, thought I was trying to bypass the ID system.

NYC goes big.

Big government, that is.

New York City just banned trans-fats in its restaurants. I'm completely blown away by this. I mean, my God, NYC is supposed to be a progressive city... a modern city... a SMART city. But for some reason, this liberal metropolis decided to allow the government to dictate what it's allowed to eat. It BANNED an ingredient because it's NOT HEALTHY.

That's fucking madness. The same kind of madness as motorcycle helmet laws. I mean, look: when you want to regulate things, you have to logic-test it to its most intrusive conclusion. And as far as I can tell, once you start banning ingredients based on healthfulness, you're giving the government permission to mandate people's diets in total. It's the logical extension of the law.

Look. If people want to kill themselves without harming other people, that's their business. We don't need the government run our lives for us at this level.

And please. Don't try and give me the logic that lessens the public burden via medical treatment for heart diseases, diabetes, etc. If you logic-test THAT one, think of how many
things you've have to ban because the public would be safer overall if it was disallowed.

Love to all. Even you, the big guy on the Metro North train scraping who was rubbing mud on the seat in front of him.

Whole Foods market, Union Square, NYC.

Or what, exactly?

Love to all. Even you, whoever patrols the floor.

Will. Not. Throw. Through. Wall.

When you're experiencing small-business panic at 3:30 in the morning and decide to do some of the common computer maintenance you sometimes forget to do, this is the LAST thing you want to see when you're troubleshooting software.

The tech support site needs, um, tech support.

Love to all.

Brother.

Hey.

Haven't talked to you in, Jesus, three-and-half years now. I gotta admit, bro', you totally caught me by surprise when you went along with Dad's craziness. Especially after we talked about what he did with our Uncle, and our Grandmother. Shit, dude. He didn't talk to THEM for 15, 18 years apiece. The same thing over two generations.

And now, of course, it's three.

What bothers me most, though, is that you know that I think he's a good person with problems, not a bad person overall. But you still made the decisions you did. Other people have explained to me why, but their reasoning seems so sad and small and petty. What a waste of time and potential joy. Anyway.

If I could saying anything to you today, brother, I'd just say:

Happy 40th birthday.

Love to all. Even you, Josh.

Everything is porn.

I spend a couple of hours this afternoon hanging these really cool and sparkly light globes on one of the trees in the front yard. Maggie peaked out at them after it got dark. Our two youngest kids were in the room with us.

M: Those sparkly balls look really amazing.
R: There are more in the bedroom.
M: Really?
R: Yup. Two. I think you should check them out. Extensively.
M: {that "Rich, you are SO thirteen" look.}

To me, everything has porn potential. It's just the way it is.

Love to all. Even you, the neighbor with the tech issues.

Run run run run run run run run run run

Maggie emailed me our schedule for the weekend. It was a fairly extensive email. I've got 17 minutes until Go Time. Sometimes, I feel like I go to work to relax.

Now, I'm NOT complaining at all. I'm actually more psyched about life than I've been in some time... and I was never particularly down on it.

RIGHT NOW: my ten year old is holding two plastic lightsabers and waiting for me to beat the crap out of him. I'm cutting this post short.

Love to all. Even you, the stupid friends-of-my-employee who ruined her bowling party.

Hell, yes.

Today, things went right and wrong and I'm COMPLETELY psyched about it.

I took my new salesperson to the WRONG building, even though it was the only address on their website. Then, I took my new salesperson to the RIGHT building for our next appointment. I was nervous about looking like an idiot in front of her. Just before the client came in we had this conversation:

Her: What are you going to say?
Me: I have no idea.
Her: You don't know what you're going to talk about?
Me: Not the slightest.

Then the client came in, and we had a really great conversation. On the way out, I asked how I did, and she said: "You were amazing."

So that felt good.

But what was even better was that when we were on the way back to the office she said to me: "You're kind of a happy person in general, aren't you?" And I thought about it for a minute, really thought about it, and said:

"Yeah. I really am."

Love to all. Even you, the discredited police officer with the serious jealousy issues.

The day turns weird.

New employee started today. It seems that she might completely rock in a totally new way. I think that one of my people was a tad nervous about the new hire, even though they are doing completely different things. And when this person gets nervous, she gets a little needy. Normally, that's not a problem. Today, though, I was really focused on getting the new hire up to speed. I was really explicit about this, too.

Gotta work on those management skills, I guess.

Came home early to go the dermatologist to see if there was anything to treat my AssFace. Hee. I realize that makes no sense, but I just felt like writing that. Anyway. I came home early to see the dermatologist about getting a Narrowband UV Lamp for my house. Since UV is the only thing that really truly works for this crap, I tend towards tanning salons (which have a lot of the wrong kind of light). But I'm definitely getting too old to bake myself that way, so I'm going the medical route. Turns out, I have to do their onsite UV treatment for like two months before my insurance will cover an at-home thing. Bummer, bummer drag. Especially because the doc is near my house, and I work in Manhattan.

Anyway. Left the Doc's, went to my car, and the car alarm went off. Couldn't figure it out. I thought maybe the battery had died, and reset the alarm state. (There's precedent for this.) Called Maggie, who came with jumpers. (Bless her heart, because she had a friend over.) But they didn't help. The alarm just kept blaring, resetting, blaring, resetting etc. The kill switch was useless.

THEN, just before we left the car to call a tow truck, I noticed that the wires to the alarm's killswitch had been disconnected. I didn't have strippers, nor did I think the length of wire remaining would allow me to reconnect 'em, so I left. We'll get the car tomorrow.

Got home, the ceiling is leaking. The feed from one of the loos is faulty.

Then the diswasher detergent dispenser broke.

Then Maggie went to bed sick.

Then my daughter gave me attitude for like, three hours.

Then I wrote this.

Love to all. Even you, the vigorously smoking nurse standing just outside the doctor's office.

Bookend productivity.

Why is it that I can get so much more done between 6:30 and 9am... and then between 5:30 and 8pm... than during any other parts of the day?

I don't get it.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who thinks covering his mouth somehow makes his cellphone call inaudible.

Serenity can wait.

In AA, we talk about serenity a lot. There's the serenity prayer, which is said after most meetings... there's lots of discussion about meditation (which is part of the 11th step)... and you'll often hear comments form folks about getting serenity, having their serenity blown, etc.

Well. I'm not ready for serenity just yet.

My sponsor fired me. Nicely. He thinks that our lives had become a bit too intertwined for him to be able to give me good advice. I agree. He's a good guy and I love him, but I was starting to find his behavior and advice a bit hypocritical and not in my best interest.

This had been coming for about six months, I think.

My ex-sponsor recommended a replacement. It was a terrible recommendation. He suggested this guy (who I know and like) because the guy has been sober for a while, and was looking for a sponsee. That's fine, but the guy also has terrible marital troubles, and the one thing I'm looking for in a sponsor is someone who has found a way to make marriage work.

And work well.

I have a new sponsor already. Someone I'd been thinking about asking for while. A guy I thought of as my backup sponsor anyway. So that's good. He's a different kind of AA person. Less of a fundamentalist and more of a balance-is-everything kind of guy.

