Correction, and a career confession.

I flippantly commented to Renratt that she should start a fictitious blog, pretending to be her husband. It was a joke, of course. Because:

1. Who the hell needs more competition for "hottest daddy blogger?" I'm already stuck in 2,793rd place. And that's out of 300 people! Argh!
   
2. I started playing out the "spouse writes a blog as other spouse" scenario, and I just... just.... well, it's clearly an utterly stupid idea. I couldn't handle reading Maggie's interpretation of what's going through my head... probably because it would be way too true.

Moving on.

My bio says that I'm the CEO of a media firm. That's not quite true. I'm the CEO of an creative employment agency that staffs writers, art directors, CG artists, retouchers, etc. I'm not a headhunter, because my belieft is that there's enough excellent unemployed or underemployed talent in NYC that I don't need to get down in the sludge like that. At least not as a standard method of operation.

I've run my own show for 11 years, with the exception of a 2.5 year period when I sold my company, and then worked for the company I sold. (That's the company that was just sold again).

This merger isn't going well. My sales are down for the first time ever. Admittedly, they ALWAYS have nosedived when there's been a brand change, but I thought that this would be different, because of the transfer of personnel, etc.

I think I've been holding back from giving the new company the kind of badass differentiation required in a field that is often considered morally suspect, quality-inconsistent, and pain-in-the-ass-ish.

Why hold back, if I'm the fucking CEO?

• Fear of failure.
• Fear of disapproval.
• Fear of rejection.
• Having lost the feeling the my blood flows in this company's veins.
  

It's not like I haven't been working my ass off... making real progress in both working method sand technological assistance... but I haven't been doing the things to make this brand something different, more attractive, and an inherently better choice for clients present and potential.

Well, it's pretty much time to put up or shut up. So I'm completely rewriting the website (same visuals, totally different content), rewriting our direct mail (and doing more of it), and, well... I'm just doing a base jump. That sums it up.

I'm report in on my progress, because the first round of this needs to be up and running in a week, at most.

Whoa. What a screed.

Love to all. Even you, the gentleman having a extended, full-voice conversation with himself, punctuated by long, frustrated sighs.

Damn, dude.

I feel humorless, flavorless, colorless. What a weird day.

I don't know how to sum it up, other than to say that one of the partners at my firm created an absolutely fucked up situation, and refused to shut up long enough to let it get clarified, in spite of my pleading. I tried being direct. I tried humor. My responses ranged from:

I’d like to table this discussion until you fine folks have a chance to meet and discuss...

to

Dude. Stop.

to an aside to my friends:

Gun cocked, at temple. I’m offing myself now.

But, now that all the partners have met and the crisis has apparently passed, it appears I missed the technique that the other partners learned over the last 10 years: the man must be ignored at certain times.

(Mind you, I may be the partner with the highest percentage of ownership, but I've only worked with these guys for 4 months).

One of my partners is a mad genius. In equal parts.

Anyway, it seems that, as per the original plan, I get to run wild for the next 90 days, doing everything I see fit to get this thing on better footing. At that point, we'll regroup and see where we are.

It's a two way street: they get to decide if they want to stay involved, and I get to decide if their involvement is worth the loss of total ownership.

For now, though... it doesn't matter. I need to focus on doing for this brand what I've done for others... fabulous differentiation, baby. Planetary uniqueness.

Love to all. Even you, the semi-familiar lady with the longer hair than she had before.

Note to self, #523.

Not all spouses find it cool or fun that their husband was nominated for "Hottest Daddy Blogger."

You, on the other hand, should go vote for me right now.

Love to all. Even you, Neil Gaiman.

What?

What do you do when the bigger company that, ostensibly, had the resources to fund a new division suddenly says "We're not sure about meeting staff payroll in three weeks?"

What do you do when it turns out the "absolutely nonegotiable" requirement for you to discard four years worth of concerted branding efforts turns out to have been absolutely negotiable after all, and actually preferred by the partners who never mentioned it until today, when it was too late?

What do you do when you think you might have made a HUGE fucking mistake?

I have no answers to these questions. None at all.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who exaggerated a little.

Never. This. Busy.

Maggie is curating a show at a local gallery. It's her first show.

