Sex and Crunchberries.

Over the last six hours, I have discovered that sex and Crunchberries are pretty the answer to almost all of my problems today.

Yup. It's true.

Love to all. Even you, Forrest Mars (RIP).

Dear you,

By you, I mean NFH, Britt, and Slyght.

By you, I mean GinaMonster, TC, and Obliquity. Jeremiah. Aesthetic & Callisto.

By you, I mean Tracy Lynn, Shqipo, TheMom, Eric, Lisa, Po, Dawn, 2Vamp, Vinny, AbbaGirl, Jen (aka EvilynMo), ITS, Steven, Funky, Christelle, Zube, Suburban Turmoil, Amy, Kelli, and the various anonymous folks out there. And anyone I forgot.

This is a love letter. I repeat. This is a love letter.

My blog has been both honest and dishonest. I've never lied on this blog, but I've omitted things because I didn't trust that it would be private. And I've been raised to believe that if I expose, and therefore admit to, the "bad," no one will believe that I am any good.

The truth: my psychology is both supremely confident and selectively fragile.

Change is afoot. Lots of change. Psychological, spiritual, emotional. But change isn't instant, and certain parts of my personality can't keep up with the others.

Like: I've changed certain behaviors for the better. But if that change isn't responded to in the way I think is appropriate, I lose my shit completely.

My fear is that I'm too late. Too late to save my company with more hard work. Too late to be a better person because I'm out of balance. I fear that these psychic changes are coming too late, and in the wrong order, for me to handle it.

But this is a love letter.

You see, I don't trust people. I don't know how I COULD, with how I was raised. But after 3.6 years sober and 4 years of separation from my parents, there are glimmers. Little by slow. And that scares the shit out of me. It's the realization that I am *beginning* to trust people that makes me realize what fragile ground I'm really on.

But here's the thing: collectively, I trust you.

And I love you for it.

That's all for now. Rock on.

Love to all. Even you.

I lost my shit.

I mean, LOST it. I said "fuck you" to Maggie like, 6 different times, all within crystal clear earshot of the kids. I feel terribly guilty and utterly fucked up.

Why did I lose it? Because I'm right. Maggie and I had another argument about money, finances, and business. And that classic thing happened: Maggie said something I thought was really insulting and incorrect, I got mad (but not yelling, "fuck you!" mad), asked her to give me an example of what she's talking about, she refuses to do so on the grounds that I'm mad, and THEN I LOSE MY SHIT, thus validating her whole point about me too mad to talk to. And that leaves me feeling manipulated, guilty, and isolated.

I wish I had my family to talk to. Time to go kill people on the XBOX, I think.

Love to all. Even you, blue.

Flux.

In a town where you practically have to knock down $200k just to break even, I'm starting to look hard at rationalizing my life. My oldest starts college in well under a decade, with two more shortly to follow. We need to change our approach.

Over the last two weeks, I've had severe problems at work, thought my marriage was going under, and underwent the greatest Perfect Storm of Suck I've ever experienced.

But at least I got to make a really good pee joke.

I was asked to speak at an AA meeting in NYC on Monday night. It's a crazy-ass old-school place called The Mustard Seed... in the basement of a Manhattan brownstone. At the end of the meeting, someone was sharing about how the feeling from drinking during a relapse is never the same as before one got sober. She was saying that she never felt that moment of pure static that she, like me was always chasing.

When she was finished, I said: "That maybe true about drinking, but I can tell you that the peeing in your pants part feels exactly the same!"

Only in a room full of recovering alcoholics would that have gotten the laugh it did.

Anyway.

The problem I'm having is finding balance: pushing the agenda when it's right to push the agenda, and backing the fuck off when it's not my business. They are both important, and I'm good at neither.

Struggle, baby. Struggle. Maggie just pulled in. Gotta run.

Love to all. Even you, the mom's who bought their kid's cookie costumes in order to sell girl scout cookies.

Revelations, part 1 of 2.

Never before have I wished for the promise of Communion to be more true than this morning. Watching my daughter receive this Sacrament for the first time, I realized that my faith in God on behalf of others is much stronger than my faith in God in reference to myself.

These things should not be different. Faith shouldn't be categorized. I would like to understand the meaning of this disparity. But I don't.

I've discussed my blogging life with Maggie, and that's for part 2. For now, it's time for the party.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the fancy coat who didn't realize that it might be in the way of the folks who were going to kneel in church.

Now this, my friends, is a dilemma.

This blog is no longer private, and it doesn't look I can post stuff here... the REAL stuff, that's actually on my mind, without people I don't want reading it...um... reading it.

God, I loved this domain name.

Fuck.

Love to all.

I guess I'm back, after all.

This is an excerpt from an IM session between me (in the interview room with a super-jittery candidate) and my Senior Salesperson, who was in the other room. We begin when the interviewee says "fuck." I'm on the right. (Click to enlarge.)


It's nice to know my employees think I'm cycling back up. Holy crap.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who made me rephrase, and rephrase, and rephrase.

Wiggle.

I realized today that if I didn't post something, I was going to take this blog offline. In fact, I had downloaded the whole site for a historical backup, and was ready wipe the whole thing from the ftp site when I decided to take the evening and think it over. I'm pretty sure I'm glad I did.

This has been a truly dark week for me, where personal events latched onto old psychological patterns and spider-webbed my emotional state. I've been frozen. Wrapped up.

Part of me plans to write about it, part of me... not so much. So pardon me in advance if I wind up writing something about sock puppets, just when it seemed I was about to get all deep and shit.

Love to all. Even you, Dad.

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.