Yay, Vatican!

I've been saying all along that the Bible and Evolution aren't mutually exclusive. And today, the Vatican came out and agreed.

Love to all. Even you, the priest who didn't show up for confession today.

The girls get the drift.

Last week, my U7 Girls soccer team got creamed. The reason was simple: the other team spread out, and one person stayed back on defense. My girls, on the other hand, rushed around like a school of fish... getting in each other's way and impeding each other's progress.

So, today, we ran one drill several different ways... for the whole practice. Spreading out, avoiding the defender, and passing to the open girl. ("Girl," by the way, is their choice. I asked if they wanted to be addressed as "women, ladies, or girls." They unanimously chose "girls.") The thing about running drills with 1st graders is that you can't always tell if they are listening. It's slow going, and the kids tend to space out.

But when game time came... holy shit! They spread out, kept the ball moving... the defender cleared the ball to the sidelines... and we had scoring opportunity after scoring opportunity. If the goal was six-inches wider, the score would have been 8-0. As it was, it was 2-0. I felt bad for the other team... they nearly scored twice, but didn't.

The lesson I learned is that lessons are learned. I'm really, really proud of my team. They showed a LOT of heart... and even though I thought they were barely listening, it turns out I had their attention.

(My daughter, by the way, had an assist.)

Oh, daughter.

If you haven't noticed, I've been a little depressed recently. I realized that I fucking HATE going to people's houses to fix their computers (something I've been doing while trying to staff up the consulting business). I also feel like I've been ignoring my core company (the one that's much more established and actually profitable) in order to launch the smaller company. It's mismanaged effort and it's bringing me down.

So, when I get in these moods, I start feeling depressed about everything. I suck because I don't write music or stories the way I used to. I suck because my soccer team loses. I suck because my core company bills 1/2 of what my last company billed.

Blah, blah, blah.

Anyway... so I come home last night at 8pm, and my daughter's in bed. For some reason, she starts asking me all about work. "Are you in charge? How do you get to be in charge? What do you do all day?"

So I talked to her about it for a while... and in the midst of it my daughter said to me "Daddy, I would love you if you didn't have any job." And I started CRYING. Just for a second, before my Man-Defenses kicked in and I stopped. I was SO touched by her.

So, message to Rich: Get over yourself. Life kicks ass.

Defeated.

So, about a year ago I was offered a job. It was with a competitor. Long established. And I really considered taking it. The main plus was that it was run by a high-energy salesperson who really loved her industry. I felt her strengths dovetailed perfectly with mine. I could both learn *and* contribute a ton.

I finally said no, due to a mix of about 80% numbers and 20% fear. I figured if I could do *okay* with my company, I could do better than doing very well with hers.

So, I ran into her today. It turns out that she's now approximately 12 times the size of my little firm... she has been getting all kinds of business from my many folks I try to work for (she named all these people, and I was like: FUCK), and has even been asked to audition for the same TV show I did. And she's the one person in my industry I'd pick over me for a show like that. Sure, I've been working full-time at my company for a year and half, and she's been open for twenty years... but ARGH. It makes me CRAZY.

So, yeah: I'm fucking depressed and whining about it. Sorry.

Love to all: even you, Ms. Almost my Boss.

A friend of mine said to me...

"Balance is dynamic."

What she meant was this: instead of looking for that perfect place where all is right and well, without further effort... realize that the perfect place is one of continual corrections. Balance is fluid and ongoing. There is no magic spot.

Coolness.

Big party, no hangovers.

It was a black-tie affair, mostly. Every now and again, someone walked by in drag, in leather, or in jeans. I'd peg the formalwear-to-not ratio at about 97:1. All told, we were two-thousand people at 200 tables in the Grand Ballroom of the New York Hilton at 54th and 6th. The mood was raucous. Peals of laughter rippled across the floor with great and wonderful frequency. Every speaker was met with loud and boisterous approval.

But no hangover for me, this morning. Or for any the two-thousand people at last night's shindig. Why? It was the Bill W. 71st Anniversary Dinner, and every single attendee at the $100-per-person affair was sober. Even the guests.

To sit in the ballroom, look across at the thousands of attendees, and think: "all of these people lost the same battle I did, all of these people reached their own point of desperation, and all of this people are having one hell of a time..." Well, it was pretty fantastic.

Very few problem drinkers make it to AA. Fewer stay. Last night was, as one speaker put it, possibly the biggest room of blessed people in New York City... at least at that moment.

How lucky are we?

Faith Converter 2.0

I just discovered Faith Converter 2.0.

"Found an admirable tome but it's in praise of the wrong god? Faith Converter is a godsend for priests, vicars, rabbii and holy men of all descriptions. Preach next Sunday's sermon from the Vedas, Noble Eightfold Path, Torah or Das Kapital!

The premier theological plagiarism solution for OS X, Faith Converter converts text between twenty-seven different religions, encompassing Atheism, Biopsychosocialism, Buddhism, Christianity, Communism, Confucianism, Druidism, Falun Gong, Hinduism, Islam, Juche, Judaism, Keynesianism, Linux, MacEvangelism, Mahanism, Maoism, NIMBYism, Roman, Scientology, Shinto, Sikh, Stalinism, Taoism, Thatcherism, Trotskyism and Veganism."

Try it out. It's awesome.

Sometimes....

Sometimes you just have to say "fuck the damage." Seriously. I was in this AA meeting a couple months ago, and this lady I really like (friend-style) was all depressed, and saying that she didn't feel like she had the right to be happy.

So I went up to her afterwards and said "Dude, God has personally authorized me to tell you that you have the right to be happy." And I MEANT it.

Everyone has a right to be happy. Although people's definition of happiness can be wacky. For me, happiness is the absence of fear. Period.

Everything else is gravy. Fortunately, I have lots of gravy.

The saddest syslog.

My system logs seemed very sad this morning. My translations are in brackets.

Oct 26 06:17:18 SymMissedTask - parent[185]: waketime is: Wed Oct 26 06:17:18 2005
[forgot to wake up the kid]
Oct 26 06:17:54 mDNSResponder: Advertising AntiPickle. IP 70.200.79.180
[whose kid is this, anyway?]
Oct 26 06:17:57 mDNSResponder: ERROR: Only name server claiming responsibility for "AntiPickle." is "."!
[nobody wants this kid]

So sad. And yes, my computer is currently named “AntiPickle,” because, at the point where I got it I was tired of dealing with petty problems… aka “Pickles.” I have a new machine coming in today, so I have to think of a new name.

Yeah, I’m a geek.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who blamed my friend for her own mistakes.

Wife on steroids.

Maggie is much better. Phew.

If you go to the hospital, bring an advocate. Bring someone who will politely(!) talk to the doctors and nurses about what they are doing and why. Don’t be a prick. I repeat: don’t be a prick. Regardless of how competent or incompetent the people are, you’re going to need them on your side.

This is the advice that was given to me, and boy... it's dead on.

Case in point. Maggie was in the hospital. She was sent home with steroids and benadryl. They didn’t work. She was in the hospital again the next day, really fucked up this time, and they put her on an IV drip of more powerful steroids. And benadryl. But they said they’d switch her to Atarax.

So, they go to send us home, since the IV steroids were working very well, and they gave us a prescription for the SAME USELESS MEDS that didn’t work the first time. We said, “Do you think that’s a good idea?” The doctor said “Well, we can send her home with a prescription for what we’d give her if we admitted her to the hospital.

“Good idea,” we said.

While her physical symptoms are a lot better, I gotta say: These steroids made Maggie a little wacky. The doctor actually said “I have to warn you [pointing at Maggie]… or rather, I should really warn YOU [pointing at me] that these drugs can make you loopy.”

Look. This is my blog, so I’m gonna just say it. Maggie was wacked. She was up all night doing stuff, marching around the house. She was really hard to talk to, quick to anger, and generally nutty. Honestly, seeing her like THAT was harder than seeing her covered in hives.

The last time I talked to her, she seemed a bit better. We have a babysitter tonight, so I’m going to go play Paddle Tennis. Even though I’m exhausted, I could use the exercise.

Love to all. Even you, the nurse who doesn’t like people from “our town.”

Shit, shit, SHIT.

Maggie is back in the hospital. She woke up this morning with her lips, mouth, and eyes totally swollen. Her body is covered in hives. I've never seen anything like it. She started to feel faint again, so I packed the kids into the van and took her to the ER.

Listening to this fucking doctor, I almost lost my shit.

"She's not going to die from this," he said.

I said, "You just told me that if her throat starts to constrict, she could be in real trouble, right?"

"Right."

"Then, are you saying that she's past the point where her throat might constrict?"

"Not necessarily," he said.

"So, what you're telling me is that she's not going to die right this very second?" I was incredulous.

"Right."

I went home to drop off the kids. I called Maggie. After I left, her throat started to constrict, and now they are taking things a lot more seriously. My in-laws are inbound, and I'm heading back to the hospital as soon as they get here. When I last talked to Maggie, she told me she was going to take a nap, and that I should come by in a couple of hours.

Love to all.

The best laid plans...