I am doing the website. Since I am overwhelmingly SLAMMED at work, the only time I have to work on her website is when I'm coming to and from NYC on the train. And at night. And in the early morning. I am trying not to be a dick when I feel Maggie isn't getting me information fast enough, or in a clear enough way.

I fear that I am failing.

If I could stay up 24x7, I would.

Truth be told, I'm writing this from the potty. That is how busy I am.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who wouldn't stop tapping his foot.

We interrupt this here entrepreneur...

...for a bit of capitalistic jealousy.

See, in 1996 I started a company. It's media related, but not a pure media firm. I need to correct my bio.

In 2000 I sold it. I tried to work for the company I started, but it was a disaster. The five owners who bought my firm started infighting. One eventually bought the others out (we're still friends to this day). I was left, floundering in a crappy Westchester office for 2.5 years, working with people who were... nice-but-talentless... drinking too much... and watching my New York client-base get utterly alienated by one of the ickiest people I have ever met, someone who my boss would eventually get banned from working in the NY.

From 2000 - 2003, I lost pretty much everything I had invested from the sale during the stock market collapse. I had really wanted to invest the kids education money in t-bills, but I allowed myself to be convinced that the best long-term investment was the market. It never occured to me we might NEED that money just when it was nearly gone.

I left the company I started in 2003. When I left that firm, my boss said to me: "I'm sorry for ruining your career." She meant it without sarcasm.

In 2003, I started another company, and built a new brand for four years.

In 2007, I folded that company into a firm that, ostensibly, could help take us regional, if not national. The only absolute on my part: we needed our own door. The only absolute on their part: we needed to change our name. The month before we closed down my second company, I was featured in an article about branding. Ha. Ha.

Today, I found out that the first company I started was acquired by an international firm, that's taking the brand national. Now, I haven't been there for four years, but the branding, website, writing, etc., is still almost 100% mine. And they're going to update it, apparently, but also keep the attitude and spirit largely the same.

So. What does this all mean?

1) Nothing at all.
2) I'm pretty good at the branding thing after all.
3) I'm fucking JEALOUS.

I don't really have anything else to say about it, except it's going to be weird to see my company sprout up nationally. It makes me proud and angry and happy for my boss/friend... and ever so jealous.

Ah, well.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who thought that Seth Godin came up with all that shit.

To the random lady on the train...

...who recommended that I check out Heroes.

Thank you. More later on the Spitzer announcement.

Love to all. Even you, Sylar.

Sleeeeepy.

Is it that I'm skipping Adderall this weekend, or that I coached three hours of soccer and probably have strep again? Who knows. I was told today that I expend an unbelievable amount of energy when I coach... so it's probably a combination of both.

Either way, I'm tired.

It's been a hard week, and it's time to reset my compass and get things moving in the right direction. No more teeing off on people, even if they "deserve" it. No more focusing on what's annoying me. I need to follow the 12th step of AA and try to practice the first 11 steps with everything in my life. If I can fix it, great. If I need to accept it, it's 1-11 time.

More on this later, maybe. For now, dinner.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who said certain kids were "uncoachable."

Why it's great to be a sober dad.

Enough said. Thanks there, God.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who threatened my client for no apparent reason.

Good disease.

Once again, a post from NFH has me thinking.

It's interesting to me how certain disorders / diseases that affect mental health and require treatment are sitgmatized, while others are slowly being accepted. But acceptance doesn't always equal "more cure," and acceptance doesn't always mean "better treatment."

Me? I'm a total alcoholic. You give me a drink, and it's over. I can't stop. And believe me, brothers and sisters, I have tried. When I drink, I drink too much. When I drink too much, I do things I shouldn't do. And I withdraw. I isolate even among crowds. I can't look people in the eyes. When I was at the worst stages of my drinking, it physically hurt me to make eye contact.

If you met me now, you'd know how utterly antithetical to my personality that is.

But hey: Alcoholism is a somewhat accepted and largely understood illness and, at least here in NYC, you won't get TOO many weird looks if people find out that you're a drunk-who-doesn't-drink... although I'm generally a fan of anonymity.

Other illnesses are not only unaccepted, but they're less straightforward. At least with alcoholism, others can plainly see the drinking, and it's easy to explain as along the lines of allergy. (How it affects the spiritual and emotional side of things is another story, but that's why people are baffled by AA, sometimes.)

