GarageSale Cam: the movie

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

[Movie removed because of bandwidth restrictions. Sorry!]

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

GarageSale Cam: Live!

Ladies and Gentlemen... the sale is on.

This camera should update every minute or so:



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

GarageSale Cam: Live (tomorrow!)

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

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

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




Love to all.

I love my wife...

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

...and garage sales.

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

"Pissy?" Is that a word?

Anyway.

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

Sometimes, I hate people. - updated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give the oil companies a 20 year lock on ethanol.

Seriously.

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

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

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

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

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

A better idea for that $100.

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

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

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

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

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

The wrong kind of gas.

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

But that's not what bothers me.

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

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

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

Love to all. Even you, Senator Santorum.

Let's get ready to haggle!

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

The two things I remember about that garage sale:

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

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

Next Sunday, we sell.

Love to all.

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

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

Here's a comment left on my blog:

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

Here's my reply:

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

Fuck you, you hypocritical retard.

Love, Rich

I mean, jeez.

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

The wrong woman.

I admit it. I’m a little flirty.

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

I've calmed down a little at 37.

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

This post has nothing to do with those two women.

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

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

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

Weird shit.

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

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

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

Click. Then I erased her number.

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

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

Love to all. Even you, strange lady.

I’m down with ADD.

(Yeah you know me.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honest Greed: Verizon Wireless.

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

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

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

I said "No thanks," and left.

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

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

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

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

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

Love to all. Even you, Verizon.

At war with the mystics.

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

Love to all.

Once again: "Before"

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

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

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

Love to all.

Anything is nothing. Always is never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Promise.

Love to all. Even you, skunk.

Meow. Meow. And Meow?

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

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

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

Ha ha. No.

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

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

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

Pictures, of course, are forthcoming.

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

President Bush hopes you're retarded.

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

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

Love to all. Even you, Don.

Idea from ITS: iTunes Shuffle Snapshot

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

Love to all.

Things I'm digging, presently.

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

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

Shrink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hee hee hee.

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

Love to all.

60.

Today is my Mother's birthday.

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

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

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

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

Love to all.

Figurative or literal...

...we can all effect our own resurrection.

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

Love to all.

The just-right amount of crystal meth.

So there’s a medical treatment for alcohol dependence.

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

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

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

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

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

"All options are on the table."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Rumsfeld.

DON'T SAY THIS.

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

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

Love to all.

"I am Gay and an Alcoholic."

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

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

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

Well, thank God for that.

Seamless design eliminates chafing, while providing unmatched support.

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

Love to all.

Eye candy is great, but...

..."older" women rock.

I use quotes so nobody kicks my virtual ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Mehlman.

You know it's spring...

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

Thus, it's officially Spring. Yay!

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

Love to all.

Thank God for the Generation Gap.

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

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

Let's hear it for intergenerational change.

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

Pagan? I'll TAKE it.

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

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

Much ado about marketing, you know?

Love to all. Even you, chirpy.

Time is limited! Act now!

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

Love to all. Even you, the fucking scale.

I just couldn't help it.

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

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

Oh God. Here we go.

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

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

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

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

Black edges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's that.

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

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Ballmer.

sigh.

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

Love to all.

Motherf$#(r!

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

Oh. My. GOD.

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

Love to all.

No solution.

I've got your solution. Get a Mac.

DAMN.

Love to all.

I am the new Conservative.

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

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

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

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

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

Now, me? I'm a real Conservative:

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

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

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

Stephen Colbert vs. Congressman Adam Schiff

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

Schiff: Yes.

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

Schiff: I wouldn’t want to say that.

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

I have no idea what to call myself anymore.

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

WTF is wrong with Windows?

Whine, whine, whine.

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

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

It's killing me.

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

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

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

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

My new golf club.

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

Love to all.

Chill day, warm day.

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

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

Worry-wart. Now that is a distasteful term.

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

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

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

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

Saturday haiku.

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


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