My business partner (and one of my better friends) is getting married right now. Literally. Right now. I was supposed to be there, but clearly I'm not.

Maggie woke up this morning with a severe allergic reaction to antibiotics, which wound up with her in the emergency room via ambulance. Truth be told, it started Thursday night, and wasn't much improving over the last day or two. She tried to call her doctor, but was only allowed to talk to her nurse. The nurse was rude and dismissive. She called the kids doctor, since he's an allergist, but he refused to get on the phone.

Way to go, Mount Kisco Medical Group. Nice fucking job.

So this morning, when her eyes and mouth were swollen, we decided to go to the ER. But as she started to get ready, she nearly fainted. She asked me to call 911. The EMT guys, and the police, were totally stellar.

She's developed an allergy to pennicilin. She's never had one before. Nice that the folks at Mount Kisco Medical Group wouldn't take her seriously enough to actually discuss this with her.

Covered in hives as she is, she's in no condition to go to a wedding. And I'm not going to go more than 15 minutes from her. I'm taking the kids to a movie and dinner out, but I'll be in cell range AND within a short drive the whole time.

Ugh. Double ugh. One because I was really looking forward to the wedding. The other because Maggie is super-uncomfortable.

Love to all. Even you, the MKMG nurses who don't take female patients seriously.

Some Dog Shit Named “Glade.”

Are you furious over the Harriet Miers nomination? Democrat, Republican, Libertarian, Green, Conservative, Liberal, whatever: You should be.

George Bush thinks you’re stupid. He always has. He thinks he can get away with shit just by NAMING things differently… Unfunded mandate that will bankrupt local school districts? Call it “No Child Left Behind.” Want to reduce pollution controls? Call it the “Clear Skies Act.”

He would name dog shit “Glade,” thinking that you wouldn’t notice the smell.

But the Miers nomination… this takes the cake. It shows a complete lack of understanding and principal. And it’s not whether she’s a nice person, or even about whether she’s pro-life or not (clearly, she’s pro-life), it’s about the fact that she’s completely unqualified to be a Supreme Court justice. Period.

1) She asked for a delay in her hearing so she could “learn constitutional law.” OH MY GOD. You don’t cram for a Supreme Court nomination hearing! Clearly, folks other than judges can and should be nominated to the Supreme Court, but Constitutional expertise is a requirement. That’s the fucking JOB!!!

2) Her answers to the Senate’s written questions were returned by Republican and Democratic Senators alike as being “incomplete” and “insulting.” She was asked to do them over. Hey, man, I only got to submit my college essays once. Why does she get a do-over?

It’s pathetic and scary. Bush has proven over and over that he’s driven by cronyism, but this is just BEYOND.

And it’s beyond politics and issues, too.

New Aphrodisiac!

Married? Long-term relationship? Things getting a little dull with in the bedroom? A little "by-the-book," as they say? Have you recently opened your eyes in the middle of lovemaking only to find that:

1) Your partner is playing on a PlayStation Portable?
2) So are you?

Well, folks: I have the CURE. It’s nearly-instant, and all it takes is a few minutes of your time. And best of all: it’s FREE! That’s right: FREE!

It’s all detailed in my new book: “How to turn your partner into a crazed nymphomaniac by doing the dinner dishes and keeping the bathroom clean!”

You’ll see, in a few easy steps, how YOU can turn YOUR partner into a ravenous, over-sexed love-junkie who will stop at nothing to have you.

Here are just a few of the tips you’ll find inside:

1) Secrets to effective rinsing.
2) Flushing: what is it?
3) Why dry sponges/paper towels are ineffective.
4) And more!

Buy it now! Make checks payable to Rich | Championable, or simply send letters of immense appreciation to rich at championable.com.

Sources.

So. Why the outburst yesterday over long-over crap with my parents? 9th-step stuff, I think. At this point in my whole self-assessment deal where I’m supposed to seek out those I’ve harmed and make amends for the injuries I’ve caused. Assuming, of course, that doing so wouldn’t harm the “amendee” or others. Clearly, my parents are on the list of people that I’ve harmed in the past. But the idea of making amends is hard to swallow when the at least one recipient of such action is mentally ill. And mean. And partially hates me.

Oh, well.

“It’s a sin,” Maggie quoted to me today, “to wish upon someone a life without grace.” And as soon as I heard that, I remembered my father saying “How dare you breathe?” I remembered him saying: “Every since you were a child, you’ve been trying to destroy our marriage.” I remember him saying: “Evil. Vile.”

So, it’s hard for me to thing of them in terms of the harm I’ve done. But heck, that’s the challenge here, isn’t it? Not to mention: I’m not exactly free from that sin, am I? No, sir.

Anyway, thanks for putting up with my crazy-ass self. I’ll be back in form presently.

Love to call. Especially you, with the half-broken mouse..

Dear Kids

I don’t care what kind of shit you do to yourselves, how strange you make yourself look, or what kind of weird stuff you do to your hair: I will absolutely buy the class photos from your senior year of high school.

Why didn’t my parents get copies of my high school picture? Something about me having a very silly-looking orange stripe in the very back/left of my head, where I applied a bunch of peroxide. No pictures, because I did something that deviated from their big Rich Recovery Plan, which was basically the Rich-is-the-Root-of-All-Evil,-But-Has Admitted-It-So-It’s-Cool-Now Plan.

The other day, I was riding the train across from an archetypical Westchester Dad. A clean cut, well-dressed dude. His teenage daughter was with him, and man, was she decked out. Enormicon-style pants, multiple dyes in her hair, some piercings, and, well, she didn’t look good. Even in a goth-chick kind of way, it was kind of off. Did the Dad seem to care? No. They chatted away and did their thing.

Smart poppa, that one. I salute you.

Shit. It doesn’t matter now, anyway… my parents threw away every piece of my childhood memorabilia they had in their house just before they moved to California without telling me. And I’m sure, just like he did with his mother, my father has physically cut me out of all the pictures he has hanging up in his new digs in California.

Fuck them. Fuck them. The older my kids get, the more I’m absolutely disgusted with my own parents. Assholes. Idiots. Losers. Fools. Weaklings. Sick fucks.

So anyway, my point: Kids, you have every right to get crazy. My job is to keep you alive and as happy as possible. I’m going to try and do that.

Love to all. Even you, Mom and Dad.

Chew with your fucking mouth CLOSED.

Holy SHIT. Three separate times today, I found myself sitting (trains) or standing (subway) with some jackass who was chomping wetly and open-mouthed at a wad of gum, smacking so loudly that I’m still stunned they didn’t soak down the other fucking passengers with their rude-ass saliva.

This is one of my biggest peeves, personally. It’s up there with timeliness, professionally. That is all.

Love to all. Even you, the people who chew with your mouths open.

WTF?

"The adobe updater must update itself before it can check for further updates."

It sounds like something for which I should avert my eyes.

Love to all.

Six second dispersal.

If I can wait six seconds before reacting to things that annoy me, the level of Peaceful Vibe in my house goes up by about 79%. If whip out the Dickhead Guns and shoot from the hip, well… status quo. It takes about six seconds for my self-monitoring subsystems to wake up from whatever they are doing (probably watching women-friendly pornography, if I know my internal moral gyroscope), and say:

“Whoa, brother. No big deal.”

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the enormous gold rings.

Tamiflu-resistant Avian Flu

Ever since I read the book "The Coming Plague," I've been a little bit microbially-paranoid. Mutiply-resistant TB, Ebola, Hantavirus, the Various Heps... it's kind of amazing that any of us are still alive.

But this Avian flu, man. This has me worried. Since it's not a variant of an existing virus, we've got no defense. And it's an equal-opportunity killer. This flu doesn't just kill the old, infirm, and immuno-compromised (not to say that this would be a good thing if it did)... but it kills everyone. Equally.

The death estimates range wildly: the UN initially said up to 150 million people worldwide, although they took that back. . The CDC said that the next pandemic flu could take out 700,000 people in the US. It seems that the general consensus is a wide range: 2 - 10 million people, planetwide.

So what do I do? Stockpile Tamiflu? Maybe: but the first case of Tamiflu-resistant Avian flu virus was reported yesterday. And yes, it seems that someone was given low doses as a "preventative." When are people going to learn how to take their fucking medicine? Every single time you go off anti-virals or anti-biotics early, you are simply creating a stronger disease. Think about that, the next time you by an "Anti-microbial" hand soap, please.

Scary shit. All I want is for my kids to outlive me. Seriously. This is one thing that makes me worry that it won't happen.

Anyway.

Love to all. Even you, the person with that wet, icky cough.

So. I auditioned for a TV show.

Through the crazy-ass social network that is New York City, I was approached by a cable channel to audition to be on a new reality TV series. I would be a panelist, not a contestant.

The audition was at 3pm yesterday. On camera.

You should know, first of all, that I get stage fright. If I am even ASKED to do some kind of acting (I’m talking Company Skit, here) my hands sweat preemptively and my just just HAMMERS. It’s not pretty. Back when I was a rock drummer, I would sometimes be so panicky and stiff that I didn’t have FUN until the last song of the set. And then I was like: "FUCK! Now I want to play!" And then it would be over.