Which is where I need to be, I think. I'm not going to hit a meeting day, seven days a week. I think if I hit four or so, I'm in fine shape. I think that AA needs to be an important part of my life.. a CRITICAL part of my life, but it the operative word here is, of course, "part."

I started back at my old home group this morning. I hadn't been there in about three months. It was scary and nervewracking and utterly delightful. The other meetings I've gone to have been fine, mostly, but home is where the heart is... and for me, that's The Breakfast Club. 7:30am. Manhattan.

Serenity can wait. I'll take stability.

Love to all. Even you, the angry young man worried about his "stalker."

Whoops!

I was thinking it was my template modifications that stopped me from switching to the Blogger beta, but I was wrong. Now I have to re-edit my template.

Poop.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in BJ's wholesale who was saying "No, that's STUPID." to his wife/companion/other over and over again.

Everything.

This is pretty much my whole life, right here.

Love to all.

My first "win."

So, my awsome neighbor's parents have a charity race every year. It's a 3.5 mile run through parts of Westchester County, NY. You bring canned food, you run the race, you go home, you make pies. This is the first year I ran. There were about 20 people running. Usually there are more, but I think weather inhibited quite a few.

When I finished the race, there wasn't anybody outside to meet me. It was freezing cold and raining, so this is understandable. So I went inside the hosts' house and yelled "HEY! Anybody home?" They were like "What? You're done?" About four or five minutes later, the next runner arrived.

The funny thing was, I actually hurt my calf AND had to stop and ask for directions. I'm feel very validated about being an actual runner vs. someone going for a run.

So now I'm home, and I have an enormous chocolate turkey to give the kids. They're very happy I won.

Rock it.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who tried to tell me that being a marathoner was a disadvantage.

True art.

My five-year-old ran into kitchen and said: "Dad! Dad! Come look what I made!"

I went and looked.

He smiled: "I made an ENVELOPE!"

Love to all. Even you, the sad-eyed woman resignedly chatting up her Mom.

Subtle.

I'm slowing down on my AA meetings. Calling AA people less than normal. Instead of giong to 7:30am meetings, I'm getting to work by 6:30 and doing database work and data entry and generally fretting about the impending merger.

I have to regain balance.

At work, I am stressed to the max and acting stupid-silly at the same time. One of the people who works for the landlord saw me in the hallway and said I looked "furious." These are all bad signs.

When I look furious but don't know it... that's a bad sign.

Maggie just called. We have a babysitter tonight, and I'm going to her home group with her. I guess, even though that's the opposite of what I want to do, that's exactly what I need right now.

Love to all. Even you, the guy to my right who keeps watching the movie playing on my screen.

NYC Marathon ->2007<-

I just qualified for the 2007 NYC marathon with my 9th race of the year: the "Race to Deliver" in NYC's Central Park.

Pace: 6:55
Gender Place: 286 out of 2424
Total Place: 312 out of 5093
Age Place: 127 out of 932

My shin splints were killing me the whole time, but fortunately it was only a 4 mile race. I'm pretty psyched to have done under 7 minutes under those conditions.

Anyway. I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies with my two youngest, then start cooking dinner: daddy's special tacos for everyone!

Love to all. Even you, the dude who accidentally spit on the nice and speedy lady behind me.

Bush to women: fuck off and die.

Always the optimist, I thougth that the elections might have sent President Bush a signal that he might want to moderate his insanely divisive stances a wee bit.

Oops.

Instead, President Bush appointed an ANTI-CONTRACEPTION ACTIVIST to oversee Federal reproductive / family planning services. We're not just talking anti-abortion-rights, we're talking anti-contraception. Anti-birth control.

Holy shit.

It's more than an insult. This guy's policies will kill some women, and ruin the lives of countless others. From my perspective, putting this person in charge is nothing short of crimial collusion.

Add it to Bush's ever-growing list of crimes.

Love to all. Even you, whoever answers the phone at (866) 435-7292.

Luckiest. Boss. Ever.

How cool is it that my staff likes to videoconference, even though we're only separated by about 6 feet? Very.

Love to all. Even you, the lady in the SUV who forgot to share the road with runners.

Stupid blogger image posting.

Grrr.

Love to all.

Sage advice that I’ve always ignored.

“You can’t be friends with your employees,” I’ve been told. And that may be true.

There’s a clearly structural reason for this: the employee is inherently unable to be truly an “equal” friend, because their livelihood depends on their boss being happy with their contribution to the firm. That contribution consists of work ethic, work quality, and demeanor.

Had a weird thing today where my friend/employee actually pissed me off, because she wasn’t listening to me when I tried to show her something on the computer. Her reason: she didn’t know I was serious because I joke around so much. Fair enough. But what that means, from a functional perspective, is that I shouldn’t joke around nearly as much, or at least in the way that I normally do.

Her other reason: she thought she could do what I was going to show her better than I could. I tried to explain that even if this was true, it doesn't matter.

Am I an idiot? Should I try to be less me at work?

Because what frustrated me more, though, is the same thing that I’ve run into throughout my thirteen years as an exceedingly minor corporate magnate: my silliness detracts from my ability to lay down the law. Or at least get folks to listen to me. I kept trying to convince this person that I was serious, and they kept insisting I was joking. It’s pretty clear to me that I was being fucked with (in what I believe to be nice-intentioned way), but it annoyed the shit out of me.

It’s a difficult thing, bouncing back and forth between friendly camaraderie and “hold on, I’m your boss.”

Hell, maybe it’s impossible. I’m going to think this over a bit. Especially since I have three employees now, and that should increase to five over the next year.

Love to all. Even you, the guy reading the “Nelson DeMille” book who keeps, um, adjusting himself.

The End.

I sometimes feel like I'm trying to create a Short Story Life.

Instead of a somewhat linear, start-to-finish kind of thing, I'm creating a compilation of essays. Family I. Company II. True Love I. Settling Down I. Drunken Decade II: Return of the Blackouts. True Love II. Adventures in Misguided Friendships. Etc.

I divide my life into separate phases, and once one a phase is over, I don't reconnect with it too much. With rare exception, I don't talk to any childhood friends. I don't talk to my "college buddies." I'm not in touch with my old bandmates. You see the pattern, here. The only exception seems to be ex-employees. There's two that I consider friends, and they'll get in touch with me if I don't get in touch with them.

Living a life as a coherent novel feels scary and overwhelming. It might be because I don't want to be able to trace my life back to childhood that I've created these phases. Or, I could be just like everyone else and just have a fucked up brain. I don't know.

There are a few people in my life, outside of my family, who I have come to love. I'm going to try, this time, not to cut them loose. I might not be ready to live my life as a novel, but maybe I can extend this phase to a novella.

How's that for beating a metaphor until it's dead?

Love to all. Even you, the dude in corduroy who's should really wipe his nose.

A seminal moment.

My son and I are watching The Matrix. How did he get old enough for this to happen?

Love to all. Even you, Agent Smith.

Dipshit McGoo.

Stupid, stupid competitor, trying to scope me out like he's a potential client.

DAMN.

Love to all. Even you, "Sal."

Who knew?

