Technical Paradise

Sometimes I experience a perfect storm of technological upgrades and transfers. This is one of those times.

Love to all.

Hand me down = platform change.

My one active addiction is to computer hardware. Every 6-8 months, I get the Uncontrollable Urge to Upgrade. Normally, that means that I eBay my PowerBook and get a new one. This time, though, circumstances are different.

Apple's new MacBooks run on Intel Processors instead of PowerPC. This means that if the software you use was written for PowerPC, it will run under emulation on the new Macs. Emulation means slow.

Of the software I use most frequently: Microsoft Office, Adobe Creative Suite, Macromedia Studio, and Filemaker... NONE of it runs natively on the new Macs. So if I want to go faster, I need to get a PC. Combine this with the fact that Maggie is due for an upgrade (she's using Photoshop a lot, now that she's shooting digital), and that my niece could use a computer of any kind, and it's hand-me-down time!

On the right is the new machine: a dual-core Dell for me. On the left is the PB G4 1.67 that's going to Maggie. My niece will get Maggie's 800Mhz Titanium G4.

I'm going to try and stick with this configuration until Creative Suite 3 comes out next year... and then I'll switch back to the Mac. We'll see how that goes.

Love to all. Even you, the puppy with the built-in "It's 3:30am!" alarm clock.

Why I need to stop using Apple products.

I was in the shower this morning... and I looked down and thought: who the hell left an iPod Nano in the shower? This was completely messed up because:

1. It's soap.
2. Nobody in my house has a Nano.

Love to all. Even you, the Con Ed driver with no respect for Yield.

139 kisses.

That's how many my daughter gave me before she went to sleep tonight.

Thank you, God, for these simple moments of utter bliss.

Love to all.

Gay Adoption II: Clay responds.

If you click here, you can read my original post on gay adoption. The full comment from Clay (from which I excerpt below) is there too. Feel free to read the whole comment so nobody can accuse me of decontextualizing. God, I love that word. Ready? Go:

Following your logic, then, the local Priest, Pastor, Reverend, Parson, Rabbi, Imam etc. can be an avowed practicing homosexual, or an adulterer actively involved with another woman (or man, in the case of my denomination which has female priests), or drug addict, or alcoholic, or Satan worshipper on the side etc.

Of course a homosexual should be allowed to be a Priest! They would take a vow of celibacy just like everyone else. (Although that’s a whole different topic.) However: equating homosexuality (which has no moral component) with drug addiction or alcoholism (which has a huge moral and ethical impact on the active alcoholic/addict) is just wrong. They are utterly different things, and don't belong on the same list. I may not be gay, but I am an alcoholic. I know what I'm talking about on this one.

After all, we are all sinners. That shouldn’t have anything to do with our lives or what we want for ourselves, right? And all sins are the same. Having a lustful fantasy about a girl in your High School class is surely on the same par with actually raping her. Right?

That’s just a fucked up and senseless thing to say, Clay. I don’t believe that at all, and you don’t either. No other comment required. It's wrong by definition. If you believe what you wrote above, just say: "I believe fantasy and action are identical." Man. And as a side note, I wouldn't equate a "lustful fantasy" with "rape fantasy," although apparently you do. Ick.

Obviously, homosexuals can’t reproduce. Therefore, they are a dying breed, so to speak. Allowing them to adopt children, who aren’t necessarily homosexual themselves, only threatens to expand the amount of human extinction.

Clay, where do you get this stuff? “Expand the amount of human extinction?” Somehow I don’t sense that the extinction of the human race due to lack of reproduction as an impending threat. Feel free to document otherwise. Really. Now, I don't actually think that having gay parents means that you're more likely to be gay... but I don't really care, either. Again, feel free to document otherwise.

While I am no fan of Evolution per say, It seems quite obvious that in the interest of the preservation of the human race, homosexual indoctrination of children is probably not a good idea.

No fan of evolution per se? Are you saying evolution is incorrect? Spelling errors aside, even the Catholic church is pro-evolution. And once again: I'm pretty sure that underpopulation isn't an issue on this planet.

I am all for their right to co-habitate. I draw the line at parenthood. A child needs both a mother and a father. That is nature’s way, and we would do well to respect it.

Do you think that gay people were invented by giant space caterpillars? All because they are the minority, that doesn’t mean they aren’t natural. Do you think left-handed people are unnatural, too?

And besides: I have a sneaking suspicion that you drive a car, ride in airplanes and wear clothes. Why? Because nature gave you the capacity to do so. In the same way that nature gave gay people the capacity to be loving parents. If you think that gays shouldn’t be parents, then you should stop doing, wearing, and using anything that doesn’t come out of your own ass. Or mouth. Or nose. Or ears. Pick your orifice. After all, you're denying people the right to do something they have the capacity to do well, all because it's not "natural."

Okay. I'm done.

Love to all. Even you, the receptionist at the Washington Square Hotel.

[Excerpt] Gay people: as nature intended.

I'm so tired of the "as nature intended" argument against gay people and gay parenting. All because homosexuals are in the minority, that doesn't mean that they were invented by space caterpillars. Personally, I put blue eyes, left-handedness, and homosexuality on pretty much the same plane. They're all recessive traits with NO MORAL COMPONENT WHATSOEVER.

(This is part of a longer post I'll put up later. I just thought it was important enough to point out on its own.)

Love to all. Even you, Clay.

Like kids, like father.

A while back, we instituted Screen-Free day for the kids. No computers, no TV, no screens of any kind. We thought it would be a good way to have the kids focus on things other than Zelda, Drake and Josh, Lego Star Wars and Kim Possible at least one day a week. It worked so well, I figured I would apply it to myself. After all, I'm the one that's glued to the laptop morning, noon, and night.

So yesterday, I announced to the family that I would be starting screen-free day, too. Their reaction was a bit more dramatic than I expected. My oldest grinned and said , "No, WAY!" My wife seemed pleased, but slightly doubtful that I could pull it off.

I'm a little sad about how it went, because it went so well. We hung out in the living room and talked. Maggie and I put the kids to bed, then read our respective books. It was quiet and restful and attentive. Clearly, this should continue.

I swear: by the time my kids are all in college, I'll have learned enough to be the perfect parent.

Love to all. Even you, icky-stalker-professor-guy.

Trashing history.

When I sold my company in 2000, I soon realized that I had made an error. I started to count the time until 2003, when I would be released from my contract and able to strike out on my own again. I counted time with my train tickets.

Today, I'm throwing them away. There's no point in keeping them... it was a sad countdown, long ended.

Besides, there's too much present to waste time dwelling on the past, you know?

Love to all. Even you, old bosses.

My tactics. My strategy.

I want to tell on myself. The truth is: I'm a little sneaky. Not in a bad way... and certainly not in a dishonest way... but I've decided that the best way to approach flammable topics of discussion is to do it from an angle. Some examples:

1. Homosexuality: Start with a side topic, like adoption. It doesn't matter whether you think being gay is bad or a sin, but rather whether having gay parents negatively affects the child being adopted. It's also less touchy than gay marriage.
   
2. Abortion: Before we even touch this one, let's start with widespread destigmatization and availability of birth control.
   
3. Military Action: Bring back the draft. Let's make decisions about "pre-emptive war" when everyone's children are involved.
   

Stuff like that. I think it's better to approach the "opposition" from the point most likely to create consensus, and move on from there. Part of this strategy comes from wanting to figure out with whom it's worth engaging: before hitting the Wall of Absolute Disagreement, it's good to discuss points that are (arguably) affirmable by either side of the issue. It's a good way to create dialog. And it's an excellent way to start "change from within."

It's not that I'm afraid to talk about stuff head-on. Sometimes, though, it's better to attempt to find a gray area... something we all can at least talk about.

Love to all. Even you, the dude in the pew who was shoving his way to Communion.

Externally meaningless, but cathartic.

• Most useless website: macosrumors.com
• Most disappointing person: Alex S.
• Most regretted month: September, 1984
• Most missed people: my parents

Love to all.

Brooklyn Half-Marathon 2006 or: life in 13.1 miles.

I love the Brooklyn Half-Marathon... it's like a family history.

1. It starts at the Wonder Wheel in Coney Island: my great-grandfather helped build it.
2. It continues past Nathan's, where my maternal grandmother ate many a hot dog.
3. It travels up Ocean Parkway, on which my paternal grandmother lived the entire time I knew her.
4. It ends in Prospect Park, where Maggie, Carter and I... and eventually my oldest sun, used to go every Saturday and Sunday morning, so Carter could play with his doggie friends.

When I passed my grandmother's building, I stopped and said a little prayer. I'm not sure why, but it felt good. I must have looked a little strange, but whatever: that's becoming increasing par for the course.

I don't know my official time yet: my clock time was 1:50, which is fine with me. It took a few minutes to actually start running, though... big crowd... so my net time is going to be a little shorter. It was a cold one: the water cups folks hand out during the race actually froze. Wild.

No matter what, it felt good to be 37 years old, 2.5 years sober (today) and running a crazy-ass race in Brooklyn, NY.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the red Corvette on the Deegan Expressway.

Shameless luckiness acknowledgement.