So, this time, I actually prayed. I said “God, if I’m supposed to humiliate myself, let me humiliate myself. Just let me do the job I’m supposed to do.”

And I had a blast.

They surprised me a few times. Asked me to do parts of my job on camera, in a roleplaying mode. I did. At the end, they said "Rich, you were amazing. If you don't here from us in three weeks, call me." So that's a good sign. After this, they said, they'd do a callback with the full panel of finalists.

Hmm. Strange what comes knockin' at the door.

Back from the Dead: Universal's Halloween Horror Night

My god, I’ve missed you. Each and every one of you. But I’m back, now. And after a really, really stellar strip to Universal Studios Orlando with my 9-year-old… it’s time to revert to being the Engine of Economy that I’m supposed to be.

Traveling with my 9 year old was a dream. In fact, he’s a tremendous companion in nearly every aspect. He's adventurous, an excellent conversationalist, and pretty flexible. His only “difficult” quality is his insanely high energy level. Score one for MY genes! He’s constantly climbing, jumping, balancing, sprinting, or just, well… vibrating in place.

The parks rocked. While Universal is no place for the under-48-inch-tall set, they put a lot of thought into the rides. Get an Express Pass, if your budget allows for it. You get to go on each ride once, relatively quickly. Although they don’t always scan the pass, meaning that, depending on your moral code, you can ride Express again. My favorite rides: Spider Man, the Mummy,

Halloween Horror Night at Universal Studios was a mix of Totally Awesome and What Are They Thinking? Although the latter is probably due to Age (Late-Mid-Thirties) and Position (Protective Parent).

Here’s the deal: Throughout October, Universal closes the parks early, and transforms the Island of Adventure into a huge spook zone, with seven different haunted houses. Each house has a theme… whether that theme is “grinding up human remains” or “house full of dead family members,” it is sure to include lots of fake blood, and dozens of people hiding behind every corner who try to scare the living shit out of you. Again, an Express Pass is even more important item here. Regular lines were 45 minutes, while Express was walk-on.

Also, throughout the park, there are tons of actors dressed as murderers (with real chainsaws), ghouls, ghosts, or enormous demons (stilts included). And if you act scared, they will follow you.

My son thought it was fantastic. In fact, sitting on a park bench sipping a PowerAde, he looked at me very seriously… fireballs from the gas jets reflected in his eyes… and said “Dad, I love it here. I would live here if I could. This is amazing.”

And I thought “Shit, kiddo, you’re gonna LOVE college.”

I had two problems with the setup. One was the way alcohol was pushed SO excessively. Now, I realize that I’m a total teetotaler, but I’m also very Laissez-Faire (sp?) when it comes to what other people do. But micro-mini-clad ladies walking around an amusement park with trays of Jello Shot syringes was a little much.

The other problem I had was the R-rated-ness of the way women were presented. Kind of uncool for kids. Beyond skimpy warrior-demoness costumes, there were actually women pole dancing in cages suspended about eight feet from the ground. THAT, I think, went a little to far. I understand trying to appeal to the 18-29-year-old set, but in an amusement park, I think strippers cross the line.

Details, details. I got to spend four days with my older son, and we had a tremendous time together. From the parks to breakfasts to bus rides to beating the crap out of him in Epic Hotel Room Battles, getting four days with him was amazing.

Love to all. Even you, the kid who kicked my seat on the airplane.

See you on the 11th!

I cashed in my SkyMiles, got a couple of free flights, and I'm taking my oldest to Universal Studios in Orlando for a few days. Yeeeeeehah!

Love to all. Even you, the lady who hates roller coasters.

Okay: Check this out.

This guy I used to work with dates this woman from a major financial institution who knows this TV producer who is working on a pilot for a cable channel. The show is a reality show... loosely based on the American Idol format (panelists and hopefuls), but for something totally different than singers. In fact, it's in my field.

So, the guy told his girlfriend to tell the producer that I should be auditioned as a panelist, and the producer called me yesterday to ask if I would come in next Wednesday for an on-camera interview, to see how things go.

I said: sure!

Now I'm terrified.

Renewal of Vows, Part II: Micro-honeymoon.

Me and Maggie. Alone.
Drive into Manhattan.
Arrive at the Essex House. (View from the room pictured here.)
Dinner at the Park Avenue Cafe.
A long, uninterrupted sleep.
Morning.

Running together in Central Park.
Breakfast in the Cafe.
Strolling through MOMA.

...home in time to pick the kids up at the bus stop.

Love to all. Even you, the cabbie with an attitude.

Renewal of Vows, Part I: Lost in Blue

October 2nd, 2005 was a lot like October 1st, 1995: warm and sunny and beautiful.

As people arrived at the church, I felt nervous. And as people sat down, I began to feel self-conscious: was this whole thing a bit egotistical? What did people think of us for doing this? Was it too much?

The ceremony started. My boys walked up the aisle in perfect cadence. My four-year-old moved more slowly and deliberately than I’ve ever seen him. They both held pillows, upon which were our original wedding rings. My daughter followed the boys, slowly dropping handfuls of rose petals from side to side.

Father Mark started the service by addressing the fact that there are many faiths and many spiritual paths and that we should take a moment to consider how we, individually, coul move closer to God.. Clearly and rightly, he was acknowledging the fact that about 30% of the people in attendance were Jewish. He went on to talk about why we were here: that I had continued my spiritual journey, which had brought me to Jesus and the Spirit, and that two years ago, it was suggested that was take the Sacrament of Matrimony in the Church.

Then the ceremony got a little rough. My four-year-old started EATING the rose petals, and he and my daughter began bickering. One thing about my daughter: she does not quiet down. If you ask her to lower her voice, she repeats her complaint louder. My youngest alternated flower-eating with Pew Gymnastics. It was hard to concentrate on what was going on. Our friends did the readings, Father Mark read the Gospel. Maggie and I were called to the altar, leaving the kids to be managed by relatives in the row behind us. We stood in front of the altar, faced Father Mark, and were asked to confirm our intentions. We did. Then we were asked to face each other.

And suddenly, without transition, I was lost in the deep and perfect blue of Maggie’s eyes.

What had been a religious ceremony transformed into a true profession of unity, love, and mutual service. A Sacrament. I have never been so present and in the moment, and while I’ve taken vows before, I don’t think I really knew what that meant.

I do now.

Over the last 10 years (until two years ago), Maggie has watched her husband change, and usually not for the better. An alcoholic husband can create tremendous uncertainty and fear and instability. And while I kept it together from a parenting and financial standpoint, Maggie and I were solidly on the path to Not Making It. These last two years have been much more than a return to sobriety. It’s been a rebuilding. And it’s not a coincidence that I came into the church a few months before I got sober.

Over the last two years, I’ve come to understand what it means to be present, to be a husband, and, slowly, to realize that being happy is more important than proving my point all the time.

Please note: I suck at this, a lot of the time. I can be grumpy, irritable, self-seeking, and impatient. But I’m honestly trying to do better on a daily basis. And I can see the changes. The best and greatest sign of this, though, was when Maggie told me:

“You’re becoming the man I married again.”

The Sacrament of Marriage is all about helping your partner get to heaven: whatever heaven may be. And regardless of what heaven turns out to be, my job remains the same.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. No-Way-Out.

10 years. New commitment. New rings.

Love to all.

So I’m getting married Sunday.

Maggie and I were originally married in a Jewish ceremony. We were going to do a combination-type thing, but the Rabbi we were going use wouldn’t officiate at a two-religion deal. Besides, my family would’ve freaked. They pre-freaked, so the full-on freakness was assuredly to follow. However, we did add some Christian elements ot the Jewish ceremony: intercessionals, for example.

Fast forward 7 years. Maggie, having found her way back to the Catholic Church, asks me to go with her to mass (For company. Truly nothing else.). And in the midsts of my mentally-ill father’s crazy-ass Borderline Personality Disorder-driven onslaught, I get hit with the Jesus stick. In April 2003, I convert to Catholicism. Sometime over the next few months, one of the priests mentions that we might want to have our marriage blessed by the Church.

[Sidebar: Yes, that’s right. I got hit with the Jesus stick, and now I’m a full-on Holy Spirit fanatic. Admittedly, I have real issues with how ostensibly Christian folks misuse the Gospels (and the rest of the Canon) to bolster stupid and dangerous political and social agendas… but bring it on, people. I guarantee you that I’ll have you talking circular arguments within 3 rounds of discussion. I'm that good. And that confident.]

Fast forward another 2.5 years. Present day. Our 10th Anniversary is this Saturday. On Sunday, we’re having 46 people to our renewal of vows. It's sort of a "first" wedding, too... since we were never married in the Catholic Church. After all the things we've been through, and the amount of shit I've put Maggie through... the fact that she's doing this AGAIN is huge.

And I'm taking it seriously. It's a big deal to me. In some ways, it's a bigger deal than the first time.

Love to all. Even you, the serially single.

Thank you, Digital Objective!

My crazy-ass contact in Montreal wrote an impassioned post about flossing... which I can't seem to find on his blog anymore. Anyway: it inspired me. Anything written with such pure belief has to be considered seriously and immediately. And I’m fully aware that this is one area in which I sorely lack. So I went and bought a Reach Access flossing kit, and got busy. My teeth feel stronger already.

