Controversy? Where?

Maggie and I watched Brokeback Mountain last night. (Yeah, we're a little behind the movie curve... but such is the lot of surburban parents-o'-three.)

It was a beautifully filmed movie. Well acted. I don't know if it was my drums-damaged hearing damage or what, but I could barely understand what Heath Ledger was saying half the time. And there are scenes of intra-family tension which are precisely the kind that I hate to watch... because they make me tense, too.

For the life of me, I can't imagine anyone being offended by this film. If you were, leave a comment saying why. I'd love to know.

Love to all.

Why I love Maggie, Part 723

I walk into the house, and I hear my oldest half laughing and half-complaining... he's saying "Mom, don't say that!" And then I hear Maggie yell, in this guy-newscaster kind of voice:

PENIS PROTECTOR!

Apparently, this was her way of reminding him to wear a protective cup to baseball practice.

Tonight, my oldest is away at a sleepover. I just put my other kids to bed... and now Maggie is saying good night. We're going to try and watch a movie. This deserves italics, because it's so freaking rare.

Also, I'm gonna try and, um, score.

Love to all. Even you, the stretch Hummer that didn't signal before it made such a huge turn.

Been there, done that.

The dude across the aisle on the train just pulled out a pint of Smirnoff vodka and took a big slug.

Brother, I’ve been there.

Love to all.

Small business ownership is fun!

So, my accounting person redflags a client who has a history of slow payment. He doesn’t owe us a huge amount, but it’s passing 60 days. When she called the client, he said that he would pay us in “a week or two.”

So I called him.

I wasn’t mad. I just wanted to make sure we were getting paid. I said “Hi, it’s Rich from [My Company].” He said “Yeah?” I said “I was wondering why it’s going to take another couple of weeks for us to get paid, and to let you know that we have to invoke interest charges if the invoice passes 60 days.”

He went nuts… he starts cursing me out… he goes on a tirade about how the project he was hiring us for didn’t happen in the end (an irrelevant point)… he went on for a pretty long while, actually. I think he used different iterations of “fuck” about 10 times. And then says that because I called him about the invoice, he’s not going to pay it at all. It was so over the top and unexpected that I said: “Hey, you realize that this is Rich from [My Company], right?” He did. I thought that maybe he was confusing us with someone else.

Now: about twice a year, something happens that makes me lose it with a client. The last time was about 8 months ago, when, after hearing a completely illogical reason for not paying us, I lost my temper and said: “Excuse me, are you a fucking idiot?”

This time, I did better. I was flustered. I was mad. But instead of getting angry and yelling, it went like this:

Me: “How old are you?”
Him: “What?!”
Me: Are you over 50?
Him: No!
Me: Are you over 40?
Him: Yes.
Me: So you’ll tell me the decade, but not the year? Why is that?
Him: Are you out of your fucking mind?

I was building up to saying: “Clearly, you’re someone who has suddenly realized that he’s getting old, but hasn’t accomplished anything. And you’re taking it out on me.”

• But he said: “Sue me for the money, okay?”
• And I said: “Sure. Love you!”

And he hung up.

I get off the phone, and pull out a collections tactic I’ve only used twice… and it only works on people who I know desire direct conflict.

I wrote an email that appeared to be addressed to a third party. It was in a casual, letter-to-a-friend style, and basically said “Hey, man, you were right. This dude is trying to screw us. I have to head down to small claims court next week, but I was going anyway because we have to file against [fictional company]. But I HATE small claims. ugh. Why does this guy have to be that way. Bleah.”

And I sent it to HIM. By “mistake.”

Five minutes later, I had an email back saying that I sucked, etc., but that he would pay me this Friday. Clearly, his fear of ¬being “exposed,” however irrational, had come into play. Sometimes, being raised by a Borderline has it’s benefits.

And that’s my story.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Spitter Guy.

Acceptance.

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

Love to all.

What I eat.

Breakfast - 5am:

• Oatmeal (plain)
  
• 2 ounces Aloe Vera Juice
• 5 shark cartilage capsules
• 2 ClearLung capsules
• 1 multivitamin

Lunch a - 10am

• Peanut butter sandwhich on whole wheat bread (triple decker)
  
• 3/4 lb of cut fruit (sometimes switched with spinach)
  
• 8 ounces of raw spinach (sometimes switched with fruit)
  

Lunch b - 3pm

• Peanut butter sandwhich on whole wheat bread (triple decker)
  
• 8 ounces aloe vera juice
  
• 5 shark cartilage capsules
• 1 multivitamin

Dinner - 7pm

• Whatever Maggie makes (Aweome food. Maggie's a great cook.)
  