Sometimes Maggie is the sexiest woman on the planet. Holy shit.

Love to all.

Beware the Nikon S1.

I thought the Nikon S1 was the perfect camera for me. It was truly a pocket camera, it was affordable, and it was a 5 megapixel Nikon. What could go wrong?

I got my first one several months ago. It gave me a "lens cover error" after less than a week. (This meant that the automatic lens cover was stuck in the closed position.) So I returned it. Got a new one that worked fine, except that it took lousy pictures in low light, and was really crappy at capturing fast-moving things like kids or dogs, even with the flash on. It was constantly giving me the "picture is blurry - delete?" error. Then the new one, too, gave me the dreaded "lens cover error" message. I'm in the process of returning it, if possible.

I've now bought a Canon PowerShot G6. It's not nearly as small, but an infinitely better camera. Live and learn.

Love to all: even you, the counterpuncher.

Banning Gay Adoption or: Indirect Evil.

Currently, there are 12 states reviewing legislation to limit the ability of homosexuals to adopt children. This makes me bonkers. It’s the kind of thing I term “indirect evil.” In other words, the folks trying to prohibit this aren’t going out and committing crimes, they’re simply trying to prevent an enormous amount of good from taking place.

Indirect evil.

If you don’t mind, I’m going to focus on Christians for a moment. And I’m going to posit that if you are a Christian, and you believe that homosexuals should be prevented from adopting children, then not only are you a hypocrite, but you’re pretty much putting yourself against the word of God.

Look: let’s say that you believe that the bible says that homosexuality is a sin. Fine. Go to the same book, and find me a place where it says that you (yes, you, the reader) are not a sinner. Find the place where Jesus tells a stoning-minded crowd: let the person without sin throw the first stone. Read that passage again. Now again.

Then tell me why you, a sinner, should be allowed to adopt children when gays shouldn't. See what I’m saying? Even if homosexuality is a sin: so what? Personally, I don’t think it’s a sin at all… but that doesn’t matter in the context of this blog entry.

What matters: Is there an additional danger to the child that comes from being adopted by a homosexual couple? The answer, as far as I have been able to research, is absolutely not.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who didn't clean up her Poodle Poop.

Oh, God.

So.

Sometimes I'm like: all this God stuff is so bogus and infantile. Clearly, humans are just like other animals, and nearly all of our behaviors are just stupidly-advanced versions of what dogs, monkeys, bugs, and birds do. It's just so stupid to think that humans are somehow separate and apart from everything else on the planet. That we're so special.

And then I'm like: well, maybe that's true. And maybe we're not so special, that souls are imbued into many, many animals, at many levels... and the more complex the animal, the more complex the soul. Maybe souls are just pieces of the Holy Spirit, captured in our electrical/nervous systems. Maybe that's why souls don't inhabit our bodies until we're nearly born. Maybe.

And then I'm like: time, time, time. If there's no God, who the fuck started everything? How did this all begin? And if there IS a God, who the hell CREATED GOD? And if matter decays, then doesn't that prove the existence of God? Or the existence of SOMETHING?

And then I need to pee, so I post my blog entry.

Love to all. Even you, whoever twisted up my slinky.

Relearn.

Hi there, you. How've you been? You're looking better than ever. Yummy.

I have decided to reeducate myself on the topic of abortion. I'll be back with a full report sometime in the next week or so. In the meantime, you'll have to put up with my normal silliness.

Love to all. Even you, the spaced-out huge guy in the aisle at BJ's Wholesale.

159th Place! (and sex talk.)

...out of 1182 dudes. Not bad, not bad. And I beat all but 28 of the ladies.

This was the Pfizer Oncology Colon Cancer 4-miler. (A great cause, a lousy t-shirt. Not sure I want to walk around with the words "colon cancer" on my back.) I'm glad I ran well, but I feel woefully unprepared for the Brooklyn Half-Marathon next Saturday.

I had a tremendous conversation with Maggie today about sex. In fact, she said "If only we could about money the way we're able to talk about sex, life would be perfect." Well, one thing at a time, man. One thing at a time.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who smokes cigarettes while watching the runners.

Richard: Reloaded.

Saturday mornings are busy: my oldest has orchestra, my daughter has ballet, and there's usually one or more birthday parties for a child to attend... which means there's presents to buy. Today is no different. I've got 10 minutes until I leave to pick up my oldest, and I've already been to the toy store. My youngest has a birthday party this afternoon.

In the toy store, it occured to me to ask: "Do you have any Slinkies? Metal, not plastic." And they said "Sure! It's the 60th Anniversary of the Slinky!" So I got two. One for me, one for my main employee. I also got a Magic 8-ball.

"It is decidely so," indeed.

In 1987, I wrote a paper on Metal vs. Plastic Slinkies. There was a heavy pro-metal slant. And I'm metal-biased to this very moment. Try this: take a metal slinky, put the first two rings between your teeth, and (without letting go of the rings) gently drop the rest of the slinky to the floor. I guarantee you'll do it again.

Time for me to go.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who loud-talked to his kid because he was embarrassed to be in a toy store.

ACLU and NAMBLA.

I am a card-carrying member of the ACLU. The thing I most often hear from people who are trying to put the ACLU down is: "Those people defended NAMBLA. How can you support them?" I've heard this often enough that I'm going to explain it here.

NAMBLA, which the ACLU refers to as a "vile" organization, was being sued because some disgusting men molested, tortured and killed a boy. The murderers had NAMBLA materials in their possession. The suit alleged that NAMBLA should be blamed, partially, for the murder of the boys, since NAMBLA promotes statuatory rape. NAMBLA does not (according to what I've read, but I can't bring myself to ever go to their website) promote murder and torture.

The ACLU position was, metaphorically, this: If group A promotes stealing cards, and person B steals a car and murders everyone IN the car, group A is not, therefore, advocating murder. The ACLU's goal was to prevent this kind of precedent from being established.

In other words: NAMBLA, this disgusting, horrible, evil organization, wasn't promoting the kind of evil committed by those men, and therefore could not be blamed for that evil.

I have three children. If there is a hell, the NAMBLA fuckwads will be there. Count on it. In fact, this whole topic makes me so incensed and repulsed that I can't even close this post the way I normally do.

Solving the email deluge.

I get many, many hundreds of emails a week. Not always spam, but not always stuff I'm interested in.

So I think I'm splitting my work email into two parts:

richgivesashit@mycompany.com
and
richdoesn'tgiveashit@mycompany.com

Love to all. Even you, the lady with her AIM alert volume on 11.

Whose kid IS this?

How does my nine-year-old instinctively know that it's better to apologize to someone face-to-face than over the phone? The kid has the most amazing internal moral structure... it continuously blows me away.

Love to all.

Fighting stress, and Too Much Information.

I don't know why I'm so stressed out. I'm trying to fight it by doing more work at my company, buying Maggie flowers, and getting exercise. The more I think about it, though, the more I think it might just be because my back hurts.

Coming home tonight, the kids were out of their minds: fighting, argumentative, whirling balls of energy that sprayed noise and crazed vibes all over the place. It was both impressive and grating.

Okay. TMI time. The other day, a young woman I know (who's an actual model, and is kind of shockingly good looking), told me that I looked hot. In fact, she told me I look "hotter than normal." Liar though she is, I'm a sucker for compliments. Although it was on the day that I dressed all 80's-style, so maybe I was accidentally hip. She followed that up by saying "Your jeans, though. They're horrible."

I told Maggie about this (Note to men: do NOT tell your wife when a model calls you hot), and after giving me some highly-deserved shit, she went and bought me my first pair of totally fancy jeans. They arrived today.

I don't own anything like these. They fit differently: perfect in the waist, tighter in the calf... but... well... they're pretty tight in the quads, which is new... and, compared to everything else I have, they are really tight around the um, crotch. Like, really. Like, "hey, you're circumcised."

Maggie had me wear them for a while. She was like, "I'm so proud of you. I want everyone to see how much husband I have." Again, I'm a sucker for compliments. But I don't know. I'm not sure I can walk around NYC, let alone my office, with things so obvious.

I dunno. I guess I'm lucky to have this problem.

Love to all. Even you, the drugged-up dude who was nodding of on Union Square East.

Have you left your spouse?

How many people out there have had an argument/situation bad enough that they left their spouse? The duration can be from "overnight" to "forever."

Please feel free to answer anonymously, if that'll help you comment.

Love to all.

I'm feeling much better, except...

A friend of mine is an editor at a major New York City newspaper. I told her that I was feeling a little bugged out by the WTC "controlled demolition" thing. She said "Oh, Richard." And then proceeded to remind me of the massive amount of science and research that went into the investigation of how the buildings fell down. It hugely contradicts the movie and, she said, I would do well to read some of it.

And I will. But I'm over it, for now.

There are bigger things afoot, anyway, like fucking South Dakota.

Love to all. Even you, Mrs. Back Brace.

32:43 (updated)

At thirty-two minutes, 43 seconds into the second episode of season three of 24, Jack Bauer is really pissed off. He says to a criminal: “Shut up, stupid.” That line is delivered SO WELL, I replayed it like three times. It was perfectly delivered.

Love to all. Even you, the kid who's carrying the secret virus!