All of which gets slotted into the category of: Evidence that I Need Ever-More Maintenance Not to Fall Apart at the Seams. Oh, Lord.

Love to all. Even you, the transplanted Albanian.

My last three obsessively-played songs.

“Let it Dive” by And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead
“Destiny (Photek Remix)” by Zero 7
“Godless” by The Dandy Warhols

DUDES. I ran a mile in 5:50!!

That's WAY better than I thought I could do. Holy crap.

The race was the "Fifth Avenue Mile" in NYC. It's the first short race I've ever run, and it's the first one I've been in that has heats by age. I swear... it was the craziest race I've been in. While I was trying to figure out how to get my breath back, and whether I could keep up the pace I was running... I saw the finish line up ahead. So I bore down and took off... I ended the race full-on screaming for the last 10 paces.

Rock on.

Love to all. Even you, that lady who was giving her daughter a hard time on 86th Street.

Justifiable anger is so fucking useless.

You know, it doesn't matter if I'm right, sometimes. It just doesn't fucking matter. I think I'm finally learning the meaning behind the expression:

"Which would you rather be: right, or happy?"

I think I'd rather be happy.

Love to all. Even you, yeah, YOU.

Vague depression, mild justification.

I'm off kilter.

Today, I read about these little earthquakes in California, and I checked to see how close to my parents they were. (They were 60 miles away). I've never been to my parents California house. They moved a couple years ago without telling me. Part of me always wants to give them a ring or shoot them an email saying: "Hey, if you need help, let me know."

But I've been there, done that, and I don't have the constitution for the hate-laden filth that my father shoots my way when I'm the current Evil Focus of his Borderline Personality Disorder.

Anyway.

Maggie and I are having a little tiff. I feel justified in my reactions and position, but that's not going to make the situation any BETTER, is it.

No.

Me and my business partner. Seriously.

I'm on the right.

Mild panic.

Three kids.
Two dogs.
Two cats.
Two companies.
One spouse.

Even though I'm doing a lot of work on a lot of different things, I just can't get with the idea that I'm doing ENOUGH. And the more successful I am, the more this feeling of mild panic grows. It's really silly and frustrating and affects my whole deal. I have to learn to chill.

End of complaining.

Love to all. Even you, the woman who clearly spilled crap all over her jacket.

More power to you, but...

If you're one of those folks who likes to drink, and it doesn't fuck up your (or anyone else's) life in any way... more power to you. In the same way that I'm hugely in favor of legalization of marijuana in spite of the fact that I don't use it at all, I really believe that people should pretty much be able to do what they want, if it doesn't hurt others.

Me, though... I'm not that good at the drinking.

Two years ago today, I quit. And while it's not the kind of thing for which I'm going to throw myself a party... I'm pretty freakin' happy that I did. So: yay, me.

Love to all. Even you, the woman who thought "I'm am NOT going to drink today. And did, anyway."

Play. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

I'm going to run in the Fitness Magazine 4-mile race now. It's a qualifier for the NYC 2006 marathon, so that'll leave me with only two more to go! For today's experiment, I'm going to run it listening to Zero 7's "Destiny," the Photek Remix. On repeat.

Love to all. Even you, the people who start at the 7-minute mark when they do 11-minute miles.

My life is shit.

Wait. Scratch that. My life is POOP.

Between this puppy, who clearly believes that a walk outside is a precursor to pooping inside, and my 4-year-old, who has suddenly decided that he no longer needs to poop anywhere but in his pants... well... you get the idea.

But I'm being dramatic. Maggie's home. I'm at work. So really, it's much worse for her.

Love to all. Even you, the sloppy dude who used the men's room before I did.

Hey, God.

Hey, God.

I was in St. Vincent's hospital this morning, where a friend of mine was nearly killed by a cocaine overdose. Lying in that bed, he was a man who has been beaten, repeatedly and with baffling ferocity, by his addictions. He seemed stunned.

So, God, I guess I want to say "thanks." I don't know why I've been given this reprieve from my crazy-ass upbringing and problems, and I don't know why I've been given the opportunity to do the things I'm doing, but I'll do my best to be the person you want me to be.

So, God, I guess I want to say: Thank you for my challenges and joys. Thank you for my petty annoyances and my little moments of bliss. Thanks for the pain, the hurt, and the tears I've had, and will have in the future. Thank you for giving me people in my life that I love so much that it actually hurts to look directly at them.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Why I love New York City.

This is the reason I love New York City: all I have to do to acquire some serious energy is go outside. The moment I hit the street I get slammed - absolutely slammed - with the rocket-fast vibe of a thousand different people all at once. Every race and religion and level of sanity broadcasts its signal, and all I have to do is walk down the street and simply RECEIVE.

Love to all. Even you, Bostonites.

Maggie, there's another plane.

On September 11, 2001, I was sitting in my old office on 38th Street. We had a direct view of the Twin Towers, and one of them was burning. At that point, we thought it might be an accident. I was on the phone with Maggie when a second plane came into view, heading downdown.

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

Love to all. Even you, the people I'm never going to meet.

Theory: All men would be bisexual, if they could be.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

In light of Katrina, Iraq, etc.

Can everyone just take a moment and realize how utterly silly it is that we give a crap about who is gay and who isn't? Can everyone take a deep breath and say "Wow, marriage is a great thing for everyone who wants it." Could everyone use the current state of things as an opportunity to put silly-yet-dangerous prejudices to rest, now and forever?

Gay marriage is an issue? Please.

Love to all. Even you, the closeted man who can't figure out why he's so damn angry.

Who knows where the puppy poop is?

She does. And so do I, since she pooped directly on top of a braided belt of mine... I'm not sure if it's possible to really, truly clean it. At least on the first pass. Do I dare think I did a good enough job and wear it to work? I think not. The potential for "what the hell is that smell" incidents is simply too large.

So, meet Mimi. My oldest picked her, my daughter named her, and my youngest think's she's aces. I like her, too. A lot. I've already had a sit down with her about Carter, so she knows a little family history. I've slept on the floor with her for the past three nights, since that keeps her from crying. It's a tradition that started with newborn humans (the babies slept on my chest the first night or so), and continued with puppies (including Georgette).

It's 5:37am, and I've got to walk her again before I catch the train to NYC.

Love to all. Even you, the cat-biased person with the mismatched shoes.

Afterlife: Matthew 22:23-33

Carter’s death has got me thinking about the afterlife. For all the Christian talk about life after death (especially Christian evangelists' talk about individual existence in heaven), Jesus made it abundantly clear that while there is a kind of “life” after death, it’s not the kind of thing that we think about in order to assuage our fear of dying. I think most people think of their own consciousness, still intact, lolling around heaven – only without vice and in total happiness.

I’m a believer in the Spirit. And I believe that we all have a bit of the Spirit in us. Some less than others. And we can choose whether cultivate that part of ourselves or not. The light is within us, but we can hide it if we want.

External guilt, northward bound.

"Sometimes, opportunity knocks." Maggie just said this, and it's very true.

My friend wrote me a wonderful note about the dogs he's had over the years. He currently has a tremendous pup that volunteers with him at a local hospital, doing "pet therapy." Patients get to hang with this wonderful dog, and it makes them feel better. At the end of the letter, he said "I look forward to meeting Carter's successor, but not replacement."

Thinking about Carter over the weekend, I decided to look up his breed, the Flat-Coated Retriever (he was either a purebred or a dominant mix). I put myself on the "rescue" list, and shot some emails off to the Flat-Coat Society about local breeder resources. They got back to me fifteen minutes ago and said "Flat-Coat rescues are extremely rare, but there's a breeder about a hundred miles north of you. They have a puppy for you, if you want one."

My first thought was: "Man, that's quick." Carter was sick for 4.5 months, but he only passed on Friday. But then I realized that this thought was driven by what I felt OTHERS would think. Not by reality. I love Carter SO much, and always will. Acting on an opportunity like this is separate from Carter. I openly admit that I want a dog to love, no matter how goofy that makes me sound. (And I do love our other dog, but Georgette isn't really my type of dog. I like her, but as part of the pack, as opposed to a super-personal connection.)

Maggie said that she felt we were honoring Carter by looking at another dog in his breed. I disagree. I think they are completely separate. I'll honor Carter by trying to be more patient. That's the lesson he taught me. If I get this puppy, well... the Adventure Continues.

Love to all.

Katrina: UPS, Wal-Mart, McDonald's.

I haven't mentioned Katrina yet, because I believe everyone knows what a complete national fuck-up the whole thing has been, and what a disgrace it is to our government that the response was so poor. And if you disagree with me, nothing I say here will convince you.

However:

Utah's Salt Lake Tribune is reporting that UPS, McDonald's and Wal-Mart have stopped paying employees who were nailed by Katrina. I don't eat at McDonald's, I rarely shop at Wal-Mart, but I do use UPS. No longer.

I run a small business. And the goal of my business, like every business, is to make money. But when my employees encounter unavoidable personal situations (or even avoidable one's, depending on the situation), I pay them. Because paying them when they are down means they will work really hard when they are up. Kindness breeds results.