With mental illness, there's a LOT of gray area. And sometimes people are too quick to treat the edges of normal as something wrong... which can rebound to cause people to NOT treat people who need it. It's a really undefined, lots-of-room-to-fuck-up situation. And I have no solution.

It's tough, man. I'm so glad I have alcoholism, and not schizophrenia, BPD, or something else. I'm glad that I have a disease that can be permanently arrested. And that's clearly defined.

Well. I think I'm afraid to say what I want to say, because I don't want to be labeled as some leftist freak. But you know what? It's true: everyone needs therapy.

No. Let me rephrase. Everyone needs a sponsor.

Is it possible to have an AA-like experience/group/relationship without first being decimated by addiction or illness? Honestly, I don't know. Desperation and powerlessness lead to a strange acceptance of... well... of magic.

Yup. Magic. You can call it God if you want... and I often do as well... but AA is magic.

All this to say that I don't know WHAT kind of help, support, therapy, etc., could have helped that kid before he turned so completely fucking deranged, before he killed so many people. But if he had a sponsor, like many AAs have a sponsor... he would have had someone in his life who, without judgment, could say:

Your thoughts are not unique.
People have been where you are now.
We will love you until you can love yourself.

And maybe that would have made all the difference.

Love to all. Even you, Cho. My god.

Oh, binary diversions. I love you!

Ah, Intel-Native Adobe Applications... you make me forget my troubles. Welcome to my dock, my little friends. I love the way your icons bounce in near-unison when I launch too many of you at once.

Thank you, CS3. Thank you for being ported to Xcode.

Love to tall. Even you, Quark.

Blogger down! Blogger down!

Well. I've been quiet for the last few days.

It's been sort of a perfect storm of suck:

• Maggie needs knee surgery.
• Yesterday was my mother's birthday. Man, I miss her.
  
• Today is the 18th anniversary of when I went to rehab the first time. I stayed sober for seven years, then started drinking again, couldn't stop for another seven years, then finally quiet again. One day at a time, baby... no more of that shit for me.
• Our basement, which had pergo flooring (if I knew then what I know now), is being semi-gutted as I write this.
• An ex-employee sent a client of mine a semi-threatening letter. The client owes me $30,000. This is not going to help with collections.

So I've been down a little. But you know, it ain't Katrina, and all because I've got 10's of thousands of dollars in uninsured repairs to do, that doesn't mean my life is over.

I've had to reset my newsreader to "all read," so I can start fresh. The number of unread posts in my favorite blogs was overwhelming.

When I get home today, I should have a completely different basement than I did two days ago. But the family is still the same. And the job. And me. So, life is generally good.

At the peak of my depression yesteraday, my son said to me: "This is pretty bad... but in a way, it's kind of exciting." That knocked me several levels towards normalcy, because the kid was right. Then, just as I was starting to feel better, Maggie came home with a huge coffee and a giant box of pastries. This was in response to me angrily saying that we don't have MONEY for coffee (when she offered me Starbucks). Thank goodness Maggie knows when to ignore my stupid, dramatic ass. Between her ad my oldest, I returned to self.

Love to all. Even you, the guy driving the wrong way, and in the wrong lane, in the parking lot this morning.

Floodette.

There's water coming through every seam in the basement flooring. It's a floating floor, which means, well, it means there's a very shallow lake down here.

Yikes. More later.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. I Brake for Puddles.

My dating method.

My blog friend over at NFH has wrote a post that concluded with a request for advice on meeting nice people for, you know, hugging and stuff.

I thought about it, and answered with my only tried and true method for dating. I wanted to share it with you here:

Start drinking too much. WAY too much. When you want to stop drinking, don’t stop. Keep this up until you NEED to stop and HAVE to stop and TRY to stop every day but can’t. Continue this for years.

Have a God-inspired, seemingly random, micro-white-light experience. Stop drinking. Go to AA. Meet people in AA. Meet someone in AA who is way out of your league but who is not your typical “type” who thinks you’re on the edge of sanity and possibly a heroin addict, and who avoids you. Make some friends who turn out to be that person’s friends. Discover that person is your neighbor.

Stalk that person in a non-sexual and non-threatening way. Leave random notes on their car about the migration patterns of birds,
music, other things. Be a stalker for friendship only.