The Bill W. Dinner Dance is a huge, black-tie-optional affair at the New York Hilton, and it's the only major fundraising activity of the New York Intergroup of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's hilarious because thousands and thousands of the most hardcore drinkers and drug users on the planet are dressed to the nines (in whatever that means for them: tux, kilt, cross-dressing, elegant-punk, nearly nothing, etc), and...

and...

NOBODY GETS SHITFACED.

That alone is worth the price of admission. To stand up, look across this HUGE room, and see thousands of sober people having an absolute blast just kicks ass.

Maggie and I went for the second year in a row. The highight of the dinner certainly isn't the food, which defines "acceptable," but rather the speakers. There are three, and they've all been chosen from folks who were nominated.

This year's speakers weren't all that great. Nice people, but not nearly as engaging as the folks last year.

But that's not why we left early.

After 11 years of marriage, I found out last night that Maggie gets exceptionally uncomfortable in social circumstances. I don't get this, because Maggie is one of the most capable people I know. I also don't get this because I didn't KNOW this. And WHY I didn't know this is puzzling me at this very moment.

I was watching Maggie a bit during the speakers, and she looked a little pained. I asked "do you want to go?" She did. So inbetween speakers, we left.

It bugs me that I didn't know this about Maggie. How could I not?

Anyway: I'm going to lift weights and run now. A friend of mine made me a CD, so I'm going to listen through it again for deep, encoded meaning (it's like a leftover high-school instinct to do that), and to see if I've gotten so old that I can't recognize a single band on a CD compiled by someone born in the 80's.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who I truly hope to see at the Bill W. Dinner a few years from now.

Late Late Late Late Late Late.

We're supposed to have left for the Bill W. dinner dance five minutes ago.

Where, oh where, is the babysitter?

Love to all.

I agree with George W. Bush

"Whatever your opinion of the outcome, all Americans can take pride in the example our democracy sets for the world by holding elections even in a time of war," he said.

And you know what? He's right.

Love to all. Even you, the boys who walked right onto the soccer field during the final quarter of the girls' game.

Dear Republicans.

Now that my party has won the House and Senate, I think it's important that you know something.

I treasure you. And no matter how much I disagree with you... no matter how wrong I think you are, I will never, EVER, accuse you of being unpatriotic. You have every right to think how you think... and even if I think you are absolutely wrong about something, I will defend your right to express that opinion.

It's the American way.

Shout out to Ms. Britt for reminding me to write this.

Love to all. Even you, Dick.

Aim low.

When using a urinal in an elementary school, it is important to remember that they are designed for tiny people. Else, you might accidentally pee on the wall.

Love to all. Even you, the Fox News spin machine.

Too much, too late, two years.

So, the evening is shaping up to be a good one for American Democrats.

I don't know, though. I worry that the Democrats will take the house, maybe even the senate, and spend two years fighting Bush to a draw... only to lose the House again. I'm worried that the next two years will be just what the Republicans need to regroup. Their President can stalemate the legislative branch just long enough to make the Dems look ineffective... and the Republicans will use that time to position themselves as the more moderate alternative to Bush and the more effective alternative ot the Dems.

After six years of Bush shitting on the environment, the Constitution, human rights, and our own troops... after Bush losing every ounce of goodwill the world felt towards us after 9/11... I just worry that two years of legislative/executive stalemate is exacty what the Republicans want...

...and exactly what this nation doesn't need.

Love to all. Even you, Senator Santorum.

I get no respect.

An IM conversation between me and my assistant/Office Manager. "Omnidazzle" is a computer utility that lets your cursor sprinkle pixie dust. It looks better on a MacBook Pro than on a MacBook. But it looks cool on both. I have a MacBook Pro. She has a MacBook.

I am the person on the right.


I love this kid. And I don't feel guilty about saying "kid" because: 1) she's exactly in between my daughter and me, age-wise, and 2) she constantly tells me I'm old.

Love to all. Even you, the Mom who's letting her kid hang from the luggage racks.

Dear USA: Vote.

Or it's your own damn fault.

Love to all.

Toot.

You know, it occurred to me that maybe I can give up a little of the self doubt.

I mean, I run a pleasant little company that's about to merge with a bigger one. I just ran the NYC marathon. I'm an alcoholic, but I don't drink. My wife likes me. My kids don't think I completely suck. Shit, man. Even if things tank, I've done a fairly decent job.

It might be the post-mararthon endorphines, but I'm feeling pretty good.

So why do I feel guilty saying that?

Anyway.

There's a LOT more I want to write about tonight, but my son is waiting for me.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who drank two Foster's on the train, then drove home.

I'm not dead.

Phew.

Finished the marathon in 3:45.

I'm really happy with the fact that I had negative splits every 5k from start to finish... I ended the race at a pace over a minute-per-mile faster than I started. And I finished at a full-on sprint. Sometimes, I doubt my own sanity.

Rock. Fucking. On.

Going to sleep now. My calves are *killing* me.

Love to all. Even you, the people who STOPPED on the finish mats.

As it is written...

Leaving for NYC in 2 hours. Just wrote out my shirt.

Then, magic hippie lady, bath, nap, pasta.

Have I said "YIKES!" yet?

Love to all.

THIS is new.

My oldest just yelled "Dad, help!"

I went upstairs, and he said: "I just stepped in an enormous puddle of glue."

And so he did. An large, full bottle of Elmer's glue somehow emptied itself under Maggie's desk. And Maggie is asleep.

Cleanup time.

Bleah.

Love to all.

p.s. Maggie and I made up. Phew

Nerves, and the worst play EVER.

Maggie took me to see a play last night. Her friend was in it.

Her friend was okay. He would be pretty good if parts were written for him. The play sucked. I mean SUCKED. I mean: was really bad. Terrible writing, terrible acting, terrible blocking, lighting, sound... the audience was groaning.

...then, on the way home, Maggie and I got into a huge argument.

It was one of those stupid, stupid things involving details about soccer this weekend, and the marathon. I get really annoyed when things are left to the last minute, and when I'm asked to provide information that 1) I've already provided repeatedly or 2) That could easily be discovered in the time it takes to ask me to go and find out.

Clearly, though, the level of my reaction was fear-based. I'm pretty terrified about the marathon tomorrow. I'm scared I won't finish, that I'll miss the bus, etc.

I'm just scared about the whole thing.

Anyway: my back hurts, my chest hurts, and I feel like I'm bordering on the onset of a patent-pending Bronchial Event.

That must mean I'm totally ready to run.

I leave in about 4 hours for Manhattan, then no computer until Sunday afternoon *after* the race. I'll try to say bye before I go.

Love to all. Even you, playwright.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have an agreement.

It's in the lawyer's hands now. Almost.

Today, I decided to fold my company into a larger firm. We agreed to basic numbers, percentages, etc. Our tentative launch date is January 1. We want to have an agreement in writing within two weeks.

Yikes.

But you know what? I don't care right now. I'm more excited about the marathon. Less than two days until I'm a-runnin'!

I'm totally, completely stoked.

Rock ON.

Love to all. Even you, the "Bid D" cashier with crazy stare.

Another anti-gay crusader is... gay.

How many examples of this do we need to see?