So dammit, people, even if you're a through-and-through asshole, being nice is SMART.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the Permanent Bad Mood.

Carter: 1993 - 2005

As I mentioned back in April, my dog Carter was diagnosed with liver cancer. Although he was given three to five weeks to live, he stayed with us for another four and a half months. Yesterday, he took a turn for the worse. He stopped eating and couldn't walk. We put him down a little over an hour ago.

Carter died at home, in his bed. The children all got a chance to say long goodbyes, and Maggie and I were petting his head as he left this world.

Carter was Maggie's constant companion, and the Great Constant of my life.

We'll miss him terribly. In fact, we already do.

Love to all.

Rich

Montauk, Continued: Sunlight, Pulmocort, and getting lost.

Today was gorgeous. After two days of crappy weather, we got one of the best days I’ve ever seen out here. 85, perfectly sunny, not a trace of humidity. Yum.

Of course, this being Real Life, there were problems. My youngest came down with a cold, and that, as usual, triggered his asthma. This happened last night. It turned out that the nebulizer he uses was missing a few pieces (I angrily blamed Maggie for this. Very chivalrous, I know. Shit.), so we couldn’t give him his normal medicine. My oldest has the same medication, but with a big-kid delivery system, so we tried that. It was really difficult, but worked fairly well. I was going to make the 6-hour round trip to pick up the missing pieces (starting at 1am), but we realized that I’d get back around the same time that pharmacies opened.

The only place that carried the needed parts was in South Hampton, so I took off in the van this morning, as early as possible. Stupid me, I didn’t realize we never drove THROUGH South Hampton on 27 (like you do all the other Hamptons), so I hit Riverhead, a few towns west, before I realize that I had fucked up. And traffic the other way was bumper to bumper. Ugh.

Made it back. Delivered the goods. Went to the beach with the family. Bliss ensued for two and half hours. I have the pictures to prove it.

Then my youngest started running a fever. We tried to go out for dinner... but after we ordered drinks he got all queasy and threw up on Maggie. We left the restaurant and came home.

Maggie changed her shirt, took the other two kids, and went out. I put on Peter Pan, and am writing this. In two minutes, I’m going to see if he feels good enough to strap on the nebulizer for two doses of Pulmocort.

The adventure continues.

Love to all. Even you, the too-blonde waitress with the sad eyes.

Quote of the morning.

“I am SO good at lying in bed.”
- Maggie

Room for improvement.

Oh, man. Yesterday was NOT my finest day of fatherhood, husbandhood (is that a word), or general human being-ness. I was irritable, prone to saying angry things, and generally miserable. And I helped everyone else be that way, too.

Admittedly, I’ve been stressed. It was pouring here in Montauk, we were stuck in a small studio, my main person at work has taken ill (possibly for the long term), and I was trying to get work done here under non-work conditions. (I won’t even mention my visiting father-in-law insisting we walk to a restaurant for breakfast in the rain. That made for happy kids, I can tell you.)

Shit.

We DID try to come up with some fun things to do. We went to the Riverhead Aquarium, which was okay. It tooks us two hours to get there, though. Hamptons’ traffic. We played lots of games. But my fuse was about a micron long.

I called a friend of mine, and he gave me this advice, in re: speaking in anger. He said to ask myself:

1) Does it need to be said?
2) Does it need to be said now?
3) Doe it need to be said by me?

Smart people, my friends.

Love to all. Even you, older lady with the monogrammed towel.

Checkmate.

My five-year-old-daughter just put me in checkmate in four moves.

Greetings from, um, Vacationland.

Must… fight… despair. I’m sitting in a small studio co-op in Montauk, NY. It’s pouring. The place is a little small for five people. Well, actually, it’s REALLY small for five people. My two oldest have been up since 5:15am. Maggie is conked out. My youngest is still sleeping... but it appears he wet the bed. Whee! (Or is that wee?)

The cool thing is that I’m posting this with my PowerBook via my Verizon 710 bluetooth phone. Yay, technology! The other cool thing is that I’m wearing boxer briefs, and look fairly fetching.

It’s supposed to rain today and tomorrow. Possibly more, if Katrina’s remnants come this way. I’m not sure what the point is of staying here, if it’s raining. I’ve got to find something fun for us to do today, or we’re going to kill each other.

I know, I know, I’m lucky to have the chance to take a vacation. Screw you.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who probably should buy a slightly fuller suit.

Manhattan Half-Marathon, August 28, 2005.

I just got back from my third half-marathon of the year... and my sixth New York Road Runner's race, also of 2005. Only three more races before new year's, and I automatically qualify for the 2006 NYC marathon. Rock ON.

I ran this race at a slower pace, which was planned. Between the various stressors of my life, the halt in training from Ehrlichiosis, and the fact that it was drizzling and 91% humidity today, I decided to just go easy. I did 8:39 minute miles for 13.1 miles. Good enough for me today.

You know what's fantastic? I don't NEED to set personal records every single race I run. Hell, I'm someone who used to get fired up about things for a day or two... and then forget them completely. I've been running consistently for 2 years, now. I've run a total of 123.1 miles of races, which clearly doesn't include training. That kicks ASS.

Although for the Staten Island half-marathon in October... I actually WILL be going for a personal record. So, um, I'm a hypocrite.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who blew a snot rocket on my foot today.

Editing SUCKS.

This is one of those moments where I wished that the six or seven people who know that I'm the author of this blog didn't know it. There's shit going on that I'd love to write about, but I can't. FUCK. Change is afoot in my life, I think. We'll see what goes down.

Love to all. Even you, the nameless dude behind Door Number Three.

Intelligent Design vs. What, exactly?

One of my online friends was writing, somewhat negatively, about the idea of Intelligent Design. You know: the idea that biological- and physics-based systems are so complex that they HAVE to have been created by God, and that this idea should be taught in schools either alongside or in place of evolution. This is NOT a response to her… just a comment on the whole thing.

There are two separate issues, here. Let’s handle the easy one first:

Keep God out of the public schools. If you want to teach God-based education, either leave the country or go to private school. It’s constitutionally mandated to be this way, so drop the argument. Nobody has any right to use public funds to teach children about any group’s view on any form of God’s involvement in their lives. We have church for that. Or parents. Remember parents?

The land was made for you AND me. And THEM. You know? Even if if God snapped his fingers and created it all, teach what happened in the aftermath. There’s a lot of ground to cover, there.

Second: Why are God and Science are so incompatible, anyway? Maybe God started the ball rolling, and then things developed. I dunno. I just don't think they're so different. Unless you’re a biblical literalist.

And shit, yo: How long is a day in God's mind, anyway? 7 days could be 4 billion years, for all we know. Hubris, hubris, to think we know otherwise.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the argyle blanket, sleeping on 31st and Lexington in NYC.

Pat Robertson: Holy SHIT.

What's worse?

1) Pat Robertson calling for the murder of another person?
2) Pat Robertson lying and saying he never use the word "assassinate?"

I'd say they go in order. Or maybe not.

Sheesh.

Love to all, even misguided "Holy Men" who clearly have forgotten the Word.

Suddenly, the Age Thing kicks in.

WARNING: This post makes reference to pubic hair.

But not yet.

My eyes have been bugging me. I've always been proud of my vision... I've always been able to see things that other people couldn't, and from some pretty great distances, too. But over the last six months, I've had a harder time focusing on things both near and far. So today, I got my eyes examined. Glasses! I'm getting glasses! Apparently, I've got a mild astigmatism.

Now, I have to be honest: I was sort of HOPING to need glasses. But only for reading/computer stuff. I mean, I think glasses are so cool. But now it turns out I'm getting glasses to wear ALL THE TIME. Be care what you wish for, indeed.

Add to this my slowly thinning hair (Admittedly, this is relative.. I just used to have LOTS of hair. HUGE hair. Long, curly, crazy-ass hair. Now I have regular hair. Short. Boringly normal.), my suddenly shot-through-with-gray beard, and my first GRAY pubic hair... and I'm feeling a little like walking, talking ONSET. Did I mention the hearing damage from my drumming-in-dirtbag-bars days? What? Could you speak up?

But then again: I'm running another half-marathon this weekend. I've lost 15 pounds (I'm now 5 pounds from the weight I was when I got married 10 years ago), and I've been going to the gym in earnest... Add to that that I quit smoking in 2000, and quit drinking in 2003... and I'm probably in the best shape of my life.

Ah, fuck it. I've spawned three times over. I'm rightfully being replaced by the younger, superior, next generation.

Love to all. Even you, the kid who plays too much CounterStrike.

Yay, Blogger! Word Verification and Comments for All!

Phew! I mean... I love you, Blogger... but I don't want to limit comments to Blogger-registered folks. And as the super-helpful commenter pointed out, Blogger now has word verification for posts. This is brand new: announced August 21, 2005.

Yay! Back to our regular schedule of religion, politics, and parenting. Phew!

Love to all. Even you, the woman who forgot to set her alarm.

Anonymous Comment Spam. AAAAAAH!

Oh. My. God.