Coogan's Salsa, Blues, and Shamrock 5k

I ran my first race of the year today. I've only run a couple of times in the last three weeks, because of my back ickiness. Two weeks ago, I couldn't even walk. I'm happy (and surprised) to say that in spite of this, I beat last year's race by 6 seconds a mile, averaging 7:36 per mile instead of last year's 7:42. I came in approximately 400th place out of 1568 dudes. Let's hear it for 37-year-old hypomaniacs!

This is a good omen, because I'm stepping up the distance over the next little bit. My next few confirmed races are:

1. March 12th, 4-mile Pfizer Oncology Colon Cancer Challenge. (What a name.)
2. March 18th, 13.1 mile Brooklyn Half-Marathon.
3. April 29, 13.1 mile Queens Half-Marathon.

But I might do some others in between the Brooklyn and Queens runs.. depending on family patience and how my back holds out. Speaking of which, I'm seeing a chiropracter tomorrow for the first time. Should be exciting.

Maggie is tense, man. Tense.

Love to all. Even you, the runner with Kennel Cough.

Help me out, here.

I just finished watching the 9/11 conspiracy documentary "Loose Change." I did this on the recommendation of a commenter. (I also bought some music today based on a different comment... but that's a whole different thing. Do you see the impact you people have on me?)

Now, I think a good bit of the documentary is debunkable and overreaching. But the one thing they were extremely methodical about, using dozens of third-party sources including footage and statements from Fox News, ABC, CNN, audio straight from the FDNY, etc., was that WTC Towers I and II did not collapse from being hit by airplanes. Don't get me wrong: they got hit by airplanes. As I've said before, I am a first-hand eyewitness to the second plane hitting the Towers... and I spent a portion of the evening of September 11 on a roof in Greenwhich Village, chain-smoking (I had quit before, and haven't smoked since), drinking too much and watching the F-15's circle overhead.

But that's not necessarily what knocked each of them down in 10 seconds flat.

If anyone reading this has read any counter-conspiracy theories on "controlled demoliton" and the Twin Towers, could you leave me a link? I'm looking to educate myself further. I am not saying that the Towers and WTC 7 were destroyed via controlled demolition, but I would like to see a cogent refutation of the theory.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Marvin Bush.

The kid loves the good stuff.

Listening to the radio while in a neighbor's car, my son heard "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath. It's all he wants to hear right now. I'm both very proud and a little nervous. His two other favorite songs are The Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin and Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple.

What can I say? The kid has taste.

Last four purchases by me: Imogen Heap, Boards of Canada, Cat Power, and Beth Orton.

What a great morning so far: I took my oldest to orchestra practice at 9am, during which my youngest and I went to the local diner for breakfast, got haircuts, and swung back around just in time for the end of rehearsal.

This is the shortest time between haircuts in my entire adult life. After having box-braids, blonde hair, purple hair, extremely long hair, an afro, a sumo knot, etc., etc., the evidence of thinning, however mild, precludes growing my hair to any length, til death or the advent of hair-cloning technology, whichever comes first.

Love to all. Even you, the dude in the diner who was clearly lying to his wife.

No hookers. Yes 80's-wear and fiction.

After's yesterday's utilization of the magic of Google to create a fictional post-bad-day scenario, here's what I decided to do for real: dress as if it was 1984.

So here's what I'm wearing: a Rush "Moving Pictures" 1981 tour shirt over long underwear, bleached Levi 505 jeans, and Dr. Marten's boots.

Dress for success, I say.

Love to all.

p.s. I thought that nobody was commenting out of dismay. It turns out there was a permission issue which prevented commenting at ALL. So I'll never know. All is well, now.

Hookers and cocaine.

That's the two-word solution to a day like today: hookers and cocaine. In fact, I'm going to walk downstairs from my Claridge House duplex on the Upper-East Side of Manhattan, have them bring up my Daytona Sunset Metallic Corvette Z06 (with Titanium Nuance Leather), take a fast-ass drive to the Tropicana in Atlantic City, lose about 10 large, then head up to my suite with a bottle of Dungourney and a big bag of coke, and get crazy with Ariel from Ambience Girls.

Love to all. Even you, whoever doubts the educational power of Google.

No job. Yes bite. Yes concussion.

My son was sledding at a neighbor's house and somehow hit a building with his head. His vision was messed up, and Maggie took him, in the snow, to the doctor. They said he was concussed, and needed a CT scan. It came back normal, but my son became totally lethargic. He fell asleep at the CT scan place. So now it looks like they are sending him to the ER.

Did I mention that the fucking corgi bit my daughter this morning? My younger son was pulling her hair, she was screaming, and the dog ran in and bit her on the arm. The consensus is that the corgi was going for my younger son, but missed. Either way, it's bad news. We're talking about what to do about this.

I didnt' get the job. It was a little strange: they said that they thought I was great for the job as described, but that the President of the company (it's a multinational shop) wanted someone who could run all the different divisions, which would mean a staff about 15 times larger than mine. Made sense. Maggie's going to be totally happy. She didn't want me to take it anyway. And my little company has gone from 300k to 600k to 1000k in sales year over year over year, so quitting now would probably be a waste of a LOT of effort.

But I feel so pressured, sometimes.

Anyway, I don't mean to whine. This has been a crazy-ass day. Hell, this is a crazy-ass day. No more news for me, please. Too much has happened already.

Love to all.

Waffle, waffle.

My old boss just wrote me to say that he wants to speak with me this afternoon. I'm talking to him at 2pm. I don't know if he's calling to say "We hired someone else." Or if they're calling to say: "We want to hire you at the salary you wanted." Now, I know I said that I don't want the job, but maybe I do. Because:

1. They'd have to buy my little company which would = kid's college money, or at least a big chunk thereof.
   
2. I'd learn a lot.
3. This insane pressure would be partially off.

I have mixed, mixed, mixed feelings about it, but I'm going to see what he says at 2. My angst may be for naught, because it might be a "thanks anyway" conversation.

Love to all. Even you, whoever used the name "Shop Rite" about 50 times in their conversation on the train back to Westchester.

Bush in my house? No way.

President George W. Bush lied again. And this one's big, big, big. He has claimed not to have known how bad the Hurricane Katrina levee breach could have been. He's claimed that nobody could have predicted it.

Turns out, he was told about it the day before. But ignored it. And lied afterwards.

I used to say that I disagreed with President Bush, but that I'd have him over to my home for dinner, if ever given the opportunity. He seemed nice enough. Consider that completely retracted. Repeatedly and provably, the man has lied. Outried lied. It's infuriating.

When will more Republicans realize that they do not have to blindly support this criminal?

Love to all. Even you, Mr. President.

Exquisite.

My daughter's most exquisite moods occur right when she wakes up. Especially if it's very early, like when I'm getting getting ready for work. She's so gorgeous and radiant and happy in those moments... before her brothers are up for her to fight with, before Maggie awakens and the jostling for psychological advantage beings... in those moments, she sometimes can't look at me directly without smiling, her love for me is so obvious and up front.

At those moments, if we could plug my heart into the power grid, our national dependency on foreign oil would be instantly solved.

Love to all.

For lent this year...

...I'm giving up yelling. Seriously.

Today was a crazy day. I interviewed, like, 5 different tech guys for this open job we have. There's a particular kind of "I'm smarter than you, and will try to prove it, but not so much that you might actually learn something because sharing knowledge would be the death of me, and by the way my last boss was an idiot" kind of tech guy that makes me just want to scream. Fortunately, only of of the five qualified 100% in taht category.

For me, right now: Dead Sea Salts, a bath, and Wired Magazine.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. "I will not accept anything less than $120/hr."

WTF?

How I wake up at 4:54 am without an alarm clock is beyond me.

Love to all.

Found... and oops.

So, my missing friend didn't have his cell, and never got my message. I saw him at the morning meeting I attend. He was okay. Sad, introspective... but generally okay. Around 7:10, about five of us were doing the pre-meeting chit-chat thing,when this young, attractive woman comes in, looking all nervous. She stood there, looking at the room, trying to figure out what to do.

So I said, in my friendliest way: "Howdy! Come on in! We look busy, but trust me, we're not. Have a seat!" She kept staring, like she was scared out of her mind to be there. So I said: "No, really. We're totally harmless!" Then, my friend approachest the woman, and they walk outside together. It was his wife.

His much, much younger wife. Oops.

It's 9pm now. I just spoke at an evening AA meeting. I don't talk about AA too much on this blog, mostly because being in AA facilitates the rest of my life, and I don't want this blog to be a "recovery blog." There's enough of those out there. And I don't want people think that I don't approve of you drinking, smoking pot, etc. Because I'm good with whatever works for you.

But since this was a new meeting to me, with a bunch of people I haven't met before, I just want to say: AA is the coolest thing ever. That all these people who were completely unable to stop drinking on their own can stop drinking by sitting down with each other and following a few usually-simple instructions...

...man, that's just baffling. Almost as baffling as alcoholism itself.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Glaring on the 7:52pm train out of Grand Central Station.

Call in, man.