So often, it seems that the most virulently anti-gay people are, well, gay. But they have been trained to think that being gay is bad, so they turn anti-gay to hide the fact that they are gay.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Gay is neutral. It's not good, or bad, or right, or wrong. It's just a way of being.

Damn, folks? Don't we have bigger issues to worry about than which kind of love is the right kind of love? Among consenting adults, love is love is love is love is love.

Sheesh.

Love to all.

New York Marathon: Fully equipped, baby.

I went to the Jacob Javitz center today to get my number. I met my friend Lisa, who is not the Lisa I miss, and is not my blog friend Lisa, but who IS a super-nice person, my former neighbor in Brooklyn, my Marathon companion for the Philadelphia Marathon in 2004, and the person who has run more marathons than anyone else I know. Lisa's awesome because she knows everything there is to know about marathons. From immodium to epsom salts to permanent markers to disposable clothing to the worlds longest urinal... she knows everything, and she's fun to chit-chat with, too.

Weirdly, we only hang out at marathons.

Anyway: the Javitz center was overwhelming. So much stuff. I bought stuff I needed: Gu, disposable gloves and jacket... and stuff I didn't: three different commemerative shirts.

I'm getting REALLY excited.

Oh. And I think I'm going through with the merge. I'll know by 10am tomorrow morning.

Love to all. Even you, the bulldog with the control issues.

Four minutes.

From this post, some well meaning folks gave me advice about my Father. It was very sweet of people to suggest I "just call" my Dad, but I don't think the folks who gave me that advice understand the picture.

My father is a sociopath.

I don't say this lightly. I love the guy. I believe that he's got a good heart, and if he isn't focused on you as the Evil One, then he's nice to be around. But if he turns on you, it's total, overwhelming, and can last for decades. And he never let's up. Shut him out (like we did, after we called the police on him)... but he's still out there seething. He anger does not subside.

An example.

A couple of years after we stopped talking, a relative of mine sent an email to a group of people saying that they'd arrived in their new home safely. My parents were one of the folks on the email list.

Knowing my father's psychology, I decided to take a chance and "accidentally" reply-to-all, with a little note to my relative saying how happy I was they arrived safely, and giving a little update on how the kids were. That way, if my father received the note and wanted to reply, he could. But if he didn't, he could just delete it, since it was clearly an "accident."

I sent the email.

Four minutes later I had an email back, threatening my wife and father-in-law with criminal prosecution (too crazy to explain in this post) if I ever emailed him again. Keep in mind, we hadn't spoken in years at this point.

Four minutes.

Four. Fucking. Minutes.

Love to all.

Work, stress, running, stress.

Three hours with the magic hippie lady. I can't believe she spent that much time trying to fix me up. Then again, she charged me.

I'm riding the 8:22 train back to Westchester, and my mind is reeling.

The deal to merge my company with Bigger Company is at a very weird point. In an offhanded way, the other person (Ms. X) who'd be joining the merged firm mentioned that she would work for me directly, if things didn't work out with the Bigger Company.

Casually, then, she blew my mind.

Here's the order of events.

1. Bigger Company tries to hire Ms. X directly. Fails. She's not interested.
2. After they couldn't hire her, Bigger Company suggests I try to hire Ms. X. I fail. We're a little small, and she doesn't knows us well enough to make the leap.
3. Bigger Company wants to open a new division consisting of my firm and Ms. X. She'll joing the division if I go. I'll join if she goes.
4. During the negotiation process, Ms. X gets to know me, and my kick-ass little staff. She becomes willing to join us directly.

So what the fuck am I supposed to do? There's plusses to both sides, but I don't see the point of joining Bigger Company at a minority ownership level if I can create something bigger, better, stronger, etc., at my own little firm.

So I'm thinking about it. And so is she. I told her that she really had to think over whether she'd come to my company or not, and give me an honest answer, so I can go to Bigger Company and tell them that the deal's off.

And Bigger Company wants to sew this up this week. Ag.

Also, the marathon is in four days. Nerves.

Also, the guy next to me is using a black MacBook, and I thought it was a PC with a sticker. I swear.

Also, I miss my friend Lisa a lot.

Also, I find the group of dudes at this downtown meeting I go to a tad intimidating.


Love to all. Even you, the guy in front of me who was super nice when I sat down, but apparently has some form of Tourette's.

p.s. The house in Vermont fell through because there was serious degradation of the support sills. As in, rot. Gross. Sorry I forgot to mention that, Anonymous Commenter!

Poland Spring Marathon Kickoff - not bad!

Ran my first race in months, and did better than I thought I would!

I came in the top 25% of men, running a 7:18/mile pace for 5 miles.

This means that I can add 1:15/mile, and that should be a nice, comfortable pace for the NYC Marathon this Sunday.

I hope.

I REALLY hope.

Love to all. Even you, the supermarket employee with the bad and completely unobstructed cough.

The folks I miss right now.

Shh.

Hey Mom, Dad, Josh, Alex, Craigor, Lisa, Anne, Jac, Al, and Ron... I wish with either hung out more or hung out at all, depending.

...not that anybody on the this list will ever actually read this, but hey... that's life.

Love to all. Especially, um, see above.

Sunday Worries and: Whoops.

I'm heading downtown to run the Poland Spring Marathon Kickoff five mile race, but before I do it seems I've got time for a little self-pity and panic: I forgot we were setting the clocks back last night.

I've been running the numbers:

• What I get paid at work on a W4 basis.
• What the business pays for that I would have to pay for if I merged my firm.
• Loans from/to the business that have to be evened up.

And, silly as it makes me feel to report, it turns out I've been doing a hell of a lot better than I thought I've been doing. Which means there needs to be a huge upside in order for me to go through with this whole process.

Which means I'm panicking. Although for really positive reasons.

I want to do the right thing by my family. And myself. If I can get my kids' college paid for BEFORE they go to college, then rock on. But I'm also afraid of fucking things up.

This is one of those times I wish my Dad and I spoke. As it stands, I don't have anyone in my life who I feel I can talk to about business things... whose opinion I would value nearly as much as I would my father's.

In fact, one of the reasons I'm interested in merging my company is because I want to share the responsibility for generative thought. For the last 10 years, it's been all me, with very little input.

Anyway: my daughter just got up, so I've got to jet.

Love to all. Even you, the post-surgical dude who won't take his pain medication.

Anyway, this post

What *did* Cheney mean?

When Dick Cheney was asked if "a dunk in water is a no-brainer if it can save lives," he said: "Well, it's a no-brainer for me but for a while there I was criticized as being the vice president for torture. We don't torture. That's not what we're involved in."

Okay, readers: What the hell did he mean, then? Answers, please? Seriously.

All Bush said when to comment was: "This country doesn't torture. We're not going to torture."

So what the hell did Cheney MEAN? I don't think asking a suspect to play "bobbing for apples" is going to bring out any relevant info. Right?

Any thoughts would be appreciated.

Love to all. Even you, the crazy guy with the sweaty armpits who it turns out I met three years ago.

The non-apology apology: Rush Limbaugh.