I had to turn off anonymous comments, because I was getting SuperSpammed. I'll turn 'em back in on a day or so. I've deleted all the spam, so all that's left are the wry and wonderful comments of you, the reading public. As well as the angry and offended comments of you, the reading public. Not to mention the neutral comments of, yes, the reading public.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who forgot to shave.

Random event number 8,361.

My four year old just had one of those brain freeze moments. He walked into the kitchen, flipped up the garbage can lid, and peed in the garbage can.

It was truly hilarious.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who doesn't know that his feet are a tad stinky.

Saturday, Part II: Block Party!

After being here in tony, tony Westchester for 5 years, we finally decided: screw this, man. We're having a block party.

So, in 1 hour and 43 minutes, about 70 people will be converging on our cul-de-sac. My neighbor and I did the music, and I've set up a PowerBook attached to Bose Speakers. Way cool We've got beer and wine for the drinkers, lots of soda for the non-drinkers (which I think is, um, me), and, almost best of all...

WE RENTED WARMING TROUGHS... WITH STERNO!

And even better:

WE HAVE A PORT-O-POTTY!

Love to all. Even you, the lady who dropped a glass.

Saturday, Part I: Concrete meaning.

One side affect of having been raised by a borderline is this: it's hard to believe in concrete meaning. Words liks "I love you" or "I hate you" or "Nice job" or "You're completely incompetent" all start to blend together, since they can be substituted for each other at any moment. It's one of the reasons why I have relatively few strong attachments to people.

The great challenge of my life, and one at which I've made significant progress, is to:

1) Realize that some things DO have concrete meaning, and
2) To act on those meanings every day.

That's all.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the cracked molar.

When the old dog's gotta go...

...he's gotta go.

Every night, Carter wakes me up so I can let him out. Last night, I was up from 2:30 to 4:30.

Yikes!

Pardon the depression.

What a fucking day. Two things, here.

One:

If you send an email to a relative with Borderline Personality Disorder, even if you haven't spoken to that person in two and a half years, be prepared for the worst. Even if that email was meant for (and sent to, but with "reply-all" hit instead of "reply") someone else. And even if all that email said was "Hey, congratulations on moving! You deserve a spa day!" If I told you what the response I got was, I don't think you'd even believe me. Unless you've dealt with someone who has BPD, you just can't understand the pure fucking fury. Scary shit.

Two:

D, our fresh air fund kid was taken home a day early: he got in a fistfight with my oldest. Really, they were both to blame. And my oldest freely admits it. But once things escalated to the point of them actually punching the crap out of each other (they had verbally argued quite a few times prior), that was it. Visit over.

The sad thing was, well, how sad D was. For someone who was quite aloof about letting us know he was having fun, he was really upset about going home. Ugh. And truthfully, he was getting along SO much better with my oldest that Maggie and I were like, "Oh, this is turning out great!" But again, physical violence is one line that can't be crossed in this house.

So, we're back to being a house of 5 again (9, if you include the dogs and cats). And I'm feeling really, really sad.

I miss my crazy-ass relatives, in spite of the fact that, their asses are, indeed, crazy. And I'm sad that things didn't turn out better with D. I think we gave him a great trip, overall: we got him swim lessons (and he learned to swim!), we got him tennis lessons, we took him to Rye Playland... and more importantly, we hung out. He's a bright and friendly kid, for the most part.

So that's all from me. I'll be more interesting tomorrow. I hope.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the worn-down pastels.

Agnosticism is for losers.

Platform agnosticism, that is. Windows vs. Mac.

I spent the day removing spyware from a client's PC today. (This is my second job... not my main gig.) It was maddening. I had to use a combination of four different software tools to finally get everything to a state of near-normalcy. It was unbelievably tedious and frustrating.

There are variants of spyware that reinstall themselves immediately upon removal. How rude.

Now, I've often dabbled in platform agnosticism: trying to be neither Mac nor PC biased. But you know what? Microsoft Windows (up to and including XP SP2) is a badly coded, insecure, bloated piece of utter shit. When people are THROWING AWAY their computers instead of cleaning out the spyware, you know something is wrong.

But then again, I appreciate the work. Thanks, Bill! You rock!

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the Alienware Gaming PC.

Maggie lays down the law.

I love my wife. She's so freakin' SOLID.

So, D. (the fresh air fund kid) was complaining a lot. He didn't like anything we did, didn't want to do anything other than what he wanted to do, and kept saying he wanted to go home. Maggie called the folks at Fresh Air for advice. After speaking with a completely unhelpful "hotline" operator who kept putting her on hold to go ask her supervisor what she should say, she finally got in touch with the regional coordinator, who was absolutely terrific.

So, Maggie took D. aside and said "Look. If you want to go home, that's fine. I can bring you right now. But we really like having you here, and are really looking forward to having you hear for six more days. But it's your choice. The thing is, there are four children here, and we can't change everything around so we can do only what you want, whenever you want to do it. So it's up to you: if you want to have fun, you can. If you want to go home, you can. But it's YOUR choice to have a good time or not."

He was kind of silent after that, then his attitude changed completely, and has remained so today.

Rock on. Love to you all. Even you, the dude in the clashing blues.

My doctor, my exasperation.

So, I’m at the doctor this morning for a follow-up on the Ehrlichiosis, and I told him: “Dude, remember when you told me that my chest pains, etc., are just part of getting older? Well, yoga fixed it.” He said “Well, that makes sense, if it’s muscular-skeletal.” I said “DUDE, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME TO TRY YOGA? Or stretching.” He laughed, and said that traditional Western medicine doesn’t really approach things like that… that I am welcome to try alternative methods, but that he can’t really guarantee anything.

I said: “Listen: I will sign a release for you which absolves you for any responsibility for the efficacy of any alternative medicine you suggest. Just SUGGEST it. Okay?”

He said: “Okay.” Then he told me that malaria has come to Westchester, NY.

Ugh.

Monsignor Eugene Clark: Hypocrite, but for a different reason.

So, the Rector of St. Patrick's in New York City just resigned because he had an affair with a married woman. I love St. Patrick's. I go there from time to time when my day is getting super-stressful, or I want to sit, think, and pray for a little while.

Clearly, carrying on an affair with a married woman was a bad thing to do. And it's kind of sad that he preached so strongly on the subject of marital fidelity... in fact, preached on the identical circumstances he was in... only to do exactly what he was preaching against. But then again... he was probably talking about his own internal troubles, so this actually makes sense.

But what REALLY pisses me off as that:

1) The man isn't admitting that he did anything. In fact, the woman involved says they rented a hotel room for five hours so SHE COULD NAP and he could do PAPERWORK. Umm... Of course, they told her husband they were going to somewhere ENTIRELY different, as opposed to Montauk. (One of my top 5 places in the country, by the way.)

2) The man BLAMED GAYS for the problems the Church is having. "Homosexual recruitment" is the cause of the Church's problems. Allowing gays to "slip into seminaries." AAAAAG! It just makes me fucking NUTS. Homosexuality and pedophilia are two ENTIRELY SEPARATE THINGS. They have NO relation to each other whatsoever. GRRRRRRR.

Here's what I propose for the Catholic Church:

1) Ordain women as priests. It makes sense to me. Hell, Mary Magdalene was the closest to Jesus of ANYONE.
2) Allow priests to marry.
3) Embrace gays as children of God. NORMAL children of God.
4) Promote birth control. <--- off topic, but this is a big one for me.

That's all from my layperson's persepctive. I just got back from the doctor, and have to catch a 10:30 train to the city.

Love you all. Even you, the pissed-off person with the Dell laptop. Yeah, you.

Bright tears, elaborate pratfalls.

My oldest has been bickering with our visitor from the Fresh Air Fund (heretofore, D.), and vice-versa. I think there's a bit of jealousy there, in both directions.

D has been of mixed emotions: he's a bit afraid of being in an environment where he can't excel fairly quickly. He loves to shoot hoops, but doesn't want to go to the skate park. He's happy to go swimming in the community pool, (even though he can't swim that well, the pool is quite shallow over a large area... we've gotten him lessons, which he likes). Tennis is out. Overall, he's a sweet and engaging kid.

All of our animals just ADORE hiim. My two other children also think he's aces.

I took my oldest out for dinner tonight. Solo. I felt it was important for us to have some alone time.,I'll be going out solo witih D on Monday evening. While we were out, we stopped at the bookstore and my oldest, knowing how much D likes the NBA, bought him a book of Basketball Top 10 lists. It was very well received.

D spoke to his Mom tonight. It was really interesting to hear him describe our house and family. When I put him to bed, he wasn't talking. I said "Are you sad?" He nodded. I said "Do you miss your Mom?" He nodded again, and single, bright tear snuck out of the corner of his eye, and crept down his cheek.

"D," I said. "Here's the deal. We've only got you for six more days, and you'll be back with your Mom. And MAN, are we glad to have you in our house. Six days, and you're home. So I'm gonna make sure I enjoy having you around, since it's such a short period of time."

After that, I can't exactly tell you what I did: only that it invovled a spontaneous dance, a fake seizure, and an elaborate pratfall that left my oldest and d. smiling widely and clearly thinking: "What a strange yet entertaining man."