So, a friend of mine (friend A) just called me from Atlantic City to say another friend of mine (friend B) apparently got in an argument with his wife, packed a bag, and walked out. He's been unreachable since. Since my Atlantic City friend is going into a business dinner, he called upon me to try an contact Mr. Missing. So far, his phone is going to voice mail.

Now, I just want to say that only in the world of New York City ex-problem drinkers would the three of us be friends. Friend A used to be, um "connected." I don't believe he is now, but I'm not entirely sure. Friend B runs a respected financial consulting firm. Friend B is 25 years older than me (15 years older than friend A).

I've been waiting to hit "publish," hoping he would check in. He hasn't.

Love to all.

Technology Depression and Blog Love.

I want a MacBook Pro, but it's not happening. The main programs that I use: FileMaker Pro, Photoshop, Dreamweaver, and Microsoft Office all have to run in emulation on the new Macs, which means "slow." And the Macromedia and Adobe products might not be updated to Universal Binary status for another year. Or more.

So, I can't justify a $2,500 MacBook purchase when, even though the new machines have 4-5X the raw processing power, my programs will crawl until native updates come out. Drag.

Switching topics: after being away for a week, it's so funny how happy I am to scroll through my little blogroll and see what people are up to. But hell, if I can't have the Zubes over for dinner, and if ITS from Digital Objective insists on staying in Montreal instead of getting his sorry ass back to NYC where he belongs, well, I'll just keep on reading.

Love to all. Even you, the folks I don't mention because it's maritally inappropriate.

1250%, baby.

Last night, we gave our attempt to go out to dinner 1250% of the effort it actually required. I used Google Maps to get directions from our little house to the restaurant, which kicked off a 50-minute, 25-mile odyssey through windy, snow-covered roads.

The directions said, effectively: Turn left, turn right, turn left, turn right, turn right.

The directions should have said: Turn right. Go 2 miles. Stop.

By the time we got there, my youngest was completely asleep. He slept through the whole meal in Maggie's arms. She said it reminded her of pregnancy... her arms, legs, and butt slowly went numb as dinner progressed. Happily, if you're ever in Warren, VT, make a beeline for Chez Henri. It's super good and fun.

(Side note. I just tried to wipe a stray period off my screen with my finger.)

We're heading home today. I'm looking forward to catching up on all my geek stuff, reading all the blogs I read, and chillin' in the homestead. My back is a little better. I was able to go from lying down to standing without that weird-ass twinging that makes me grab onto the nearest wall, spouse, or child.

When I start blogging from home, will my writing go back to normal? God, I hope so. Either way, I owe you all coffee.

Weren't we meeting at the diner? All of us?

Love to all. Even you, the plow guy who can hit 45mph in reverse.

Roe v. Wade or My Right Foot?

My stupid-ass back has me mixing bodily metaphors and stuck in my PJs.

And clearly bored.

My oldest is out with the ski patrol this morning. Maggie took him at 7am. Maggie was also up throughout the night with my daughter, who is running a fever. So, everyone say a collective "Go, Maggie!" She's being supermom.

I think she's a little pissed off at me for hurting my back. She said "This time, you are going for physical therapy." I'm not arguing with her. While it's not my fault that I hurt myself, I think if I had kept up the diet, yoga, etc., I probably wouldn't have done it. Bleah.

Plus, running season is starting. I have four races scheduled over the next two months. I've got to recuperate, baby!

Oh. Almost forgot: the South Dakota legislature just banned abortions, which might well lead to our Bush-enabled Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade. Just wanted to mention this, for those of you keeping score on Bush v the U.S. Constitution.

Love to all. Even you, whoever makes this useless drug.

I'm back, baby!

In this context, though, that totally sucks. My back, that is.

I realize that V and Kelly will be disappointed, but I didn't hurt myself during any sort of high-energy sex romp with Maggie. I survived that just fine, thank you very much. No, I hurt myself taking a half-fall on my first run of the day.

What sucked most was that this was right at the start of the run... two lift-rides up to the peak of Sugarbush. I took a half-spill, recovered, and crank. End of story. I was lying there on my side thinking: "Oh, shit. How the hell am I going to get down the mountain?"

It's frustrating, obvious, and utterly stupid: how direct my stress levels relate to my back injuries. On the way up the lifts, I was telling Maggie how I was having a great time in spite of the kids making me crazy... and now that we were on the lift for a day of skiing, I was starting to get righteously psyched. Sadly, whatever stress-cables had knotted themselves together in my lower back unwind more slowly than I would have hoped.

Am I whining? I so, I apologize. A little.

The upside? Throwing out your back requires that you maintain perfect posture if you want to make it down the mountain without the assistance of the ski patrol.

So now, I'm walking around all stooped over. My daughter does a perfect imitation of my feeble little walking motion. Ha-fucking-ha.

Anyway: I'm going to publish this sucker and lie down now. I promise to be significantly more interesting sometime before spring. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the speedy kid who made me turn.

Injury report.

Threw out my back on the first run. Not pretty.

Love to all. Even you, spine.

These kids need playdates.

On the one hand, it's really nice here. On the other, my kids are driving me up a freaking wall.

• My oldest: contradicting EVERYTHING everyone says.
• My daughter: picking on my oldest, deciding she hates everything.
• My youngest: refusing to go anywhere. Constantly running away.

I love my kids tons. But if I had to do it over again, yesterday would have been the last day of our trip. They're going nuts. Still, we're trucking them off to ski school now, so hopefully we'll get 3 hours of pleasantness... and maybe their collective mood will swing to the better.

Love to all.

Things I don't say.

Sometimes, as the concerned, caring, parent that I am, I want to say to my kids:

"WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR JUST THREE FUCKING SECONDS?!?!?!? WILL YOU STOP ASKING FOR YOUR FUCKING MOTHER EVERYTIME I TRY TO TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE, GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO EAT, OR BRING YOU TO THE BATHROOM?!?"

But I don't say those things.

Today was one of those days where all the kids were overtired and, by the end of the day, intensely cranky. Collectively, they had an excellent morning... and even had a half-decent rest-of-the-day, but in turn, each had a serious backtalking breakdown session that almost had me hiking back to Westchester. Especially my youngest.

On the upside, I definitely challenged myself today. I skied with Maggie on a bunch of intermediate (and one black diamond) trails, and tried to keep up with her. I failed, but I did put in the effort. At one point, it was snowing so hard visibility was practically zero. That made it intense and fun.

I found out that I'm pretty much only used to skiing in crappy conditions. There were spots today when I was actually in fresh powder, and I had no idea what to do. Ice doesn't bother me, but good conditions throw me off.

I'm rambling.

Oh, I should mention that we had an hour and a half to kill without the kids, and Maggie was like... let's go back to the house. If you know what I mean. I love it when she's like that.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the SUV who tried (and failed) to drive around the line of cars waiting to drop off their children at ski school.

Phobic Incompatibilty.

I'm totally afraid of heights.

When I was younger, I tried to conquer this fear by climbing various buildings near where I lived. Drunk, I once scaled one of those huge water towers (the kind with the tube ladder on the side and the flashing light on top). Sitting the top, holding on to a little cable (that led to the light), I slammed a few more beers and found myself unable to climb down... and terrified to be up there. That kind of sucked.

Fast forward about twenty years.

Here at Sugarbush in Warren, VT., I keep getting freaked out by the both height of the chairlifts and the views of the mountains: the one I’m ascending and the ones in the distance. It feels really weird, because I’m simultaneously appreciative of the vista and on the verge of falling off the lift due to vertigo.

For a sober dude like me, It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling drugged up… with the exception of my bouts with pneumonia. I kind of like it... which says something about me.

I did my first black diamond trail today. Very… slowly…

Love to all. Even you, the lady who made us go back downstairs in the restaurant.

Bush vs. Americans, #38

If you need a pure example of how our President justifies obviating the law, brands people who disagree with him as traitors, and, in general, is trying to shovel more totalitarian authority into the Executive Branch of government, read this quote from the New York Times:

"Unfortunately, we're having this discussion," he said of the debate over wiretapping. "It's too bad, because guess who listens to the discussion: the enemy."

First of all, the man is a hypocrite. This comment was made well after his administration started to retroactively attempt to get authorization for the secret wiretap program. (Not the retroactive authorization for the individual taps themselves, which is different).

But the worst thing is the real message: don't disagree with Bush, because that's aiding and abetting the Enemy! And you know what that is, don't you? Treason. Prosecutable or not, our President is implying that if you question his progam of secretly recording the private conversations of American citizens, then you are helping the Enemy.

I believe that Al Qaeda is an enemy of ours. But I also believe that by sacrificing core American principles of freedom... or more clearly, by crapping on the Bill of Rights, President Bush is doing more to help the cause of the Enemy he can possibly imagine.

Love to all. Even you, the folks who would shut down this blog.

Kaboom!

After an 8-year hiatus, I hit the slopes today. The last time I did this, I felt timid and out of control. Today, weirdly, I felt perfectly fine. I took a group lesson, and the instructor actually called me “aggressive.” In a good way. I told Maggie this and she was like: “What? You?”

I don’t get it either. Something’s changed in my internal skiing program.