Michael J. Fox, who has pretty severe Parkinsons, campaigns for both Democrats and Republicans who support stem-cell research. Recently, he did a commercial for a Democrat, in which he had highly visible tremors. Rush Limbaugh, caterer-to-the-easily-convinced, accuses Fox of faking his condition (or purposefully going off medication). Lots of people apparently point out to Mr. Limbaugh that he's a misguided pretard.

So he pseudo-apologizes:

So I will bigly, hugely admit that I was wrong, and I will apologize to Michael J. Fox, if I am wrong in characterizing his behavior on this commercial as an act, especially since people are telling me they have seen him this way on other interviews and in other television appearances.

What a fuckhead. "Bigly, hugely?" Talk about ego. That removes any semblance of sincerity right there. And the whole "if I am wrong" thing means, of course, that there's no apology here.

HEY, CONSERVATIVES!! HOW CAN YOU LET THIS GUY REPRESENT YOU?

My God.

Love to all. Even you, the Prius driver who took that turn WAY too fast.

My desk at work.

Miracle Hippie!

Unlike Miss Britt, who's massage experience was, well, less than optimal. I decided to do something novel, and post a Craigslist ad in the Therapeutic section basically saying: "Oh shit, I have a marathon in two weeks, I'm sleeping on the floor because of a bad back, and I need help NOW."

I got two responses back. One from an accupuncture/massage person who seemed very competent, and one from a lady who basically said: "This is precisely what I fix. She went on to explain what she does, which is much more along the lines of re-alignment and release of muscle-memory, vs. tissue-based massage, although she does some of that two." Not rolfing, though, nothing painful. Just figuring out how everything is out of balance, and putting it back.

So I went to see her last night.

Holy SHIT. I left there pain-free for the first time in weeks. And I feel about 85% better this morning, too. I can feel some pain in my back, but I feel like it's muscular, not structural. Really interesting.

The crazy thing was: I almost walked out. Her office was professional, and she was normal enough... but she spent the first twenty minutes talking... and impatient me was thining... "Um... can we put some of this chatter into action, please?" But then she kept me there for another hour and a half, and did an amazing, unbelievable, and for me, unprecedented job.

Going to see her next Thursday, too.

Love to all. Even you, the guy with the wet cough who keeps spitting into his handkerchief.

Floored.

I slept on the floor last night.

No, Maggie wasn't mad at me. I was trying to stop my back from hurting. And it worked, sort of. When I woke up at 4:20am, my back didn't hurt at all. I was freezing, but my back felt okay. In fact, I didn't feel the first twinge until 4:40. And now, at 6:07, it's hurting all the time again... a dull, annoying ache.

But it's a start.

I had the BEST time chatting with my oldest last night. He was hilarious and gorgeous and smart and interesting, and watching him radiate was pure, pure joy.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who was chainsmoking on the train platform.

Fear.

I had a call with one of the partners who wants me to merge my firm with theirs. The partner basically asked me how much of my pre-merger receivables I would be giving them, to help pay for the startup of the company.

The answer, of course, is: "none."

The thing is, it was "none" before, too. And they knew this.

See, I'm one of those peopel who rarely tries to negotiate from anything other than a position of exactly my position. So when people try to change things, it makes me angry. I have to remember that people try to get the best deals for themselves that they can possibly get, even if they want you to do well.

Negotiation is not war. It's a grey area. I must remember this.

Love to all. Even you, you sneaky bastard.

Ready...

...or not, Marathon, here I come.

I just ran 20.3 miles. I decided that I had to. Today. Because if I didn't break the 20-mile barrier, I was going to bail on the NYC Marathon. My back and lungs have ranged from bad to kind-of-bad for the past two months, and I needed to know that I could do it.

Ouch. But I did it.

So for the next two weeks, I'm going to run, stretch, eat better, lift light weights, and get my ass (and other parts) as ready as possible to be one of 37,000 people running on November 5th.

Love to all. Even you, the couple who kept their semi-friendly dog's off leash at Rockefeller State Park.

Reason number 788314 why I love Maggie.

Maggie: "I'm sorry I get depressed every now and then. I know it must be frustrating."

Me: "That's okay. I'm sorry about the 7 years of alcoholic drinking. Oh, and while we're at it, I'm sorry about the 7 years of alcohol-triggered sleepwalking and scary night disturbances."

I continued: "So, um, I guess with your occasional depression... that makes us even?"

Maggie laughed. And that laugh, in its spirit of genuine forgiveness, is reason number 788314. (And no. We're not even.)

Love to all. Even you, the strange and tipsy guy who, um, clearly dribbled a bit while in the train's bathroom.

Stream.

Foley.
I'm reading the news about this jackass Congressman Foley revealing the name of an abusive priest to divert attention from being an alleged pseudo-to-real-pedophile, and I'm just completely icked out. I mean, I completely understand how the past can influence the present, but that does NOT remove responsibility. And the timing on this is just disgusting. Talk about playing the victim.

Is anyone surprised that nutjobs on the extreme Right (a more and more useless descriptor, these days) tried to make this a GAY issue vs. a pedophilia issue? Not me.

North Korea.
When John McCain blames the Clinton administration for present-day problems with North Korea, the terrorists win. Oops.

Internet Explorer 7 for Windows XP
Tabbed browsing and RSS! Holy SMOKES! Oh, wait. Firefox (PC/Mac) and Safari have had these features for years.

Iraq.
2800 KIA. How many wounded? Well, at least we got Bin Laden, intervened in Darfur, and got the Korean Peninsula under control. I swear, if I hear President Bush threaten anyone else with "grave consequences," I'm going to... to... well, I'm just going to continue to feel profoundly disappointed with the people in our country for backing this loser.

At this point, if they simply used troops to create and protect a Wall of Iron around the oil fields, and piped the oil directly onto U.S.-flagged tankers, I'd be like "At least we're being honest."

Love.
Well, there's that. In the midst of all this craziness... where the the macro is just so fucked up... I can coach soccer, vote my conscience, try to be nicer to people, listen when I don't feel like listening, not booze it up, pet my dogs, go to AA, date my wife, and do the dishes.

I'm not always sure how much I can do to fix the world. But I can always try to radiate more happiness than anger, love than dismissal, acceptance than spite.

Love to all. Even you, the grumpy 20-something who doesn't understand seat configurations on the train: I see you're trying to look busy, but you're just playing Texas Hold 'Em on your blackberry.

Guns!

Holy crap.

This is what was in the gun closet of the house in Vermont. 38 guns. Approximately. I'd call the guy a collector if they weren't all so moldy. What makes it scarier is the amount of plastic Canadian Club whiskey bottles in the garbage cans.

I just drove a total of 330 miles (after yesterday's 220), so I'm bushed. More details tomorrow, on the house that is not to be ours. Alas.

Yeesh.

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

220 miles later or: Learning from Maggie.

One of the endearing and annoying things about Maggie is that she will often want to change [insert item here] during an outing. This could be a table in a restaurant, a room in a hotel, or a dress for an event. Sometimes, she'll change tables twice. It drives me nuts.

So. I just drove 220 miles to the Ramada in Rutland, VT. It's about an hour from the house, and the inspection is tomorrow morning. When I checked in, the first thing I heard was the squeaking of the bed in the room above me. It wasn't THAT kind of squeaking, but I was thinking: "This is not a good idea." So I called the front desk and asked them to change my room. They moved me to a mini-suite, which is much quieter and three times bigger.