Wait until the day where that person is so bored and lonely one day that they break down and come over to your house. Become friends with that person. Try to set that person up with one of your friends. Have it fail miserably. Have that person come to your house one night in a really sad mood, and have a big ol’ cry in your room. Comfort that person without the specific intention of the smooch that follows.

Like the smooch. Repeat smooch.

— and that is the *only* method that has ever worked for me, in terms of a successful method for finding a long-term relationship.

— please note: it has only worked for me once.

Love to all. Even you, burpy mcbubblegum.

Imus and Hymietown.

Okay. So Imus has bee canned for his idiotic, racist comments. Good.

But did anyone notice how Jesse Jackson, who came down on Imus like a ton of bricks, didn't respond when when he was asked the difference between what Imus did what he did he called New York City "Hymietown?"

So, I'm asking you. What's the difference? Not between the men. But between the idiotic, racist comments.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who sent me a raft of racist photographs.

My day, in an excerpt:

Dear [client],

First: Thanks for all of your help. I’m hoping that we can get some firm payment schedules and adhere to them.

The problem is: not only are invoices getting much, much older than [your company] agreed would be the case, but you have made payment promises that were not kept. The money being paid this Thursday is for one invoice, but the lion’s share of the $16,000 that you said was being paid in March is now not being paid until possibly next week... but that hasn’t been confirmed, either.

And that’s really the thing: once payment is promised and missed, the account gets flagged and we need to resolve the situation ASAP.

Could you tell me when you’ll have solid info on what’s being paid next Thursday, and beyond?

I hate saying this, but escalation is an option, and one that I am actually required to exercise if another payment is missed, or we don’t receive a clear idea of how we will be paid in a timely manner. This is not a matter of choice, it’s a matter of our corporate financial health and my contractual responsibilities to this company. It’s my least favorite part of my job, but it’s one I cannot sidestep.

If you could let me know when we will have specific information on what is being paid a week from Thursday (and beyond), that would be really helpful.

[High level VP] is the person who signed the contract agreeing to the payment terms, so he will have to be the point of contact if things escalate.

My sense is that it will not come to that... and for that I’m seriously grateful.


* * *

Love to all. Even you, the lady on my left who is cracking her gum every five seconds, occasionally interrupted by the guy on my right who is coughing all over the place.

7 hours later.

Well, I let myself sleep in - read 6:30am - today. Hopefully, that'll perk up my spirits a bit.

It's not like I'm depressed, exactly: just stressed.

Thanks for putting up with my melodramatic outburst.

Love to all. Even you, the kitten who mistook my big toe for a mouse.

Like cold air. Like drifting.

My body has a built in stress meter: psoriasis. A few weeks ago, I'm fine. Yesterday, I go for a run, and when I 'm done I notice a fine trail of blood from my kneecap to my ankle. Doing the dishes tonight, I dabbed my elbow with a dishtowel and it came away bright red. It's time for a little ultraviolet radiation: tanning booth, here I come.

I am full of fear and insecurity.

I gave up my company to join with another. There are five partners. I have the plurality of shares. More than three times the next shareholder. But I do not own the majority. Three months in, this is starting to feel like a bad idea.

I look at how I've shifted tactics to handle the branding change, the new personnel, and I think I'm doing the right thing. But hard work doesn't pay the mortgage, and I live in a really, really expensive fucking town. When the TAXES are $24,000/year, well, doing well just doesn't cut it. Where I live, I am one of the least financially successful people in town. And that's kind of fucked up.

Time will tell, but I feel completely under the gun. And my left hand is bleeding.

Love to all. Even you, the five consecutive grownups who didn't say thank you.

Here we go again.

I might skip the New York Marathon next year... scheduling all these races is becoming kind of impossible. But! I'm definitely going to make sure I qualify for 2009, because there's no WAY I'm missing it when I'm 40.

Next year? Maybe Chicago. I heard that's fun.

I need to change my fitness strategy starting this week. Less cardio, more weights. I've got a little over 2 months until summer, you know.

Vanity, vanity.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. I-Can't-Do-A-Dish.

Love.

Hi. Maggie got this magnet for my car. It says:

To declare other's love as wrong is to not really understand love at all.

I think that pretty much sums it up.