• 5 shark cartilage capsules
• 2 ClearLung capsules
• 1 multivitamin
• 2 ounces aloe vera juice
  

Looking at this, I realize that I'm a complete freak.

Sometimes, I go ballistic and eat like, a pint of Ben & Jerry's and 15 Oreos. I'm trying to do that less. But looking at what I eat the reast of the time, it's no wonder.

Love to all. Even you, the incompetent insurance appraiser who just told me "I have no idea why we didn't talk to your body shop."

Bad Dad.

Me: I love you, [daughter].
Her: I love you too, Daddy.
Me: Look how big you are today!
Her: Yeah! Soon you'll be a grandpa!
Me: WHAT!?!?!

After some joking discussion, we agreed that she'd wait at least 20 years for grandkids. But the whole time, my internal response was: Who does she have a crush on, and how can I destroy this boy?

Man. I've got to prepare for her to get older.

Love to all. Even you, the ex-client who screamed at me this morning.

Stephen Colbert at the White House Correspondents Dinner.

Oh my god, did he rock the house. If you head over to college humor and search for Colbert, you can get three big clips of his speech. (Ignore the porn, etc., unless that's your thing.)

God bless the man. Fearless.

Love to all. Even you, the old lady with the sharp elbows.

Outside my office....

This was the scene outside my office today. There was a pretty huge gathering/march in Union Square, NYC.

Only have a second to post this. So... well...

Love to all.

Hey, Mom and Dad: Matthew 7:17-20

Likewise every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit.
A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them - Matthew 7:17-20

If my parents would read this and get it, then they'd know how I feel about them, and how they should feel about me. Because I'm some tasty-ass fruit.

Love to all. Even you, the old dude who gave Maggie the finger this morning.

GarageSale Cam: the movie

Well, it's all done, now. I'm exhausted.

[Movie removed because of bandwidth restrictions. Sorry!]

Love to all, even you the lady who came three hours after the thing started and said "Is this IT?!?"

GarageSale Cam: Live!

Ladies and Gentlemen... the sale is on.

This camera should update every minute or so:



Love to all, even you... whoever tries to out-haggle me.

GarageSale Cam: Live (tomorrow!)

I'm going to see if I can set up the camera that's built into my laptop to do a constant update of the garage sale tomorrow. If you are really bored, feel free to check it out.

We'll be doing this craziness from around 9:30 to 2:30 U.S. Eastern.

If you see an image below, the test is working.




Love to all.

I love my wife...

...but she get's hyperstressed before events. Birthday parties, holiday dinners...

...and garage sales.

It's a good thing that, on balance, I'm about three hundred times more irritable than she is, or else I could take this moment to be all self-righteous and pissy.

"Pissy?" Is that a word?

Anyway.

Love to all. Even you, the baseball coach who tried to sneak his ace pitcher back into the game when it suddenly became tied up.

Sometimes, I hate people. - updated!

So, my wife is parked at the elementary school. She says hello to her friend, whom I shall call (for no reason, and with no ill feeling) "Tweak." Tweak then proceeds to drive into my wife's car with her big SUV. My wife's car was stationary. Tweak gets out of the car and says "My fault! I'm so sorry!" The police are not called.

After getting home, Maggie calls Tweak for her insurance. Tweak says "My husband says not to give you my insurance information. He says it's your fault because you were parked illegally."

Now, regardless of fault... there is absolutely NO reason not to exchange insurance information. I mean, our insurance company would find it out anyway, and all it creates is an unnecessarily combative situation.

Maggie and I get into an argument on the phone as I tell her to drop everything, go to the police station, and file an accident report. She gets mad at me for being bossy. She is probably right.

Then, Tweak calls Maggie, all apologetic and crying and saying "I don't know why I acted that way." And then the truth comes out: she had called her insurance company and they said that she was totally at fault: the moving vehicle that hits the stationary vehicle is to blame. End of story.

So now her insurance company is paying for our car to be fixed, and I'm left thinking that her husband is one of those guys who turns into a jackass under pressure. Did I mention that:

1. Our daughters are in the same class?
2. The husband runs a company with over a billion dollars in assets? (That's a B.)

I mean, holy shit. Even if you think you're right, play it honest. Fucker. I realize this is the point where I'm supposed to pray for people who piss me off. So I will.