Thank you, thank you, thank you Maggie.

The only thing is: she asked me if I had messed the room up at all... and I said "no." But I realized that actually, I did use the potty. Number one. Neatly. But I didn't correct myself.

Oh, the guilt.

Anyway, I'm here in a hotel room in Vermont. By myself. The last time I was in a hotel room by myself, I was drunk off my ass in San Francisco, and it was 1997-ish. I'm going to hit an AA meeting in Rutland tonight. 8pm. Should be interesting!

Love to all. Even you, the guy doing 45 in a 65, holding EVERYONE up.

Life speeds up. Again.

Okay. So.

I met with the other two owners of the company that wants to take us over. They interviewed my staff, and I'm happy to report that:

My staff like them.
They loved my staff.
They want to bring all three of us over.
Everyone on my staff will likely make more money.

So that's all good. Hell, it's all great. Right now, it's all hinging on a single salesperson from another firm. And frankly, they've made her an offer she'd have to have major personal problems to refuse. So we'll see.

Tomorrow I manage youngest boy's soccer team photo, then coach his game, then manage my daughter's team team photo, then coach her game, then go to the Fordham/Marist game with my in-laws. Plus I need to do a 13-mile run, at minimum.

Sunday I drive to Vermont, for the inspection on the house at 9am on Monday morning.

I don't know why I tend to put so much into play at one time, but I do. But you know, this is all tremendously exciting stuff, and I'm one lucky dude to have so many balls in the air at once.

Rock it.

Love to all. Even you, the drunken boyfriend who should leave my friend alone.

"gay marriages and adoption is it okay?"

To whoever found this blog searching for the phrase: "gay marriages and adoption is it okay?"

I have your answer: Yes. It's okay.

Love to all.

Stupid, Stupid AA.

The problem with Alcoholics Anonymous is that it has little sayings that always, always, always turn out to be absolutely correct.

Today's example is: "Do the next right thing."

This one can ruin all KINDS of bad intentions. Especially when you reduce it to real-time decision making... like when I wanted to leave the meeting early today, I thought "the next right thing is to sit your ass in the chair for another half an hour."

Shit.

Do the next right thing often means: "Don't do anything."

As in: "Don't make that smarmy comment to your wife."
As in: "Don't talk to that woman. You're married."

Other times, it means "Do it NOW."

As in: "Raise your hand and tell this meeting you're sick of AA."
As in: "Call a dude you don't know and invite him to lunch."

I can say that, for the most part, I did the next right thing today.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who put all her crap on the seats, and gave another lady guff for putting *her* bag on the floor.

Wink.

This morning, the Pastor of my Church was walking from the Rectory to the main building when he collapsed and died. He was a sweet man, someone I've had lots of conversations with... some of which were frustrating, some entertaining, and all sincere.

When he prepared the Eucharist, he was utterly in his element.
When he tried to entertain the children with stories, he was amusing failure.

He was a sweet guy.
He had a unique speech pattern that was easy to imitate.
He was shy.
He was more liberal about certain things than he let on.
He had bad teeth.
He smoked.
He was smarter than he first appeared to be.

He was walking from the Rectory and his life just winked out.

I wonder: does a Priest feel less afraid than I would feel if I knew I was about to die?

Love to all.

Kick start, and more adventures.

Okay. I'm posting this with a 10-year-old waiting for me in the next room. I just nebulized my five-year-old, and with Maggie out, I put the two youngest to bed, did the dishes, and am taking five seconds to write this before I take my oldest on in ping pong.

Apologies for the poor quality of this post, writing-wise.

Maggie just walked in. So did my oldest. Oh. My. God. Not much peace.

So, real quick: this is the house in Vermont we might buy. They've accepted our offer, but there's some issues that might break the deal. We'll see. The grownup in the picture is neither myself or anyone in my family. Those are, however, too of my kids. Rock ON.

It's 70% likely I'm closing my company and joining another as minority owner. I'll write more about that tomorrow.

Maggie made the most over romantic overture of our marriage. Just want to put that out there.

Love to all. Even you, the loudtalking couple of conventioneers on the uptown 6 train.

This is just stupid.

Apple replaced their DOA MacBook Pro with another DOA MacBook Pro.

This is five bad MacBooks / MacBook Pros in just a few months.

I'm taking Maggie, kids and dogs to Vermont until Monday. Don't know if I'll be able to post from there. I sort of hope I can, since there's a lot going on that I'd like to write about.

If not, though...

Love to all. Even you, the fucking QC department at Apple Refurb.

More business excitement, plus FartyPants!

There's this old-school company that does what my company does, only in a completely unrelated field. They're looking to open a division that does precisely what we do, in the way that we do it. They want that division to be us. And they want me to own approximately 40% of the new entity.

I've met with them three times, now... and this is the first time it's become blogworthy, because if we can work it out, I'm going to go for it.

Also, I sometimes wish my name was FartyPants.

More Later.

Love to all. Even you, the sweaty-palmed dude who walked west instead of east.

Free at last! Free at last! OUCH.

No adderall.
No wellbutrin.
Just a moderately strained back and a serious hope that I can start running again soon.

It's good to be solo... chemically speaking.

Love to all. Even you, the in-your-face saleswoman with the flashy rings.

I have the BEST diseases.

A while back, a friend of mine told me that I have the best diseases. And I believe it today, more than ever.

Let's review:

Psoriasis:
Pros: I get to go to tanning booths. Immune system in "hyperactive defense mode" all the time.
Cons: Icky-looking if untreated. I bleed everywhere.
My treatment: Steroids, sunlight, salt baths, UV, exercise, diet, pixie dust, etc.

Alcoholism:
Pros: Alcoholics Anonymous. Get to work on a spiritual lifestyle, meet amazing people that I never would have met otherwise, try to help others.
Cons: Prior years of blackouts, family distress, and liver damage.
Treatment: Alcoholics Anonymous, prayer, meditation.

ADHD:
Pros: Baffling energy levels. Can multitask like nobody's business. Zaniness.
Cons: My thoughts interrupt themselves. I forget what I'm doing all the time.
Treatment: None at this point.

It's pretty obvious: my diseases rock.

I've gotten a lot of feedback from folks on medication, about how going off medication can be really bad... and how lots of people go off medication to disastrous results because they "think they've been cured."

And the folks who say this... well, they're absolutely correct.

Fortunately for me, I'm not bi-polar or depressed. I've got Adult ADHD... which can be a HUGE pain in the ass from a functional perspective (and none too annoying to the folks around me), but has a shitload of side-benefits, as well. It also defines who I am, how I am, and what I do.

For me, treating ADHD sucked donkey ass. Seriously. Donkey ass.

In some ways, Adderall was initially amazing. I totally chilled, focused, neatened up, etc. But my silliness completely left. At dinner last night, Maggie told me that Adderall made me not myself. And as I rapidly grew a tolerance to it, it became less about "leveling off" and more about "when's it going to kick in? IS it going to kick in?" For an alcoholic, these are thought patterns best left alone. And the withdrawal: oy.