Looking forward to having a few minutes later to catch up on my blog reading. The last few days have been nuts. For now: Easter Dinner. Yum.

Love to all. Even you, Mike Leavitt.

Redux, but with results!

So, I'll redo that "give me a ring at work" experiment someday. As it was, I got a whole bunch of really nice emails, but only one phone call. So, you might think I'd be disappointed. I mean. One person called me. Just one.

But. Um.

HA! Ha HA! I got to talk to a fucking ROCK STAR, so I'm pretty much completely psyched.

Now, I have to admit that I was so momentarily thrown off that I interrupted her about a million times, but Miss Britt is like, one of my favorite bloggers. And the cool thing is that she sounds exactly like she writes... smart and snappy and happily edgy... and she's got a pretty awesome laugh. No, I'm not in love.

But it's cool to have your like verified.

Anyway. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, which means Church, family, sugar, joy and tension. I should probably fight a few rounds on the XBOX 360 in preparation.

Love to all. Even you, the rescheduling relative who should be a little. more. enthusiastic.

Oh, Eric.

Eric is the one on the left. I'm on the right. Palmer is my administrative assistant.



The cool thing about Eric is that he never would have done that on purpose, which makes it so much funnier.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who doesn't quite get that "I don't ever drink" means that I won't do shots with him just once.

Old. Old old old.

I put in a couple of white gold earrings in last night. I haven't worn earrings in a while, so I figured gold'll let me get used to 'em again, without any nasty germ things happening.

Within a few hours, my oldest and Maggie both expressed surprise that I would be wearing earrings again, since I had "stopped doing that a while ago." Implication? I am too old to wear earrings now.

Ugh.

I don't know why that bothered me, but it did. I took 'em out.

I might be a little bummed today because of work stuff, too. I just can't get this company CRANKING... partially because not everyone is fucking HERE at the same time, and it seems like that's not going to be the case for a while. I have to figure shit out.

Man, this was a cranky post. Sorry.

Love to all. Even you, the person who told me that they were using ALL CAPS to be SARCASTIC.

Call me, baby! --- Rescheduled!***

***Rescheduled due to posting difficulties! See below.

So. Those kind folks who listened to my little interview almost universally said that I don't sound like what they thought I would sound like. That my voice was softer, gentler, and less gravelly than the tattoos would indicate.

Two quick things:

1) I have the world's least threatening tattoos: A daisy, a sunflower, a tulip, a heart, five stars, and a dove. They don't scream "macho." They burble "happiness."

2) Put your mouth where your comment is. Shoot me an email at rich at championable dot com, and if I know you a little from the blogworld, I'll send you my direct number at work. I may not have a lot of time to chit chat (crazy day today), but I'd love to say hello and find out what YOU sound like. I'll put up a list of folks I talked to if it works out.

This might be a really dumb idea, but what the hell. It's Friday.

Love to all. Even you, the gum-smackin', mystery-readin', foot-tappin' redhead from this morning's train.

***Update: I somehow turned off commenting, so I'll try this again next week-ish. Eek!

How can you not be insulted?

After the Supreme Court ruled that the EPA could and should regulate greenhouse gases, Bush said that he's already done enough. Besides, he said:

Whatever we do must be in concert with what happens internationally. Unless there is an accord with China, China will produce greenhouse gases that will offset anything we do in a brief period of time.

Holy SHIT.

Okay. I hope nobody fell for this. But, just in case:

1) If the United States puts out, say, 10 tons of carbon, and China puts out 10 tons of carbon, that's a total of 20 tons. If we put out 2 tons and China puts out 10 tons, that's TWELVE TONS. But what Bush is saying is that if we put out 2 tons and China puts out 10 tons, that's STILL TWENTY! Is anyone out there not insulted by this? Does the man actually think we shouldn't do anything until everyone ELSE does the right thing? That doesn't sound like the "American Way" to me. We sure didn't have a worldwide consensus on invading Iraq, did we, George? And you sure as hell don't have a NATIONAL consensus on it, now!

Doesn't anybody remember Bush attacking Kerry for considering world opinion on national issues? Argh.

2) There IS an international agreement. The Kyoto Treaty. The US didn't ratify it. I mean, if the guy is looking for international consensus... THAT WAS IT. AAAAAH!