4 kids is a LOT.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

Part of me expected disaster. Part of me expected 100% bliss. Clearly, what we’re getting here is something well in-between. Adding another child to the house does some interesting things to the chemistry. Even if the boy is only here for 10 days.

He’s a good kid. Seeks approval. Likes to show off, but isn’t overly haughty.
He’s never seen a dishwasher.
He’s never seen a tennis court.
He likes PlayStation 2, which we don’t have.He can sink three-pointers from unbelievable distances.
He doesn’t know his Dad.

My oldest got mad at him over something, and it just ruined his afternoon. Maggie did a fantastic job of talking them back to being friends again.

Maggie is really sick, which is a drag. I’ve got client visits all day, so I can’t go help her until later this afternoon. More later.

Hello, young man.

Dominique, our visitor from the Fresh Air Fund, is here. What a great first iimpression he made! He's polite, handsome, and HUGE!!!! He's SO tall!

Five thoughts.

1) Carter didn't finish his special hamburger dinner for the first time ever. That doesn't bode well for him. Gorgeous old dog.

2) Why is it that many "very religious" people don't seem to be able to counter arguments based on scripture?

3) Right now, Maggie is in the woods behind a neighbor's house, looking for Stewball, the missing kitty.

4) We've got five kids tonight... three of mine and two/thirds of a set of triplets visiting my oldest.

5) On Monday, we've got a Fresh-Air Fund kid arriving. I'm a little nervous.

De-cranked.

I went to sleep at 7pm last night. Woke up 18 minutes ago.

I was turning into such a crankball after two nights of no sleep. I feel like a new man.

ROCK ON.

Enough of this religious shit: Life update.

A cat is missing. Stewball vanished 72 hours ago, almost to the day of the two-year anniversry of our losing Courageous Kitty. This is his official kitten picture from the vet. He's about 4 years old, now. We're worried that he was taken by, in order of likelihood, a great-horned owl, a fox, or a coyote. It's really sad. Stewball is/was a solid dude. We distributed fliers today, hoping that maybe he just got lost.

Carter, on the other hand, is still with us. Fully three months after the outside envlope of his predicted demise. I love that dog, and every day he's here is just awesome.

My foot's been itching for two days, and it turns out I had this enormous blister between my third and fourth toes. I don't understand how I didn't notice. Bleah.

New York City has been really hot. I had to dress up three days this week for client visits.

My company is on track to do about a million dollars in sales this year. How about that?

Love you all. Especially YOU. Right there. With the computer.

Excerpt from a discussion with a pleasant pro-lifer.

I don't believe that questions like "Does God make children by mistake?" or "Can God make a mistake?" are actually valid. Is God fallible? Maybe. I know that in the Torah, God was persuaded to change his mind by Moses at least three different times. See Exodus 32:34- 33:23 for just one example. Was God merely "pretending" to change his mind? A little bit of trickery from the Almighty?

When Jesus died, he LEFT. At least according to John.

"But the Counselor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. - John 14:26"

What he left behind was the Advocate. The Holy Spirit. Which is an entirely different presence than the direct intervention of God. God may or may not make mistakes, but God isn't directly involved in day to day decisions, so it doesn't matter.

I hear similar things in AA. (I'm an alcoholic. But I don't drink, so it's cool.) People always say "nothing happens by mistake. There are no coincidences." Etc. Speaking strongly, here: I consider this the height of arrogance. God didn't shatter someone's prized teacup on purpose, then go and starve a million Nigerian children, or kill a child via some drunk driver. God isn't part of the day-to-day situation.

God doesn't influence the Super Bowl.

On the other hand, I believe in the Spirit. The flow of good on the planet. And I can work to be spiritually aligned with that, or not. I think it's a tangible, internally provable thing. And it's why I have that big-ass tattoo on my right shoulder (see my blogger profile pic). It's a dove, and it represents the moment Jesus was imbued with the Holy Spirit, after being baptized by John.

Some thoughts on the train to NYC from Westchester. Rock on.

Five sentences.

1) I just got a kick-ass retro chrome watch with red LED read-outs.
2) I am feeling a lot better, and went to work today.
3) My daughter made me SO angry today I wanted to lock her in her room until she's 28.
4) I'm down to 171 lbs... which is 4 over my wedding weight in 1995.
5) Let's change "28" to "56."

Antibiotics, Viruses, Super TB.

One of the comments I received mistakenly states that antibiotics make viruses stronger over time. While this isn’t correct (in fact, the near-opposite is true: antiobiotics only affect biotics, i.e. bacteria, etc), it raises a really good point.

Take your medicine. ALL of it.

In New York City, we have something called Super Tuberculosis. Or super TB. It’s a multiply resistant form of the disease which came about because a whole lot of TB patients stopped taking their medicine as soon as they felt better. What they didn’t realize was this: they felt better because the medicine had killed a whole lot of bacteria. But not all of them.

The last to die? Those are the strongest of them all.

And what these patients were left with, then, was a rapid regrowth of the strongest TB bugs their body had left, ones that were resistant to the drugs, and would be near impossible to treat.

TB is just one example. Super Bugs are becoming more common across the board.

Thanks for all the wishes, by the way. I'm so much better today that I've already overdone it. I carried a 19" monitor (LCD) and two laptops from home to work... including walking from 35th street to where I work in the East Village. Zzzz.

104.3 - ugh.

This is the first time I haven't just rocketed back to health after starting antibiotics.

Weak, semi-grumpy, and enforced sleeping.

I have GOT to go back to bed. I really want to go to work tomorrow, but if I feel anything like this, that would be totally stupid. I feel okay when I'm sitting on the couch... my eyes burn a little, and I feel kinda dizzy... but when I stand up, I feel TOTALLY weak.

It's kind of like pneumonia, only I can breathe.

This is quite a little challenge. My chest hurts, I'm achy all over, and I feel like I could fall asleep in a few minutes.

Perhaps I will.

Ehrlichiosis: I hadn't heard of it.

Over the last 48 hours, I got super-sick. Chills, 104-degree fever, total fatigue. I wound up in the ER. They did bloodwork, and found my liver enzymes were wacked. My platelets and white blood cell counts were low. They said "you have ehrlichiosis."

I said "Whoa."

Just got back from the hospital. 'Night.

If you know, you know. If you don't, that's totally cool.

Sorry about the vagueness of this one. I won't do it again.

On Friday, I did my first full and complete 5th step. It was an absolutely amazing experience, and completely different than what I expected. When it was over, I felt infused by light, and totally excited about the future.

During the process, there was one point where I tapped into this unbelievably strong wellspring of sorry over my father and mother. Although, having thought about it, i think it was two things: 1) Crazy-ass borderline that he is, I still miss him tremendously. 2) Having three kids of my own, I have no clue as to how he could act the way he does. I understand that he's sick, but when my kids do the exact same shit that, when I did it, was termed "evil," I'm like: "What the FUCK? This is just normal KID stuff."

Well, God bless the man.

I didn't engage those feelings. I realize I'm going to have to, eventually. But not now. For the moment, I am reveling in the fact... the concrete realization... that doing a fifth step, and following it quickly with the 6th and 7th, means that I am totally responsible from my actions from here on out. No blaming anyone, no matter what they did, do or will do.

I am totally accountable. Rock on.

The Run for Central Park: A new personal record!

Holy Smokes!

So, three days after running the Nike Run-Hit Wonder Race, I ran the 4-mile Run for Central Park. My clock time was 28:29, which means I had at least a 7:07 pace. My previous fastest was 7:42 in a 5k race back in March.

Yeesh! Yay!

I almost lost it, though. I ran the first mile in 7:21, and the second in 6:50. So by the third, I was feeling a whipped. I've never experienced the "recovering your breath while still running pretty hard" thing before. It's amazing how, if you slow down just a little, you'll slowly recover enough to start speeding up again. I never really tried that before.

...

The official results just came online: I ran a 7:04 pace. ROCK ON.

Nike Run-Hit Wonder 5-Mile Race Results.

Hey, cool!

I came in the the top 650 out of 3700-something guys. That ROCKS. I ran a 7:51 pace. My second fastest to date. Yay!

Grace under pressure and, well, AAAAAAH!

And no, I don't mean the Rush album. Wait, you mean you don't *have* that one?

:-)

I saw my oldest in a swim meet today. It's his first year on the team. When the race started (he's on the "exhibition team," which means "beginner so it doesn't really count"), I got confused. I saw this speedy, graceful, muscular Big Kid sliding through the water, and I said to Maggie: Is that really him?

It was.

So. Maggie is sick. She actually asked me to come home from work early today to take care of the kids. And she's a true Irish "work-through-the-pain" type. So you know she's hurting. And I did this. But my main employee is out sick (for the second day), and I've got all these open orders I really need to work on pronto. I feel like I'm torn between family needs and family funding, you know.