In retrospect, Adderall drugged me. It didn't "treat" anything. It wasn't restorative or balancing, like anti-depressants are for folks with depression.

Switching to Wellbutrin (an anti-depressant which has stimulant-like effects, and can often be used when a patient responses poorly to or, in my case, ceases responding to, stimulants) was a nightmare. Admittedly, this could be because I accidentally took 750 mg of the stuff instead of 450, but the fact that it had no efffect at all for a month, then made me pretty nuts... well, I've had enough.

I'm not saying my experience is the rule. If it works for you, go for it.

So. I'm heading into Manhattan to go to a 7:30am Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. A.A., exercise, prayer, meditation - this'll be how I try to better myself for the foreseeable future.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the broadcaster's voice talking about how crazy James Taylor fans are.

Good times, lousy bed.

The least comfortable bed in which I've slept is the one where I spent the night before my wedding. I swear, the mattress was an inverted bell curve. Seriously. Maggie stayed at her Mom's, and I stayed in this quaint-with-crappy-beds hotel with my family. I barely slept.

Happily, the second night I spent in that room was my first night as a married man... so I pretty much didn't care about the quality of the bed anymore. The company more than made up for it.

Tomorrow is 11 years that I've been married, and Maggie has put up with a LOT of crap from me. Even when I was drinking myself to death, she stuck it out. I guess she had hope. I guess she was afraid of what would happen if she left me. I guess she was hoping that she'd be able to say to me:

"You're turning back into the man I married."

And she did say that, a couple of years ago.

I've done a lot of things wrong. Some of them have been really bad. But I can honestly say that, today, I'm trying to be the best husband I can be. And with God's help, I'll try the same thing tomorrow.

11 years with me. The woman is truly to be commended.

Love to all. Even you, the people I've lost, and hope to find again.

Heartless headline of the week: CNN.

Hey, CNN.

Maybe you shouldn't use a tragedy as an opportunity for some headline writer to make a TV-show reference. I thought that was the New York Post's job.

Jackasses.

Oh, Apple.

My "new" refurb MacBook Pro came in today, with a 3-inch abrasion in the middle of the screen, and a 1-inch abrasion on the bottom left of the screen.

It's going back Monday.

Oh, Apple. First a defective MBP, then a defective MacBook, then this.

I' going to start thinking about Linux soon. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the grumpy dude with the backpack who sniffed for effect.

9/12/2001

On 9/12/2001, America was United and the world was behind us. The tragedy of the day before was an unbelievable opportunity to capture and kill Osama Bin Laden, demonstrate our military might, AND show the world that we were a moral, upstanding world citizen.

Instead, we underpowered the military action in Afghanistan, diverted resources to Iraq, and got ourselves mired in a war we should never have started.

Sometimes, I think we're doomed. This President has made us less than a laughingstock... Bush has made this country the enemy's best advertisement.

Could you IMAGINE what the world would be like if we hadn't left the capture of Bin Laden to a porous Afghani troop line populated by bribable, disinterested soldiers?

I can imagine a LOT of scenarios... all of them better than where we are now.

Just thinking out loud, here.

Love to all.

My chemical decision.

So, I've talked with Maggie, and my decision is: fuck this.

I'm going back to 300mg of Wellbutrin for the next three days, followed by three days of 150mg... followed by none. None of this crap anymore.

Love to all. Even you, GlaxoSmithKline.

Pivot.

It's one of those moments.

Less dramatic than years past: I'm not a somewhat-messed-up teen being sentenced to years in jail (suspended), nor have I been hiding vodka bottles at work, and buying duplicate bottles of wine so people will think I'm sipping a glass, even though I'm running downstairs to gulp down another every fifteen minutes.

Instead, I find myself on the verge of altering or continuing various patterns, and I have to... well... to paraphrase AA, I have to be true to myself.

I haven't run or lifted weights consistently for at last two weeks. The marathon is in slightly over a month. I can feel myself forming new, sloth-like patterns.

I've been trying different medicines for ADHD and after a really, really, really bad day/night, I need to decide if I should continue on for two weeks to see if there's any positive effect. Oh, by the way, I think I accidentally took the stuff TWICE in one day, which probably caused the seriously bad effects I experienced.

My company has experienced an explosion of short-term, high-margin sales which, in turn, has drastically reduced our medium-and-long-term projections. There's lots of work to be done, now.

The amount of AA meetings I go to has dropped over the last few weeks, as well.

So, I'm at something of a turning point.

I'm probably going to report in on these things on a daily basis, in summary format, whenever I post to this here blog.

I'm still feeling dizzy and strange... but I not so bad that I can't fake it.

Okay, then.

Love to all. Even you, the guilt-inducing dude who I should probably listen too more often.

Holy God.

This is nuts.

My pharmacology Doc upped this Wellbutrin I'm on from 300 to 450 mgs yesterday. I took the increased dose around 10am.

I can't think straight enough to write what happened yesterday afternoon, but it involved dizziness, vertigo, fear to go out in public (which is something I never have), slurred speech, and heart palpitations...

...the last thing is the reason I'm up right now.

More later.

Love to all.

A little much? (Or: time to go home.)

So, this guy writes me about employment. In the cover letter, he describes his school like this:

...a competitive small liberal arts college situated in NY's capital region.

But he doesn't say which school it is. so I write back:

I have to ask you... why would you say the below, vs. just saying what school it was?

And he writes back:

Why, because it's true. Sorry you don't seem to appreciate the description, it is what it is.

Now I'm amused and annoyed. I write back:

All because someone takes the time to ask a question, that doesn't mean they were being negative. But now, spiraling into the depths of a depression that only the chronically misattributed can truly feel, I remain,

Rich

He wrote back:

My apologies for the tone of the last email. As an English major I am used
to being more descriptive, and perhaps not concise...

I couldn't resist. I wrote back:

It's too late. I'm in the dark place.

Then I went home.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the mauve shirt who wanted to edge his way past me on the 6am train.

Real time.

I'm sitting crossways on our green chair in the living room, feet hanging over one of the arms, back against the other.

Looking across the room, I see my youngest boy and my only daughter in silhouette, assembling the SpongeBob version of the Game of Life. My daughter is in her nightgown. My youngest is... well... he's naked again.

It's his way.

I'm amazed at how big and lithe and non-toddlerish these two are. These are my babies... the little ones who are supposed to remain forever young, but who are getting older just as fast as I am. The fact that they assembled a 20-piece Life game on their own is proof enough of my delusion.

It's a sweet moment, so I'm sharing it with you.

Love to all. Even you, the 60-something guy who is too afraid to have faith in his family.

So sad, so sad.

Before I failed out of college for the first time (actually, I failed out, went back, then left to go to rehab in 1989... so technically I only failed out once), I wrote a paper on metal vs. plastic slinkies. (And got a B+, I might add.) The paper was unequivocably pro-metal, due to the incredible variety of uses of the metal slinky, including aural transmitter, self-defense tool, and burglar alarm.

When a metal slinky bites the dust, it's a sad, sad sight. Even though it can be untangled, the little guy will never be the same again. It'll always be all googly and shit.

So goodbye, Slinky. Goodbye.

Love to all. Even you, whoever decided Plastic Slinky Jr wasn't an insult to Slinky lovers everywhere.