3) Just for the record, the law this guy is hiding behind in order to CONTINUE POLLUTING is the one he hypocritically named the "Clear Skies Act." Which, um, allows companies to pollute MORE.

Again: Is there anyone who isn't radically insulted by this evildoer?

Seriously. There's people I disagree with, and there's this fucking murderous idiot. People are dying every day because of his lies... but now he is working to ensure that people die on a planetary scale over the long haul.

God help us if we elect someone remotely similar. God help us for the next two years.

Love to all. Even you.

Bachelorhood.

For the last two days, I've been a bachelor. Maggie took the kids and left for Washington, DC. She decided that it was the only way she would be able to survive Spring Break. That's right: she preferred two 5.5 hour drives and tourist traffic vs. being at home alone with the kids for a week. I think that makes sense, but I'm also kind of surprised. She's normally less impulsive along those lines. But last week she decided to take off, and she did. So, bravo.

For the last two days, I've been a bachelor: strip clubs 'til 2am, after hours bars until 4am, barely getting home in time to drink some listerine and drag my sickly ass into work for three hours, just to slip out at lunch. Gotta pack in the debauchery while the Missus is gone, right?

Um. Okay. Not true.

Let's see. Yesterday, I forced myself to sleep until 6:30am. Even though I woke up sans-alarm at 5:09, I WILLED myself back to sleep until 6:30. Took the 7:45 train into Manhattan, was at work well before 9am. Sure, I skipped m morning AA meeting, but it was nice to have a relaxing morning.

Last night... deep breath... I had a SLEEPOVER. My friend Eric, who graciously volunteered to come up to Westchester after hearing that I hated being alone in the house (I get scared of ghosts and shit. Not crazy-style, but I just don't like being alone, and that's one way it manifests. Okay? Sheesh.).

Eric met me at Grand Central, and we took the train to my house. We went to dinner at the local French Bbstro, then back to my house, where he proceeded to completely kick my ass in Wii sports. Particularly bowling. The dude can bowl.

I didn't sleep well. Eric crashed around 10 in the TV room (we have a convertible couch), and I went upstairs and read until about 11pm. I woke up throughout the night... and was pretty much wide awake from 3:45 on. I got out of bed at 4:45, had breakfast, and woke up Eric at 5am, as planned.

And now we're on the train, heading into Manhattan. Eric's asleep.

I woke up this morning thinking: "Holy crap, things have changed. In the past, I would have used a few nights alone to get COMPLETELY shitfaced. Now, I'm lucky enough to have a friend volunteer to keep me company... and not try to get me in trouble.

So: In spite of the deep and lasting pain of Wii humiliation, I'm riding an early train to Manhattan. My head is clear, I'm not hungover, and life is mostly solid. I don't know if I'm supposed to be proud of a lack of debauchery... does one take pride in the fact of not doing things wrong? I don't know. But I I'm grateful for my life and family, and the bald-headed dude sleeping in the seat across from me. Rock on.

Love to all. Even you, the soccer dad who refuses to volunteer to coach, but wants to tell me how to do every little thing.

Do I sound a little funny?

Okay, so I was a guest on an internet radio show called Dad at Work.

They found me through this here blog, and were nice enough to ask me to do a show with 'em. This was actually the second time I did the interview, because the audio apparently got messed up the first time I did it. This one was done three or so weeks after the first one. I was nervous at the start, but settled down, I think. It was a neat thing to do... the host, Jeffrey Levine, seems like a nice dude.

So. Um. Let me know what you think. But be gentle. The show is right.... here.

Love to all. Even you, the skittishly hands-off dude with the flat arches.

Can't break free!

You ever get stuck in a mental loop?

It's 5:30am, I'm putting my shoes and socks on, and I've got one sock over my hand, sock-puppet style, when I decide to type a comment on someone's blog. But NO, I figure I can real-quick-like type with my hand in sock-puppet mode, and for some reason, I decide to STAY in sock-puppet mode, even though I can NOT freaking type in sock-puppet mode!

Damn.

Love to all. Even you, Doctor Steven Brodsky.

Best. Comment. Ever.

Some people, whose lives may have not been touched directly by something/someone, will be very insensitive about that thing. And, some people, are just dicks.

- Callisto

I just think this is really the perfect explanation for certain types of behavior.

Love to all. Even you, Captain Boredom.