Love to all. Even you, Tweak's husband.

PS: Update! Actually Maggie wasn't even IN the car. She was parked at the pickup spot for the nursery school. The car was empty when Tweak hit it.

Give the oil companies a 20 year lock on ethanol.

Seriously.

About the post below this one, Ginamonster said, tongue-in-cheek:

yeah, but then someone in the oil business might lose money, and we can't have that!!

But she's right. We have to incentivize the living shit out of an ethanol conversion. Make it worthwhile for Big Oil. So I say: give American-owned oil companies a 20-year lock on ethanol distribution, as long as they have a development and distribution process in place within a finite amount of time.

Yeah, that's right. I used color. Because this is important. It may seem unfair, pandering to Big Oil, but that's the reality of things. We've got to get this thing done, and this is how to do it... in my layman's opinion.

Love to all. Even you, the grumpy old lady who hip-checked me on the 6 train.

A better idea for that $100.

How about giving everyone a $100 credit to convert their cars to run on ethanol?

The actual conversion costs, well, $100 dollars. So this would be perfect.

Prior to that, of course, you'd actually have to grow more corn... but with millions of acres lying fallow, I think we're more than prepared for that. Why haven't we started a national ethanol conversion? Brazil did, and they are achieving exactly what we are talking about: losing our dependence on foreign oil.

This is a relatively inexpensive process using existing technologies. What's the holdup?

Love to all. Even you, the dude who beeped before the light turned green.

The wrong kind of gas.

Four Republican Senators are introducing a bill to give $100 to every citizen for gas. That's, what: 33 gallons of gas... or 2 or three fill-ups. Hmm. I'm not sure that's going to solve the difficulty involved with our dependence on foreign oil.

But that's not what bothers me.

In what I consider to be an underhanded and devious move, embedded in the bill is a provision which will open up a section of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil drilling.

By embedding a provision that Democrats and moderate Republicans MUST vote down, the Republicans turn an empty gesture into someting much worse: a political charade. Clearly, the Republicans aren't interested in helping you afford to fuel your car. Rather, they are forcing the Democrats to vote down the bill so that the Republicans can say: "Look, the Democrats don't want to give you a rebate."

$100 or gas? That's a lot of hot air.

Love to all. Even you, Senator Santorum.

Let's get ready to haggle!

The last time Maggie and I had a garage sale, we lived in New Brunswick, New Jersey. We weren't married, and we were about to move to Brooklyn, NY. I weighed about 20 pounds less than I do now (I'm not currently overweight), I was playing drums in a band, and my hair was really, really long.

The two things I remember about that garage sale:

1. I sold my Toyota Corolla.
2. Maggie was driven batty by the haggling moxie of some of the pro-level yard-sale people. This one lady was trying to talk Maggie down from a quarter to a nickel on a colander, and I remember her saying: "NO! IT'S A QUARTER. THAT'S WHAT IT SAYS!"

The ad is placed in the local paper. The signs are ready for deployment.

Next Sunday, we sell.

Love to all.

How not to criticize, aka "Web Loafer" is a retard.

If you're going to write someone because you think they are being mean or insulting, perhaps it's best to try NOT to be mean or insulting when you tell them this.

Here's a comment left on my blog:

I am on a personal crusade to call out those that use the word retarded in everyday hostile speech. You use the word to put someone down. You probably aren’t half the man my twin brother is.
My twin brother is retarded, 60 years old and can you think of some other word to show your lack of speakablity. Because you cannot speak without cursing, slandering or hating, I am calling you out.
Enough with the retarded bit,
Buy yourself a dictionary,
(I'm sure you are not ready for the Collegiate Dictionary, but you have to start somewhere)
Try the High School Version.
Don’t eat the covers off of the dictionary, this time use it to learn words that mean something, retarded means something to me, not to you; grow up.

Here's my reply:

You think that insulting people without using specific words is somehow better?

Fuck you, you hypocritical retard.

Love, Rich

I mean, jeez.

Love to all. Even you, "Web Loafer."

The wrong woman.

I admit it. I’m a little flirty.

When I was younger, I would get huge crushes three times a week. I'd see a woman with the right kind of look, smile, voice, speech pattern, curves, etc., and that would be it. I'd be head-over-heels. For about 48 hours.

I've calmed down a little at 37.

I still get crushes. But I can honestly say that in the last year-plus I've only had two. So that's good. And both of those were with/on people that I became actual friends with. So THAT'S good.