Sick day delight.

I have important things to write. I want to write about how I need to lower my expectatations of faith in order to actually have faith. How now, more than ever, I really need to get over myself.

Instead, I'll tell you how fucking cool it is to hook up a GameCube to a widescreen plasma. I'm home sick today, and my Tivo Series 3 arrived... so until the cable guys come Monday with two CableCards, things are all switched up, and the kids can watch TV in the basement, but play GameCube upstairs.

In other words, I wanted to play Madden 2006 on the plasma, and this was my excuse.

Love to all. Even you, the financial services guy who, in spite of impossible odds against his success, kept up his sales pitch.

Am I? I guess so.

I hired someone who is closer in age to my daughter than to me. It's a little disconcerting. She's supersmart, works really hard, and is funny as hell. She understands my core management philosophy: silliness through structure.

Anyway: she kind of nailed me this morning. (I'm on the right.)

Love to all. Even you, generation whatever.

SO busted.

The folks at attrition really did a number on this dude.

The lesson here:

1. Never ask someone to commit a federal crime.
2. Never ask someone to commit a federal crime.

He must have been running scared for weeks.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who asked someone to commit a federal crime.

A true friend...

...will quietly tell you if you have a booger hanging out of your nose.

Agreed?

Love to all. Even you, the newspaper dude doing mach 4.

You heartless bastards.

All this time, I thought you loved me. All this time, I thought we had something going. But no. It turns out that you... Yes, you. AND you. ALL of you... you all never told me that I had a typo in my profile!

How could you?

Hou could you?

Harumph.

Love to all. Even you, Lisa, Shqipo, Vincenzo, Peter, Al, Zube, TC, Jill, Chickie, Obliquity, Aesthetic, Wash Lady, CG, Doug, Aurelius, Miss Britt, Jeremy, and anybody I missed.

p.s. I'm kidding. You knew that, right?

Dude.

I love "Lost." I'm only one episode into Season Two (which I just got on DVD), but I thought Season One rocked. The main reason I love this show: It has a character who truly knows the many uses of the word "Dude."

Oh Hurley, my brother... you may be fictional, but I love you dearly.

Love to all. Even you, the employee I caught stealing yesterday.

Three years ago today.

I was at my second job and hungover again. You could light my breath on fire with a match. It had been seven years since I started drinking again. Seven years since I thought I had "outgrown" my drinking problem. Hell, I was 20 years old when I quit drinking the first time. Who wouldn't think they had outgrown it.

I was wrong.

Seven years went by: repeated and broken promises to quit that I really meant at the time, hidden vodka bottles, waiting for the kids to leave the room so I could slam down some booze, buying booze in duplicate so nobody would know how much I drank (right!), waking up every day thinking "I am NOT drinking today ," a general and depressing withdrawal and a lack of being there... even when I was physically present.

On September 18, 2003, Maggie said to me:

"Rich, is this what Jesus wants for you?"
I said: "No."

And went to the AA meeting on 14th Street between 5th and 6th and haven't had a drink since.

I'm posting this at 5:45am, because I'm catching the train to NYC to hit a 7:30am AA meeting. Because I don't want to drink today. And because I want to be the best father, husband, and worker I can be. I fail a lot. I can be a total, irritable jackass. I can behave badly. But I'm trying. And the one thing I've managed to get right is not drinking.

And if I keep that up, well, anything is possible.

Love to all. Even you, the guy my age who can't seem to put together three days.

Beautiful Shards.

You shattered everything I thought I knew
about love,
and depth,
and protection.

My old ideas in beautiful shards
replaced by windows
and pathways
and scattered light.

Everything I knew has changed
because of you.

Happy 7th Birthday, little girl.



Love to all.

Come ON.

I literally, literally, literally eat a bag this stuff EVERY MORNING when I get to work. And now they say it could be contaminated with E. Coli. Shit.

That's what I get for being obsessive about my leafy greens.

Love to all. Even you, the rude girl who wouldn't listen at the birthday party.

Bush: If you can't win, redefine.

Damn, is George Bush a poster boy for Machiavellian politics. It's only the end that matters.

Since Bush got caught violating the Geneva Conventions, he's trying to have legislation passed that will change the American "interperetation" of the Geneva Conventions. Thank goodness, two of the Republicans most military-experienced politicians are leading the rebellion: John McCain and Colin Powell.

Since Bush's war in Iraq is getting thousands of people killed, the Bush administration changed what they report as "deaths:"

The U.S. military did not count people killed by bombs, mortars, rockets or other mass attacks — including suicide bombings — when it reported a dramatic drop in the number of murders around Baghdad last month, the U.S. command said Monday. - Marine Times, 9/11/2006

Part of what makes America amazing is that we structurally (via the Constitution, etc.) accept certain levels of risk and danger for the sake of freedom. Freedom of speech can be really annoying. Due process might let some criminals get away. Not torturing prisoners might mean we don't get every available piece of information.

Being structurally honorable is what separates us. But not for long, if Bush has his way.

These are not Democratic/Republican issues, here.

Love to all. Even you, Senator Frist.

God, I love New York [Warning: Rated PG-13]

I was on the 6 train, heading uptown to Grand Central in NYC. The train was packed. I was standing at the very back of the car, against the rear door. There were a lot of people packed around the pole, including two very cute 20-something women. Now, New York is awash in very cute women of every age. So normally this would’t get my attention for longer than a passing glance.

But these two women were clearly in lust.

I tried not to watch them talk, but it was difficult. I mean, holy crap. When they talked to each other they half looked at each other’s eyes, and half looked at each other’s lips. Back and forth. Up and down. They kept leaning in somewhat close to each other… it was insane. All of a sudden, the first woman moved to kiss the second, but the second leaned ever-so-slightly away, and smiled. Without a doubt: it would happen later.

I got off at Grand Central. I mean... I exited the train.

God, I love New York.

Love to all. Even you, the tourists whose minds were utterly blown.

Um, I forgot to mention.

So, for those of you who followed my experiments with Adderall, please pardon the brief recap:

1. It worked incredibly well for a few weeks.
2. It stopped working and they increased the dosage.
3. It stopped working and they increased the dosage.
4. I completely stopped working.
   
5. I went off adderall, and crashed horribly for, like, four days.
   

End of recap. A few weeks later, I met with the pharmacologist, who suggested a few other options for my ADHD, including this weird kind of dual-release Ritalin which spikes you twice. Now, I'm on friendly terms with this lady, so I said: "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

She agreed that it was a bad idea.

She suggested Wellbutrin, which is a much more subtle drug... one that takes two weeks to a month to saturate your system and really kick in, and whose effects are way, way, way less obvious.

So what I forgot to mention was: it's been two weeks since I started the stuff. I haven't noticed too much, except that my moods are slightly less prone to swing towards darkness.... and my silliness, which vanished while I was on Adderall, hasn't gone away in the least.

Maggie says that she's noticed my temper has become less sharp. So, even it the ADHD stuff isn't handled that well... being less of a dick doesn't suck. I'm giving it another month to see how it shakes out.

Love to all. Even you, the dude at the Mustard Seed with the stinky-ass feet.