The kids have been, in turn: cranky, hyper,, gleeful, angry, mopey, and deliciously fun to be with. Each child has had a crying jag, complained mightily, and had a total blast at Sugarbush. It’s been totally up and down. Such is life.

We just got back from a really neat fireworks display. Now, ice cream. Then, bed.

Love to all. Even you, the snowboarder who ran over my friend’s kid.

"Ultimately..."

Did anyone here Dick Cheney's comment to the press about shooting his friend? I was blown away. He actually said: "Ultimately, I'm the one who pulled the trigger."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'll tell you. It means: "In spite of all the mitigating circumstances, I guess I'll accept responsibility because I have to." Guess what, angry jellybean, there were no mitigating circumstances.

Why can't these people just say "Damn, I really made a mistake?"

Love to all. Even you, Dick.

View, and lack of dickishness.

It's 2 degrees Farenheit here in Warren, Vt. That's pretty cold (to this New Yorker), but we're going to wait a couple of hours, bundle up, and head out to the mountain. The two younger kids have ski camp, I have a group lesson, and Maggie is going to hook up with some friends of ours to hit the slopes with my oldest.

I'm going to try not to be a complete dickhead.

If I had to name my personal Behavioral Achilles Heel, it would be that when I'm nervous, scared, or uncertain, I lash out at the folks who are closest to me... in the form of quick-temperedness or general irritability. So join me in a little prayer, will you?

God, please help me not to be a dick to my family. And thanks for the vacation. Also, if you would, please help me be the kind of dude you want me to be. Thy will, not my will, be done. Amen, and rock on.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned that, growning up, my family didn't ski (too dangerous), never went camping (too uncertain), etc., etc. I'm a complete aberration in this regard... largely because I married Maggie, who, prior to meeting me, shacked up in a log cabin with some dude in Aspen. She's a real outdoorswoman.

50% lumberjane, 50% Saks 5th Avenue. That's my lady.

Time to get ready for the day.

Love to all. Even you, real estate guy.

Retraction!

I’ve got dial-up! I’ve got dial-up! I’m writing this from our cool-as-hell place in Vermont, which has a really sweet view… I’ll post a picture of it later tonight. It’ll only take me 75 hours to upload at 56k.

But thank God I’ve got something. I couldn't stand being away from you people for a whole week. God, I’m a junkie.

Love to all.

Good night and good luck: see you in 8 days.

I'm taking the family and heading to Vermont for a week of skiing. When I get back a week from Saturday, I think we should all get together for coffee at the diner on University and 12th in downtown Manhattan.

Who's gonna join me?

Love to all. Even you, the lady who paused to examine... something... in the subway turnstile at Grand Central Station.

The job, part II: fear of failure.

Such a weird conversation.

The folks who want to hire me asked me to fly to Boston to meet with senior management. I said that it didn't make sense for me to meet with those people until we agreed on some baseline items like salary, employment contracts, bonuses, non-solicits, etc.

So we went over those today. He didn't seem too pleased with my salary. He said "that's high, but considering the size of the office, it's not unreasonable." I said, "I understand, but this truly isn't negotiable. I understand if it's a dealbreaker, but I'm not trying to start high so we can haggle."

After we talked a while longer, my old boss suddenly says: "Well, a few internal candidates have crawled out of the woodwork. And our recruiters are trying to source some people, so we'll see."

And then, holy shit, I said: "Boss, if you have people who are competing with me for the job, hire one of them. I have no interest in working for you unless you think, hands down, that I'm the best possible person for the job. If you consider it a choice, go with the other candidate. Just as much as you want me to buy into your corporate culture, you have to buy into me. Great speaking with you, amigo."

Then I got off the phone.

I felt SO relieved after that conversation. And I realized why: I DON'T WANT THE JOB.

I think I'm so afraid of failure, of screwing up my own business, that I MUST consider any opportunity to bail, and that any opportunity will be my last opportunity. It's sad, in a way. In some ways, I'm the most confident dude on the planet. But my fear of failure can be so strong that I'm ready to bail on my own shop, simply because of chinks in my self esteem.

But you know what? My company is tracking at 50% over last year, which was 60% over the year before, which was 100% of the year before. Even if it DOES close, I've done a solid job so far. (Even writing THAT makes me cringe.)

So onward and upward, baby.

Love to all. Even you, the Earth Mother lady with the crazy hair.

"Roses of the Prophet Muhammed"

Oh, man.

So, when we were all pissed off at France when they didn't support us in Iraq, two Republican members of Congress spearheaded a movement to rename French Fries "Freedom Fries" and French Toast "Freedom Toast."

This was a stupid thing to do. For two reasons:

1. It was just childish. First-grade level at best.
   
2. It was done badly. If you had to rename French Fries and French Toast, they should have been renamed to it to something like "We give up rather quickly in major land wars Fries" and "How did we know they'd go around the Maginot Line Toast." Something like that.

Of course Iran, which is my hands-down winner of Most Insane and Dangerous Country on the Planet, decided to make sure we didn't outdumb them: today, they renamed Danish Patries to "Roses of the Phrophet Muhammed."

Oh. My. God.

First of all, that doesn't sound tasty at all. Second of all, it does sound blasphemous. I mean, you eat them, for pete's sake. I can't imagine buying a candy called "Tribute to Jesus" or "Moses and Chips." Although I guess Christmas cookies and Hamantashen are kind of along those lines. I guess.

But if you're so incensed over a cartoon about your holiest of phrophets, why would you then turn the dude with a dessert pastry? I dunno. It just seems crazy.

Love to all. Even you, the Danish, the Iranians, and the Republicans.

Your internal (sexual) dialog.

How much time do you spend thinking about things that you wind up not doing? This morning (it's been a busy day already!) I had a really interesting conversation about men's internal dialog... all the stuff they fantasize about, worry about, plan on...

...but never do.

For dudes, a lot of it is sexual. For women? I don't know.

Was I talking to a group of people with unusually active imaginations? Or do you do it too? How much time do YOU spend thinking about stuff you'll never act on. How much of it involves sex?

Love to all. But not, not that way.

Another form of Pride.

I'm sitting in a Starbucks in New York City. On 36th street and Madison Avenue. It's 6:39am.

Today I'm having my second meeting with the person who my old company wants me to replace. On Friday I'm having a conversation with my would-be boss to discuss what my bottom-line requirements are for being hired.

My self-esteem is being called into play. I feel like I have to take this job if they meet my requirements. I feel like I have to have requirements. That somehow, I must be hireable. That if I don't, I'm somehow missing out on the last good work opportunity of my life.

This is, of course, complete bullshit. My company is doing (knock on wood) fine, and it's growing. And there's a reason that, after a decade, I'm the person they are pursuing.

It's just amazing to me how little creedence I give my own success. I swear, I don't mean this is an arrogant way, but I'm starting to think that refusing to acknowledge my own success is pride in reverse. But it's still the sin of pride.

Does that sound arrogant? Am I using too many italics?

Love to all. Even you, the hesistant jaywalker in the track shorts.

Things not to say to your wife.

Maggie and I were discussing my oldest son. He's a cellist, a high-level skateboarder, and digs soccer. I mentioned that he's got both the artsy-thing and the athletic thing going and said "Man, this kid is going to get laid so much."

Note to self: don't say that again. Ever.

Love to all.

My first mutual interview.

So, my old job wants be back.

By "old," I mean a decade ago. I've been running my own companies since the mid-90's. But now, the last job I had where I worked for someone else wants me to take over their New York operations. In some ways, I'm totally honored. I mean, it's the second largest office of the single largest company of it's type. In other ways, I'm a little suspicious: I've left this company once before.

I met with the guy they want me to replace for one-and-a-half hours. At the end, I said to him: "We've been talking for an hour... tell me what makes me wrong for the job." He said: "I can't see a single thing." I said: "That's impossible." He said, "No, it's not. You're what we need here."

Happily, it's not a decision, yet. The next step will be to discuss the numbers, metrics, goals, etc. One thing at a time.

Love to all. Even you, the strange, throwback sales guy.

Insomnia Haiku

Up since 2:30
Nervous, mind races quickly
And now, I will crash.



Love to all. Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Where the hell is my CAR?

This is my car. I think. It's a Mazda Miata, which means it weighs 8 pounds, has rear wheel drive, and is the exact opposite of a "Snow Car."

However, I have the most KICK ASS snow tires, and I was able to dig it out from two feet of snow, and go cruising up and down my street. Just me and the snow plows, baby.

Rock on.

Love to all. Even you, the fearless SUV driver who forgot that ice is totally resistant to 4-wheel drive.

Um... after?

Okay... maybe I didn't clean my desk... but I did make oatmeal!

There's two feet of snow outside... I've got to go take some pictures and dig out my car. I'll post those when I come back in.

Love to all. Even you, the unstable dude with the Thesaurus.

Prior to cleaning, a bit o' semi-politics.

There's this dude. James. His blog is Right Face. We do not see eye to eye on things. But the guy clearly thinks about what he's saying. This kind of disagreement, I can handle. If I was a drinking man, I could probably sit down with James and have a beer, and shoot the shit. He might wind up taking a swing at me, but I think we'd be friends the next day. I'm going to start reading it regularly, and if my opinion holds, I'm going to blogroll it. For me, blogrolls are the only way for me to remember which blogs I want to check in and read... to see either how those folks are personally, or what they saying politically... depending on the type of blog.