This post has nothing to do with those two women.

There's this other woman I have met in AA. I'm not in the least bit attracted to her. To be quite honest, she's frighteningly skinny: like scary, problematically thin, and when I look at her I think "Oh my God, what is she doing to herself?"

But she's nice. She's a smart, outgoing attorney with interesting opinions, and for a while there we were pretty friendly. We never went out for coffee, we never walked together on the street after a meeting... there was no "stepping-up" of the friendship to outside-the-room friends.

About three or four months ago, she started treating my like shit. When I said hello, she would barely sary anything. If I tried to talk to her about running ("Are you running in the Queens Half-Marathon?") she's barely look at me and mumble "no."

Weird shit.

So, yesterday I'm walking to Grand Central from a meeting on Lexington and 36th. I'm thinking about how bad at am at meditating, and how good this woman is. So, spontaneously, I decide to call her and tell her she's the Queen of Meditation, and that I hold her up as an example. I've had her number in my phone for a long time. I was actually going to give it to Maggie a long time ago (and did, actually), and I never erased it. And honestly: I've wanted to ask her what the hell was up.

So I call her, and she's like weird-icy. So I said:

Me: "Dude, are we cool?"
Her: "Yeah, we're cool."
Me: "Have I done something to piss you off?"
Her: "No, you're a married guy, I'm a single girl, so I'm trying to set healthy boundaries."
Me: "Oh. Um... well, that's good."
Her: "Rich, whatever validation you are looking for for me, you've got it."
Me: "Huh? No. I wasn't looking for validation, dude. I was trying to see if I had been a dick to you and didn't know it."
Her: "No."
Me: "Great. I'll be sure not to bug you again."
Her: "It's not bugging."
Me: "Okay. Um. See you tomorrow!"

Click. Then I erased her number.

The first thing I thought was: Damn, what a fucking ego! To think that she has to draw lines in the sand when we're not even on the same beach! Then I thought: Oh, wait. This woman has a problem with married guys. Then I called my friend and he said "Dude: Duh. She has a problem with married guys."

So now it's a compliment, I guess. Sort of.

Love to all. Even you, strange lady.

I’m down with ADD.

(Yeah you know me.)

After 37 years, someone who is not my friend asked me “Have you ever been tested for ADD?” A LOT of my friends have asked me that. But never a professional. Weird.

I said: “No.”
My therapist said: “Well, let’s.”

Now, this dude isn’t a prescriber, so I’m only going to him for a talking cure. But he works with a nice psychiatrist who’s going to test me for ADD. I don’t know how it’s doing to to turn out, but wouldn’t it be hilarious if I was placed on Ritalin at age 37.

Speaking of ADD: I work better when I’m distracted. I work fabulously on the train. Sometimes I think I should ride the train all day long and work wirelessly. I’d be the king of productivity.

Oh. Something is pissing me off, so I’m going to say it here. After therapy today, I briefly stopped by the house before going to the train station. Maggie asked me how things went. I told her about the ADD appointment. She was like:

"But what about the depression?"
Me: "I’m not sure I’m depressed. How do you think it expresses itself."
Maggie: "Irritiability, short-temperedness."
Me: "In that case, your cool. Our number one topic is 'How not to be a dick at home.'”
Maggie: "Oh, good."

Actually this isn't totally true. "How not to be a dick" is the second topic. "How to deal with the fact that your psychotic father and mother threw away all your shit and moved to California without telling you - after they had a year-long psycho freakout" is number one.

Anyway: the reason this got me mad was because I’m not allowed to ask Maggie anything about certain aspects of her personal life. It’s “none of my business.” Fine. But I don’t understand why she’s so interested in this, then.

Of course, the fact I’ve been sent to therapy for stupid reasons since I was four, and got in trouble if I didn’t tell EVERY DETAIL to my parents... and how if the therapist said “You’re parents are a little off” they would wind up in a legal battle with the therapist… well.. maybe I’m a little sensitive about being asked these things.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the strange grin.

Honest Greed: Verizon Wireless.

I've always been told that Verizon cripples their phones. Now I know it for a fact.

I was interested in a Treo 650, because it could be used as a dial-up modem with my Mac, I could take notes on it, and it has all kinds of zippy little features that I liked. I went to the Verizon store to buy it, using my "new every two" discount.

