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.

Pillhead.

Meet my pills (with one exception):

• Lecithin granules - for healthy skin.
• Calcium - for healthy bones.
• Amino 1500 - for the ol' muscles.
• A multivitamin - for everything.
• Shark cartilage - for psoriasis and arthritis
• Cod liver oil / primrose oil - for psoriasis
• Coenzyme Q10 - for psoriasis and because it kicks ass

So now you know. I know you wanted to know. So I told you.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who said I'll see you in ten, but never showed.

Drunk, chainsmoking, and staring at the sky.

F-15s don't sound like commercial airliners. I'd never heard anything like it. A few times, I saw one of the fighters banking through Manhattan's airspace. But mostly I just heard them. I was pretty shitfaced, smoking one American Spirit after the other. From my vantage point on the roof of an East Village apartment building, I saw the fighter com briefly into view again, and I thought:

"You're late. Much too late."

September 11, 2001.

Earlier in the day, around 8:50am, I was in the back room of my company on 38th street between 5th and 6th. A coworker told me that a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. That didn't make sense. Since my office had a direct view of the World Trade Center, I went to see what was happening.

It was insane. Impossible. Huge. It was an enormous hole in the fucking building.

I went to the conference room next door to check in with my other colleagues. Spent a few minutes with them, then went back to my office to try and reach Maggie. She answered. She had the news on, so she knew what had happened.

While I was talking to her and staring out the window, another plane came into view, heading downtown. Fast.

"Maggie," I said. "there's another plane. Why would they let another plane into this airspace?"

Impact. Fire. And everything changed. September 11, 2001.

There are thousands of people who aren't going to have thousands of children who won't make thousands of friends. There are thousands of couples that are never going to meet, and that's a lot of love that's gone missing.

There's a lot of tragedy in this world, but this is the one that happened my city. The one that I saw with my own eyes. The one that changed my life and country.

Love to all.

That's what I get...

...for not pacing myself.

I hid a 64-ounce container of gatorade behind the Verizon shed near my house, and took off. The idea was to do four five-mile laps, having a big ol' drink break after each lap. Instead, I decided to try a whole different route, which took me 10 miles until I made it back to the shed.

During the next lap, I started to feel all dizzy and weird. So when I got back to the shed, I stopped and walked up the hill to my house. 15.5 miles total. I figure, better to be alive and off-the-mark than to get run over by a car at mile 18 because I was too spaced-out to keep an eye on traffic.

Still, that kind of sucks. Oh, well.

Love to all. Even you. Yeah, you.

Immodium, pasta, and wish me luck.

I've got a 20-mile training run today, starting in an hour.

Think happy Richie thoughts, if you would. My body is completely sore from sprinting around for 2.5 hours while coaching my AYSO teams, yesterday. Oof.

Love to all. Even you, half-smiling neighbor.

Top ten news stories you haven't heard.

I rarely quote straight from FARK, but they're referring to this.

Some highlights:

• Halliburton charged with selling nuclear technology to Iran
• Hunger and homelessness increasing in the United States (and the Bush Administration's attempts to remove these statistics from reports)
• Pentagon exempt from Freedom of Information Act

It's amazing, depressing, and infuriating, what's happening to my country.

Love to all. Even you, Albert O. Cornelison, Jr.

8264 calories later.

I just coached my first two soccer games of the season. This is the first year I'm Head Coaching two separate teams.

9am: U6Boys. It was totally maniacal and hilarious. One boy wouldn't play, but he promised to play next week. My voice was half gone by the time it was over.

10:15am: U8 girls. Two parents I have to watch carefully. Also, one player is a "special needs" player who, although she completely deserves to play, is going to be a very, very, very weak spot on the team.

I'm one of those coaches who runs like a freak the whole time, cheering and rooting (for both sides) and generally carrying on. After 2 hours and 45 minutes of this, I'm a little tired.

Still, today is a weight day, so after dropping my daughter at a play date, I'm going to come back and lift. Tomorrow is a 20-mile training run. Think injury-free thoughts for me.

Love to all. Even you, the father who apparently thinks I'm paid for doing this.

1st full day of Kindergarten.

Love to all.

11 Haiku about a Coaches Meeting

A coaches meeting
we do this every year
I still don't know why

The coordinators
many of them didn't show
inside jokes are dumb

Referee courses
maybe this year I'll take it,
but probably not

The pattern baldness
pervades the room left and right
thirty-something guys

wealthiest people
take the time to coach their kids
I should be nicer

talking U10 boys
this doesn't apply to me
I am getting bored

more older kid stuff
U6 boys is so simple
yet I must endure

five requirements
most of them about parents
crazy-ass people

sixty minutes now
I have yet to learn something
I hope it ends soon

THIS guy is happy
enthusiasm is good
I think it is done

thought it was over
plea for newsletter content
can we be done now?

Love to all. Even you, the guy who kept asking questions.

Lucky?

I stayed home from work this morning to escort my oldest to the 7:15 bus, and my two youngest to the 8:45 bus. This was the view from my driveway at 7:10am.

Damn, I'm lucky.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who thinks her dog knows english.

How to feel bad.

I heard today that one of the great things in Alcoholics Anonymouse is that you learn how to feel bad. At first I thought "That's kind of stupid." But I'm starting to get it.

How good are you at feeling bad?

Love to all. Even you, the strangely heavy dude explaining the bathroom layout to a colleague.

They can't hear my thoughts.

Today was one of those days when the kids have been irritating the shit out of me. Non-stop questions, fighting, interruptions, etc. Sometimes, my irritation surfaces slowly, sometimes quickly... sometimes I say: "Can you leave me alone for FIVE MINUTES?"

Sigh. Nice guy, me.

Just a minute ago, my oldest was asking me his tenth question in five minutes, and I thought to myself "Jesus, kid, will you just SHUT UP?" But outwardly, I listened to and answered his question politely. Because it hit me: He can't HEAR my thoughts... so even if he's irritatng the crap out of me (as long as its benign) I can get irritated on the inside while pretending not to be on the outside.

It's an improvement.

I realize that the goal would be to not be irritated, but in the meantime, I'll take it.

Love to all. Even you, the angry bald guy in idling in the handicapped spot.

Work in progress, but it ROCKS.

Okay. So, take a Dell 20" widescreen monitor that you got on sale, put it on an articulating arm that's bolted to the stud in the wall. Install a little Target shelf for the DVD player, then run 1/8" audio cable up over the ceiling, with an extension adapter to plug in headphones...

...and you've got the beginning of a really cool "Watch movies on the treadmill" situation.

Love to all. Even you, the frowny guy makin' his kid all nervous.

Damn, this is cool.

Watch this.

Just give it at least until thirty seconds into "The 1k Project" part II, about one minute in.

Love to all. Even you, brother-in-law.

Still miss you, buddy.

One year ago today, my buddy Carter passed away. And if that isn't the saddest accidental rhyme I've ever heard, I don't know what is.

I still miss you, you big, crazy, gentle freak. I don't have a ton of friends, and losing you was losing one of my best. When I think about you, amigo, I smile and I cry. There is no other Carter, and that's the way it should be.

Love to all.

Puppies with lasers.

I'm sitting in my home office, freaking out about the fact that I'm closing on a quarter-million dollar line of financing in about 45 minutes. My boys are 10 feet behind me, playing "Rebel Strike" on the Gamecube.

My daughter walks in and says: "What level are you playing?"

My five-year-old says: "Puppy Robots."

I have to say: "Puppy Robots" stomps the crap out of "Imperial Walkers."

Love to all. Even you, Geraldo.