There's this other dude, Clay. His blog is In My Right Mind. While Clay left me a super-nice comment the other day, his blog writing typifies the whole problem with the whole Left vs. Right thing. By classifying those who disagree with him as un-American, by accusing United States Senators of being un-American... well, there's really nowhere to go with that.

The spectrum of Liberalism is as diverse as the spectrum of Conservatism. I think we'd all be better served if we went issue by issue, instead of resorting to the easier-yet-useless option of categorization.

NOW I'm going to clean my office.

Love to all. Even you, the quiet thinker with the grocery bags.

Before.

I have GOT to clean my desk. Like right now.

Love to all. Even you, dust bunnies.

NYC Marathon 2006, baby!

Congratulations Rich | Championable! You are eligible for guaranteed entry to the ING New York City Marathon 2006, which takes place on Sunday, November 5.

(Name edited for pseudoanonymity.)

Love to all.

It just keeps getting weirder, part I.

Okay.

13 years ago, I quit the family business (actually, I got fired, but only because I wouldn't promise to leave my hair up for religious services), and went to a company that would help me find a job. Instead of helping me find a job, they hired me. Three years later, I started my own company. Five years later, I sold it. Two and half years later, I started ANOTHER company.

Today, my boss from a decade ago just asked if I'd be interested in coming back. There are a LOT of pros and cons.

Cons

1. I wouldn't be my own boss.
2. I wouldn't make potentially huge amounts like I possibly might at my firm.
3. I wouldn't have nearly the flexibility for parenting time that I have here at my own place.
4. Jobs go away. If I lose this job, what happens?
   

Pros

1. I would get some nice (but not huge) $ up front for the company I currently have... college tuition, anyone?
2. I would learn a huge amount about mine and related industries, in a way that I absolutely would not be able to learn on my own.
3. This knowledge would make me much more marketable should, God forbid, the new gig didn't work out.
4. I would be surrounded by people who would provide all kinds of new input... currently, I'm pretty much the generator of 100% of the ideas, and have been for a decade. I'm enormously attracted to intellectual challenge.
5. It would be a decent salary, the base of which would not be subject to change: stability, stability, stability... and the ability to plan a bit.

This totally defines the idea of a luxury problem, and I know this. Still, my head is spinning with the possibility of change. Again.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who did coke in front of his employees.

Like wind.

My cousin is a photographer. Part of the way he makes money is by shooting stock photos. A couple of the stock photos he's sold are of my children. Today, I was asked to show those photos to a some folks from another stock photgraphy house that's on the same floor as my office.

So I did.

When the picture of my daughter came up, I swear to God, I could barely breathe. My love for this girl hit me so strong and was so overwhelming it was hard for me to think. It blew through me like a strong wind, and when it hit me like that there was pretty much nothing I could do but just live the moment. It was sharp and painful and exquisite and utterly unique to this one little girl.

All I want I really want in the world, when it all comes down to it, is her happiness. I want people to be nice to her. When she looks in the mirror, I want her to like the person she sees looking back at her.

And I'm going to do everything I can to make that happen.

Love to all. Even you, boys.

Sometimes I'm such an ass. :-)

"I want you both to know that you are very, very important to me...in a very, very limited way."

- Me, to two of my friends.

Love to all.

Am I a prick because I don't do memes?

Every now and then I get "tagged" with a meme... and I ignore it.

The thing is, I've been tagged by some nice people... and from folks whose blogs I like... but I'm just not into the whole Chain Content thing. I do like the concept of Memetic Drift, though. So if y'all ever want to get together and play Telephone in person, we'll set up a time where everyone can drive, fly, or take the subway to my office in NYC, and we'll sit in a big circle and play.

I'll even reserve a conference room.

Love to all. Even you, utility guy.

Ice cream headaches.

Has anybody out there ever purposefully eaten ice cream way too quickly… just to get one of those hyper-intense ice cream headaches… just so you can feel it melt away?

I used to do that all them time.

Love to all.

It’s good to be a bug.

Can you imagine yourself in a particular mood? Try it: imagine yourself pissed off, annoyed, happy, or scared. My guess is that you can do a pretty good approximation of your thought processes… how you think, what you’d say, do, etc.

Me too.

But when I get into moods like the one I was in from yesterday into this morning, I can’t even begin to replicate it once the mood has passed. It’s like I’m a different person.

This morning, I felt really low. I felt like people (myself included) were nothing more than advanced bugs, whose every action and mood were simply complex extrapolations of termite behavior… and that it was incredibly arrogant to pretend otherwise. But I also felt (and feel) that God, the Spirit, etc., was everywhere in equal measure… so being a bug isn’t all that bad, in the end.

It was a strange mood.

What did I do to change my mood? I hunkered down and got my shit done. I had a very difficult conversation with an employee. I did all of my direct marketing. I spent an hour on the phone with Dell getting an RMA number for a printer and getting another printer fixed. I scheduled employee interviews. I called a bunch of friends. I went to the tanning salon (for psoriasis, not for vanity). And I ran 5 miles at the gym.

Also, I got interviewed for a magazine article about branding in my industry. That was way cool.

So I feel better. But man, I’m glad those moods are few and far between. Yeesh.

And by the way, the comments you all left me absolutely rock.

Love to all. Even you, the ornery Akita on 5th and 13th.

Sludge.

I’m depressed today. I admit it. 99% of the time, I’m a happy dude. With apologies to all, I’m going to list the things that are depressing me today, in the hope that this will disperse said depression:

1. My employee quitting.
2. Not knowing the status of my other employee.
3. My daughter has strep, which means that
4. I might have strep, which means that
5. My fucking psoriasis will continue to go ballistic. Ouch.
6. Islamic extremists torching shit because of a cartoon which depicted Mohammed as someone who would torch shit.
7. The President of Iran planning to wipe Israel off the face of the planet.
8. Maggie and I not being home on the same night all this week.

That is all.

Love to all. Even you, shaky.

Why I love Maggie.

Maggie is the most certain person I've ever met.

I don't mean that in terms of self-confidence. Especially now: since she's just about to venture into the working world for the first time in over a decade, she is absolutely awash in fear and insecurity.

But. When it comes to who she is, what she loves, and most importantly, how to kick back and enjoy life, I've never met anyone like her. She has a perfect assuredness of character that allows her to navigate events with true joy. She radiates love, and brings warmth and a gentle happiness to every room she enters.

Last night we went to the opera. La Traviata. In spite of being a cultural gorilla, I enjoyed it. Maggie, looking so cute with her opera glasses, was moved to tears. Looking at her, I felt a little burst of deep emotion that, previously, had been reserved for my daughter alone.

Nice to know that after 12 years, love can grow.

Love to all. Even you, Blayne Edwards.

Fun with Islamic Exremists. (And American, too)

Let's see:

The President of Iran, who is one of the few leaders I think is worse than my country's, recalled it's ambassador to Denmark because of a drawing in a non-affiliated newspaper. Genius. The Pakistani goverment passed a resolution condeming the cartoons of the Islamic Prophet: I wonder if they've ever passed a unanimous resolution condemning suicide bombings? The Danish embassies were destroyed in Syria and Lebanon... because of something the Danish government didn't do and couldn't (shouldn't) control. Iran has declared an end to cooperation with the IAEA, and has promised full-scale uranium enrichment beginning.... now.

Raise your hand if you think a massive two-part process, Ethanol-for-Gas replacement concurrent with a Fuel-Cell Manhattan Project, is in order.

I'm in a bit of a personal quandary, here. On the one hand, I think President of Iran has said enough crazy shit that a preemptive strike is actually warranted. (And that's something you'll probably never hear from me again.) The problem is: so has the President of America.

In the face of catastrophic failure of Reasons for War, my President (although I never voted for him) now claims that he wants to spread democracy throughout the middle east. Since when has it become our fucking job to effect regime change in countries that have not, and likely will not, attack us?

By declaring his intentions, George Bush has opened the door for bad things to come, and reduced our national policy to Thugs of Ideology. Ugh.

Love to all.

This is a bad comedy.

For my 37th birthday, Maggie got me a 42-inch HD Plasma TV. I was totally blown away. I didn't mention it because, I think, I was mildly embarrassed at having such an awesome, huge-ass TV. We've had it for 2 days.

But now that my son's 5-year-old friend just knocked a strawberry shake directly onto the screen... with shake leaking into the fucking crack between the screen and the molding... I guess it's okay to mention.

That's it from me right now. Love to all. Even you, kid. Even you.

p.s. I forgot to mention: In the half-hour before the Shake Event, our washing machine burned out and our babysitter canceled for our big night at the opera. Oh, and Maggie is at the mall, and I have three kids over for play dates, in addition to my own.

Intercontinental Ballistic Crucifix

Offended by a cartoon showing the Prophet Muhammed wearing a bomb on his head, radical Muslims are destroying things and threatening to blow shit up.

That makes sense.

I also like how these same extremists are demanding that the Danish government apologize for something printed by an independent newspaper.