Then, fuck, we're closing on a refinance on the house tomorrow. We're rolling in our home equity line and getting a 1% reduction in the 30-year to 5.875%. I say "fuck" not only because I like to, on occasion, say "fuck," but because after stringing us along... they moved the closing to 3:30 in White Plains, NY. This bums me out because I'm running the Nike Run-Hit Wonder Race tomorrow, and if things get delayed, I'm going to miss it. This is my fourth race this year that counts towards the 2006 New York Marathon. My fifth is Sunday.

Anyway: work, family, self. Anybody know how to balance this stuff?

These nights.

Maggie is sick. Maybe with a recurrence of Lyme disease. She's tired and fluish and aches all over. Her test results come back Thursday. I got home around 9... just in time to say goodnight to her and my oldest. My two youngest were already asleep.

I'm missing my parents, right now. It's such a strange thing to say. But I really do. The thing about my father is this: he's not a bad guy... he's just got a major problem. Let me correct that. He's can be a GREAT guy, but he's got a major problem. And when that problem focuses on you (like it did to my Uncle and my Grandmother)... oh my God, is it frightening.

Folks with Borderline Personality Disorder are persuasive and relentless and frightening.

The thing is, I love my parents dearly. And I miss them. In spite of the fact that they think I'm evil... that they think I've been trying to destroy their marriage since I was four years old... I still think this is driven by illness, and hope that, one day, I could at least say hello again.

The caveat: I will not let Maggie get hurt by them again. While I watched the decades-long rage against my Uncle and Grandmother... she never experienced a Borderline in action. She was unprepared, and thought that she could win them over with honesty and kindness. No wonder she got shingles. Twice.

Ugh.

I'll be happier tomorrow.

Dell Financial Services redux: They suck MORE.

Why, Lord? Why?

Why does Dell Financial continue to call my company week after week... asking for a company that hasn't had this number in years and years? WHY? I've been nice. I've been angry. I've even kept them on the phone for 20 minutes by acting utterly insane. I've spoken to Supervisors. I pretended to weep once.

So my next tactic, then, is to start billing them consulting fees for helping them figure this out. Then, I'll sue them in New York Small Claims court to recover my fees.

Serioiusly. I've HAD it.

Wheat and the weeds.

Yeah, I can be one evil jackass. At least in my thoughts. Occasionally in action.

Today's reading in Church was the parable about how someone's wheat field was sown (by an enemy of the farmer) with weeds, and how the farmer had to let the weeds grow along with the wheat, since pulling up the weeds might destroy the roots of the wheat, too.

We're all wheat and weeds. We're all good and evil. It just depends on which part we nourish, and which part we try to redirect. This is the goal of my spiritual life, my family life, and my work life.

I know people who focus on the weeds. They're stuck in a self-deprecating, endlessly-circling-back series of laments about what's WRONG. True, maybe, but there's wheat in there, too. And to focus on the good strengthens it, as well.

I'm not very consistent about the spiritual action required to take steps on my spiritual path... but hell, I'm trying. And, I think, improving.

Rock on.

Fear of humiliation, fear of failure.

You know.... I've started three companies, sold one, am running the other two. I've got three great kids and I'm happily married. I've quit smoking, quit drinking, changed my diet, become a distance runner, etc., etc., etc.

Yet, the only reason I'm writing the above is because I'm embarrassed that I lasted only 24 hours on this crazy-ass fast. But you know what? It is what it is. I'd rather be somewhat ashamed than be a short-tempered prick.

Oh, well.

My reference book, Nutritional Healing, has a section on juice fasts, which sound more up my alley. I think eating *nothing* and being in an active family of five just doesn't cut it for me. And when I try it, I'll blog it, even it means blogging a failure.

Fast, Day 1: This is NOT for parents with kids.

I think I'm going to bail. It's only been 24 hours, but honestly: serving your kids ketchup-laden french fries while your other kid is having a huge bowl of ice cream... well.... let's just say I'm being non-optimal. In fact, I'm being a short-tempered guy. Sticking to healthy food is fine. Sticking to nothing in the face of all this stuff on TOP of the non-stop questions from the kids is a little too much. Unless I check into a hotel for a couple of days.

Fast, Day 1: A mistake?

I just got off the phone with Maggie... and she said that our race is Wednesday, not Thursday. For some reason, I thought the 20th was a Wednesday. This kind of throws of my whole plan, since I need two days to start get back on the food trail from fasting.

Grrr. What to do?

Fast, Day 1: Cayenne bonanza!

Last night, before I went to bed, I took a sip of the lemonde mixture I made. Holy CRAP. The pepper was was unbelievably strong. I wrote my semi-hippie-yoga-nutritionist and asked her if that was supposed to be the case.

Turns out I doubled the cayenne by mistake. Tee hee.

So I just whipped up a new batch. 8 ounces for about 10 minutes from now. 40 ounces for the day.

The morning starts with Oxy-Mag, though. It's the stuff that's supposed to really clean you out. I can say, hands-down, that it is the most un-food-tasting thing I've had in my life. Icky poo.

Off to work.

Fast: The evening before.

I'm about to prep my drinks for tomorrow. It's a combination of:

Cayenne pepper
Lemon Juice
Raw honey
Water

Also, I'm going to by taking this stuff called Oxy Mag, which apparently oxidizes all the crap, literally, leftover in your intestines from years and years of self-abuse. I have this weird idea in my head that I'm going to somehow poop out a whole, pristine, Big Mac from 1994.

I've been eating really well for the past month... mostly just fruits and vegetables... EXCEPT for lunch today, which was, um, three pieces of pizza. And, um, another two when I got home. I think I freaked out over the idea of what I'm going to do tomorrow. Also, I have a race on 7/20, the Nike Run-Hit Wonder in Manhattan.

So I might keep the fast to five days so I have one day to recover before the race.

In a way, Danny Glover sucks ass.

I have insider information. And Danny Glover can be highly dishonerable.

I t just needed to be said.

My fast starts tomorrow.

Here's something I haven't tried...

...and I'm not talking about french-kissing an otter. I mean, I've never done that either, but I'm probably not gonna. Unless the otter is REALLY hot. I mean, like, a BABE. But the thing is, I don't know what makes an otter hot. Fur quality?

Wait. I'm off on a tangent, and I haven't even started writing.

I'm doing a 5-7 day fast. Starting Friday. It's a detox/cleansing thing, planned for by my semi-hippie-boxing-yoga-nutritionist person. For that time, all I get to drink is "lemonade" made with lemon juice, cayenne pepper and honey. Also, I'm supposed to take this oxidizing powder that makes you poop all the time.

My friend (who is quite outspoken about things) did this about six months ago. She told me that LONG after she shouldn't have been pooping anymore, she kept on doing so.

She would think "Now where were YOU hiding?"

The 10 year itch....

...not THAT kind of itch. Perverts.

Maggie and I are getting married in the Catholic church on October 2. That will be one day after our 10th anniversary. I have such mixed feeling about the church in general, but I really like the church we attend. That, and our favorite priest is going to do the ceremony. He's an awesome dude, and frankly, is quite the handsome chap. When I see him, I think: "I can't BELIEVE that guy isn't allowed to date." He'd make some lady very, very psyched.

Our original wedding was a Jewish ceremony, which rocked. But, having converted to Catholocism a couple of years ago, it's time to get hitched again, all proper-in-the-church-like.

My persepctive has changed, baby.

So I ran the Bronx Half-Marathon at an 8:24 pace. I was a little disappointed. I mean, it was great fun... and I beat last year's time by 38 seconds per mile, but I wanted to try to get under 8:15, which is my current personal best. This is the first race I've run twice.

Three years ago, I couldn't run a quarter mile.

So, over the last five years, I've gone from a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker and problem drinker to Mr. Green Tea and distance running. I wonder what Maggie really makes of all this? Does it make her insecure? That I'll someday revert to my self-destructive and unhealthy ways?

I hope not. I mean: how can I? She's letting me go to a bachelor party in Montreal.

:-)

These moments.

It's 5:22am, and I just finished a brief Yoga routine. As is my norm, now, I had a huge glass of water-with-with-lemon-juice right when I woke up, and I'm about to have a cup of green tea. Then I'm going to go upstairs to take a shower, shave, and head out to run the Bronx Half-Marathon. The iPod is has a new playlist for the occasion.

It's moments like these when I ask myself: holy SHIT. Who ARE you?

One week in Montauk.

Just got back from a week in Montauk, NY. We met some friends from our old neighborhood in Brooklyn (something that's become a yearly thing) at a hotel on Old Montauk Highway. The weather kind of sucked, and we came back one day early.

It was fun though. Several people commented that I'm much less "angst-ridden" than I used to be... and that I look a hell of a lot healthier. Although one friend said "I think we need a little of the old-school 'slacker rich' around here."

The Bronx Half-Marathon is Sunday. I'm totally psyched.

More later.

Uh oh: O’Connor retires.

Bye bye, Roe v. Wade. Hello, Antonin Scalia, Version 2.0.

The most powerful action a President can take is to nominate a Supreme Court Justice. Because it’s a lifetime appointment, and because opinions rendered by the Court become the Law of the Land, each selection affects the course of Constitutional interpretation for the next several decades. The impact is absolutely profound.

There’s a precarious political balance on the Supreme Court, and it looks like it’s about to tilt seriously to the right.

Uh oh.