Oh. My. God. This bothers me so much, I'm going to use color.

I think that if someone drew a cartoon of Jesus Christ nailed to the cross, where the vertical plank of the crucifix was an ICBM, I would take that as a commentary on how George Bush uses religion as a motivation for war... on how RADICALS ARE FUCKING UP THE MESSAGE.

That all I have to say. Love to all.

Your religion is wrong. (And a little right.)

Here's what I decided: our attempts at understanding God are inherently wrong. There's just no way, in a universe this big... or conversely, in a universe where we are so incredibly teeny-weeny, that we're gonna figure out God. Not happening.

Mild sidebar: Wired just had had an article about how all these monks were able to radically change their brains through meditation, to the point that they pumped out 3000% of the gamma waves of other people... and could put their brains into a unified state of radiation that is otherwise only seen (and very rarely) in people under anasthesia.

So: I believe that we're never going to understand the universe. There's probably stuff we're not even remotely capable thinking about, let alone understanding.

But: I do believe that there's a flow to things. An energy beyond anything we can ever comprehend, and that some people have been able to tap into that. In Christianity and Islam, they call it the Holy Spirit. And in the Koran, Jesus is referred to as someone who is "strengthened by the spirit." Makes sense to me.

My point is this: all these different religions have found unique but probably-equally-valid ways to effect spiritual change. None of them have got it completely right, because we don't have the capacity to get it.

Whatever "it" means.

I used to parrot the phrase "There are many paths to God." I believed it, kind of... but I didn't feel it. Now I do.

Love to all. Even you, the Art Director in black.

Happy birthday to me, and thanks for the facts!

So I'm 37 now. I've decided not to be 40 until I'm 40. Rock on. I'm completely exhausted from the Florida trip, so I'm taking a half-day off.

It was way cool to get home to such funky tidbits from the previous post.

Zube, ITS, Princess, Lisa, Nupy, debambam, CJ, 2Vamp, Terry and Gina: You guys ROCK. Now, I’m gonna go fact check all of your comments. You better be right, or there may be fines, imprisonment, or both.

More later.

Love to all.

Tell me something I don't know.

Yo.

Flying back to NYC today. When I get home late tonight, I'd like to learn some things. To that end: would you tell me something that I don't know? Some obscure fact that you know that most people don't?

That would be killer. Thanks in advance.

Love to all. Even you, the dumb guy with the connections.

Hee hee hee.

Is it referring to all my crazy-cool tech gear... or...

Small business challenge number 785.

It occurred to me today that I should just fire everyone.

Now, this isn't quite the Big Deal that it seems, because out of my two full-time employees, one has already quit (an amicable and entirely proper split). The other one is a nice person who does a subset of what I do. She’s pretty good at it, but I’m not sure how I need to reconfigure things if I want to keep the company lean, nimble, and efficient.

Don’t get me wrong: firing one person sucks. I just didn’t want to imply that I was running some sort of massive operation here.

I’ve gotten a lot of advice from folks… including the person who’s leaving. It’s been suggested that yes, I clear the decks and hire a super-capable office person/personal assistant, and go all crazy on my own. It’s been suggested that I stick with employee number 3, and hire a part-time billing and collections person.

I have no idea what to do… and this is the worst time for me to think about it, because I’m exhausted.

Anybody out there want to work for a pro-choice, pro-gray, hetero catholic father of three? With hypomania?

Heh.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. “Change that to red.”

I just want to report...

...that it appears my special reversible belt, the one that goes with everything, is about to snap in half. HOLD ON, BABY! JUST TWO MORE DAYS!!!

Love to all.

Did I go overboard on this one?

So, I have to review a lot of emails as part of my regular job. A lot. I was just doing that here in Orlando (yay, two jobs at once!). It's 9:38pm and I've been here since 7:15am, so I'm starting to get a little punchy.

Someone (who I don't know) wrote me an email, and they started with "Hi, Rich! How's life?"

So I wrote them back:

Dear [name withheld],

It’s been so long since you’ve written, I was beginning to think you returned to the Sorbonne.

Me, I’ve been okay. After a brief stint in the Oregon State Penitentiary, I was released, with ankle bracelet, and immediately embarked on a new career as a nautical engineer. Sadly, that venture failed spectacularly, and eventually came to rest at the bottom of the Indian Ocean. Seven years later, I found myself hiding out in a single-room flat in Clackmannanshire.

Then, monkeys. So many monkeys.

Was that overboard? I don't know. It felt good, though.

Love to all. Even you, the chicken organizer.

Geek humor.

After 48 hours of trying to fix an access problem, we finally got it resolved. I was chatting with the network manager who actually fixed the problem, and tried to put my own spin on it.

I liked his response.

(I'm the icon on the right.)

Love to all. Even you, the lady who's a little too defensive about her masking tape.

Dammit, Dammit, Dammit.

So, I went back to the room after being onsite for 14 hours. While in the room, I missed two phone calls saying that the Senior VP (and master of the Main Client Account) couldn’t play a particular media file, and could I fix it right away?

Sadly, my personal cell phone had died, and nobody thought to try me on the show phone, via email, or by calling my room.

Fuck.

Love to all. Even you, alarm clock.

I am SO cool.

Why, because I chatted online with Zube Girl. (click to enlarge).

I've actually only IMed with two people from the blogworld. I'm always kind of terrified, because I don't want them to think I'm some kind of psycho. Or rather, a different kind of psycho than I actually am. So, to cover myself, I'm like:

"HI! DON'T THINK I'M WEIRD! HA HA! OKAY, BYE!"

Or some craziness like that... and I always make sure I sign off first, just in case they are thinking: "God, I hate this guy. Why is he talking to me? Is he a stalker?"

Ah, my brain. I'm so outgoing and NOT outgoing at the same time, it's just ludicrous.

Love to all.

Feel Free to say yo!

AIM: richchampionable
YAHOO: rich_championable

Feel free to IM me, until it freaks me out too much and I shut that shit down.

Love to all.

Calm before the storm and AAAAAAAAAH!

So here's one of the production rooms. It's empty, but that won't last long. My PowerBook looks a wee bit out of place amongst all the XP notebooks.

I've been sent back to the hotel for the evening, since I'm doing "staff support" and the "staff" isn't here yet... as you can plainly see.

What the hell....

...what the hell... WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO FOR 14 HOURS WITH NO KIDS, NO MAGGIE, NO DOGS, NO CATS, AND NO COMPANY!?!?!?!

Okay. I said it. I am NOT used to downtime... and I'm here in this hotel with no car, and nothing to do until 8am tomorrow. Holy CRAP.

Love to all.

Either this room is going to rock...

...or it's going to suck.

It'll totally rock if it's just me. It's a kickin' suite and it has two TVs and I can sleep in one of two beds, or both. Fun!

It'll totally suck if I wind up with a roommate. After twelve years with Maggie, I'm not too fond of sleeping near someone I don't know. Bleah. Thing is, I would be totally happy in a Japanese-style micro-room, too. I just can't handle roommates.

I'm pretty sure I'm solo, though.

Either way, I don't think I'm going to be here too much except to sleep, so there won't be much time to dance naked, anyway. Not, um, that I would do that.

Okay. Quick coffee, then off to the show.

Love to all. Even you, Cliff the Van Driver who not-so-subtly implied that I had stolen one of those kick-ass vibrating pager-thingies.

Well, *that* went well.

I'm writing this from Gate 1, Delta Terminal, Laguardia airport, New York City.

I woke up at 3:30am, half an hour before the alarm. I'm crazy like that.

My flight isn't until 10:45, but Maggie and the kids decided to go to visit her Dad in West Palm Beach... and their flight was at 8:00am. So off we went, super early.

While waiting in the van, my daughter slugged my youngest in the head. I sent her inside, checked on the boy, stormed inside, and yelled at my daughter "GET IN THE KITCHEN!" Apparently, this scared the crap out of Maggie, because she yelped. I angrily told my daughter that she could not hit, and that this was totally unacceptable. Maggie was really upset that I yelled at our daughter like that. On the way to the airport, she said that she wants me to talk to someone about my temper. Ugh.

She may be right, though. Although not in the way that she's saying.

I think it might be good for me to see a shrink. I think that as I turn... um... "40"... that it's wtime to come to terms with my beloved-but-fucking-insane father, and the long-term effects of my prior difficulties with with alcohol.

This bothers me, though. And I know why.

Being raised in a "black/white" environment, where I was either "God's gift to the planet," or someone who "didn't deserve to steal oxygen from others," I think the idea of going to therapy to try and improve on things that are relatively normal is an entirely fucked-up concept. Does this make sense?

In other words: in my brain, having any issue = complete mental ruin.

Love to all. Someone I know just arrived.

Prepare for weirdness!

Hello, gorgeous. How've you been?

Ka-yummy.

I'm flying tomorrow morning to work tech support at a huge-ass corporate conference in Orlando, Florida. My job is to help keep the on-the-fly design studios running, and to make sure all the conference workers can communicate with their home base: email, VPN, etc.

This is the only client I work for directly. The rest of the time, I'm at my little business in the East Village.

If this conference is anything like last year, I can expect 12 - 18 hour days that consist of:

1. 8 hours of intense bordedom, followed by
2. 0.5 hours of heartfelt panic, followed by
3. 10 minutes of rational solution, followed by
4. 5 more hours of intense boredom.

It's being there to provide the rational solution that matters.

So, I'm going to try and post lots of little things over the next five days. I'll be returning late 2/1... And on 2/2, I'm turning 37 years old.

WAIT. Make that 40. I'm turning 40.

Okay, I'm not. But what I decided is: I need to say that I'm 40 for the next four years, so that when I'm finally 41, I'll be cool with it.

Does that make sense to you?

Love to all. Even you, the tragic bastard with the frightened girlfriend.

Is my wife being sarcastic?

You tell me. This is her email to me about picking me up at the train station:

Be sure to let me know exactly, to the minute, when you will be arriving so that I will be THERE when you get there and you will not have to wait at all, because that would be totally humiliating, as if you were not loved by your wife or children.

God, she knows me so well.

Love to all. Even you, the AP person who has made the same promise of payment for three weeks.

Oh, poop.

So, here I am, struggling with how to have a conversation with Employee #3, when Employee #2 quits. Her last day is February 10. She was offered an opportunity to work as an assistant in this education program, where they'll pay 80% of her Master's tuition.

She was terrified to tell me. She was all shaky-nervous as she tried to. When I realized she was trying to tell me she was leaving, I said: "Okay, hold up. Permission to be candid? Okay. I love you. You're fantastic. You're leaving. It's cool. So now tell me what I need to know."

The rest of the conversation was much easier.

I meant it, too. I love this girl. Not that way (although she's smart and super-pretty), but because she's brought a ton of great personality to a personality-driven company. She's a dedicated, hard-working, can-do person with all kinds of a future. So it makes sense that she's moving on to do what she's always wanted to do.

In a way, it makes conversation with employee #3 much easier: since my next employee is going to have to be a sales person, making the big discussion about reorganizing her compensation package to be other-than-office-performance-based is an easier one to have.

I'm sad, though. Employee #2 is a great kid. She's been with me for a year and a half.

I'll miss her.

Update, oatmeal, being the boss.

Good morning! Want some oatmeal?

It turns out bringing Employee #2 to the doctor was a really good thing. She has an abnormal heartbeat, and while she's no immediate danger they're running her on all kinds of tests over the next week or two. Yeesh. The good thing is, she feels much better knowing that: 1) She's not about to die, 2) She's getting treated. This is a fit, 26-year-old woman... but who's family has a history of all kinds of stuff.

My family? We live forever. But we go insane early.

Employee #3 is coming back to work today. She's the one with a verifiable-semi-serious ilness that may have additional components. The thing here from an employee standpoint is that prior to all this going down, she was going to have an employee review where part of the review would be: We can't afford you the way we're paying you. So I'm feeling pretty stuck on this... legally, my motives were correct... from a business perspective, I think I'm pretty much spot on... but from a human perspective... bad, bad timing.

I know what'll fix everything: cocaine and hookers!

Kidding. Sorry. Anyway. I'm teaching my second class today, and I have NO IDEA WHAT TO DO. Any ideas? Think stock PCs, kindergarteners. Actually, I have some ideas... but not concrete.

Love to all. Even you, fartypants.

The little, strange things.

One of my employees is out sick. Might be medium sick, might be very sick. Don't know. Can't ask. She's been out a bit, and she'll be out until at least tomorrow. Then, she's out again Friday... and I don't know for how long.

This morning, my other employee (I have two internally, and about 30 freelancers on the outside) came in and said that she'd been up all night... and had been sleeping poorly for the last few nights. She's had chest pain, tooth pain (in her front teeth), and numbness in her arm. Obviously, her friends said "GO TO THE DOCTOR NOW."

So she finally called the doctor, and he said "Come in immediately."

I brought her uptown, and am writing this from the waiting room. Someone in the building has an open wireless network.

Selfishly, I think: "Shit. I've got two sick employees. That leaves just me in the office. How the hell am I supposed to keep things moving?" I'm such a jackass.

But when it comes to action, at least I'm doing the right thing. I brought her up here, and I'm going to wait until she gets out... her husband is stuck at work, so he can't be here. Yay, small business ownership... I can close the office if I want, and damn it all.

Love to all. Even you, the 100-year-old doctor.

Dudes! I totally forgot!

So, I was walking down Warren Street in Hudson, NY, to pick up Maggie from her massage appointment. This blue car with a yellow bumper sticker goes by and beeps... and this girl leans out the back seat window and says "Hi!" The driver, a young lady in her early twenties, smiles at me.

I was like, WTF? Me? They drive past.

About ten minutes later, I'm chatting up this supernice hippie dude who was standing outside the entrance to the massage place. It turns out his girlfriend was the owner, and also the lady with whom Maggie had an appointment. All of a sudden I hear "Hi, you!" I look at the street and there's the same car full of young ladies, and they're waving right at me again. And they cruise by.

The hippie dude says "Hey man, they like you."

I realize they probably thought I was someone else... but it was WAY cool to get checked out by a carload of attractive young women. I admit it.

Love to all. Even you, real estate guy.

Famous people, lots o' love, and Maximum Art.

Okay. This was pretty great. We got home from our weekend away, and the kids had made us a cake. That completely rocks. I'm glad they didn't garnish it with legos. Clearly, that almost happened.

Maggie and I spent the weekend at a place called the Union Street Guest house. At first, we checked into the first-floor Library Suite, but we thought that it would be way noisy, so we asked if we could move upstairs to the Gallery Suite. The owner said, sure... the woman who was supposed to arrive in the Gallery Suite was cool with either room. Then he said "Uh, listen, if she knocks on your door because she doesn't know about the switch, be cool. It's Mary Stuart Masterson, the actress." So that was kind of fun. We heard her, but it turned out that we didn't meet her.

It turns out that when Maggie and I are alone, we laugh more, and we make love more. A lot more. Of both. It's always a good thing when the number of times you make love outnumbers the number of nights you stay in a place. Rock on.

Also: we laughed our asses off. And no, it's was not related the last paragraph. I can't remember when we had so many laughing fits... the kind where your stomach starts to really, really hurt... but you keep laughing because you can't stop.

We bought some nice things: a really beautiful and solid antique desk for my oldest son, and two large photographs by a up-and-coming photographer. Maggie also picked up a sweet little ring from Bali.

Hudson is fantastic. It's got amazing architecture, some great restaurants, a huge artists community, and relatively affordable housing. If I had extra cash, I'd buy some real estate up there.

I didn't look at a TV or computer for 60 hours, which is some kind of record for me.

It's nice to be home. There's a lot of things going on, and I have a minor crisis in my office that I have to figure out. But that's for another post.

The great thing from the weekend was the huge, fabulous reminder that Maggie and I still make a really good boyfriend/girlfriend pairing. After twelve years, I'm still thrilled to be around her. She's fun, adventurous, sexy, and smart. And I'm married to her.

Lucky, lucky me.

Love to all.

Three.... two... one...

I'm actually leaving my computer at home this weekend. Shock-a-ROO!

I'm a little bummed that I won't see my two older kids before I leave... the babysitter is picking them up at the bus stop... it's so weird how I'm totally psyched for some alone-time with Maggie... yet I already miss my kids, even though I haven't even LEFT yet.

Yeesh.

Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! I went a little crazy and got gifts for Maggie for our weekend getaway. I bought her two cute little bangles as "Yay! We're off!" presents... and I'm going to give her those in the car just after we leave. But at dinner tonight, I'm going to spring a little necklace I got her at the oh-so-badly-named but very cool store in NYC called "New York Look." She will completely not expect it.

Okay. Going to pack a little bag, then we're heading out. Leave me nice things to read for when I get back. See you Sunday.

Love to all. Even you, the salesdude in Saks who shadowed me for 10 minutes.

No way!

So: tomorrow evening, Maggie and I are headed up to Hudson, New York, to spend a weekend alone. Yeah, you heard that right: alone.

No kids, no cats, no dogs… Just the two of us, for two nights, chilling. Of course, you know precisely what we’re going to talk about: kids, cats, and dogs. But I hope to sleep until at least 7am… I hope to get in some serious smooching… and I hope that Maggie and I enjoy each other’s company.

Scratch that last one.

What I mean is: I hope that I’m patient, easygoing, and fun to be with. I know that I can be a really fun person to hang with. I also know that I can be crabby, irritable, and annoying. So I’m going to have to do a little praying, and my prayer will be, in part:

“God, please help me not be a dick.”

Love to all. Even you, the drama queen.

Dear Michael,

Hey, man.

I was just getting to know you a little bit... I dug the fact that you had little kids just like me... you were trying hard to be a good husband and father... but you were just as fucked up and interesting as the rest of us.

You had a great voice, man. And really expressive eyes.

I feel bad for your kids: their Dad is gone. And no matter what kind of gloriousness, progression, or nothingness that follows this life... for the kids, their Dad is just gone.

I won't be seeing you on 35th or 22nd anymore, amigo. It might have been occasional, but you were a good guy to know.

Rest in peace, brother. You fought the good fight.

Rich