Being a freak, I always confirm things that I'm pretty sure about anyway, so I asked if the phone could do all the things it was supposed to do. Specifically, I wanted to know if I could use the Treo 650 on the 1xRTT dial-up network (which only uses minutes, so it rocks). The lady said "No, if you want to do data, you have to use our special data plan, which starts at $30/month."

I said "No thanks," and left.

Did some research, found out Verizon crippled the phones. There are patches available to restore the phone to it's original capabilities, but they make me nervous.

So I went into another Verizon store and said "Dude, can I buy a 650 and just set you all up with it's ESN?" He said "Maybe, but only if it's CMDA." Then it gave me a number to call to be sure.

So I said "Hey... why do you guys cripple the bluetooth phones?"

He looked at me, smiled, and made that little "money" gesture by rubbing his thumb and two fingers together. "Sorry, man. They just want you to use the expensive stuff." It was a drag to hear... but it was nice that he was so honest about his company's greed.

So now I'm stuck with this V710, which is slowly dying. Hmm.

Love to all. Even you, Verizon.

At war with the mystics.

This is a solid, solid album by the Flaming Lips. Get it.

Love to all.

Once again: "Before"

Once again, I'm going to try and organize my little Mad Scientist corner of the house. So once again, this is the "before" shot. Last time I tried this, the "after" shot was significantly messier. Urg.

This might also be a good time to say that Rich | Championable is powered by:

• PowerMac G5 dual 2.3 Ghz desktop
• Dell 2405FPW 24" LCD Minitor
• Roland Studio Drums with a TD-8 Brain
• MacBook Pro 2 Ghz Core Duo laptop
• PowerShot G6 camera
• Epson Stylus 2200 Archival Printer
• Midiman Radium 66-key midi Keyboard
• Personus Firewire Audio Inputs

Love to all.

Anything is nothing. Always is never.

If you want to have a dialog, you've got to get specific.

A good percentage of the political blogosphere can by the following:

Conservative Blogger: Liberals always attack Bush no matter what.
Commenter 1: Yeah! Stupid Liberals!
Commenter 2: You right-wing assholes are all insane.
Commenter 3: Hey, C2, go fuck a rabbit, tree-hugger! Ha!

And on and on. It's useless and stupid, except for the benefit it provides individual posters in terms of venting. I guess it's good for venting. Lord knows, I've been guilty of that... but even when I vent, it's about something specific. I think. Anyway.

So, what I'm asking is: the next time you comment on a political issue, get specific. Open a dialog. Don't respond to "The resignation of Scott McCllellan is a smokescreen" with "Liberals all hate everything Bush does." Do say: "Actually, the resignation of Scott McClellan isn't a smokescreen because he had the following role in policy..."

Don't say: "God hates fags." Say "Science has proven that being raised by gay parents causes children to spontaneously combust." (Although you should probably cite your references on that one.)

For my part, I will try not to call Bush a "self-promoting, isolationist, thieving, lying, contracts-for-friends" booger-head anymore.

Promise.

Love to all. Even you, skunk.

Meow. Meow. And Meow?

I've been sick for the last two days. I'm on Zithromax, and I feel like I'm getting over my latest round of URI craziness. Better than UTI, I guess. Ick.

So: I come home from work early to rest up for today (I'm the only one in my office today, due to a confluence of Jewish holidays and college classes), and the kids say "Daddy, we have a surprise for you in the TV room."

I'm thinking: Maggie bought a piece of electronics?

Ha ha. No.

Astrid is a very good looking, friendly, 4-month-old kitten who was dropped off at the local shelter when the people who originally had her moved overseas. (Gotta be honest, though, that story strikes me as somewhat bullshitty. Bullshitty? Is that a word?)

She's adventurous, not at all scared of the dogs, and doesn't seem to mind that one of the other cats appears to be stalking her. She wheezes a bit, and we don't know why. We do know it's not from any horribly contagious kitty diseases, though: she's been checked.

For those of you keeping count, that's a total of 10 animals in my house: 5 humans, 2 dogs, and 3 cats. Gender-wise we've got 7 girls, 3 boys. Oh, lord. The ratio has tipped past 2:1.

Pictures, of course, are forthcoming.

Love to all. Even you, the losers on NYC 92.3 fm who bleeped the word "pussy" off the air, even though it referred to a cat.

President Bush hopes you're retarded.

After all the shit that Bush and the people who run him have done, the man "shakes up" his administration by announcing the resignation of his Press Secretary. Oh, and and "a senior administration official" told CNN that "Bush confidant Karl Rove will no longer oversee policy development."

I see. So Karl will still be working there, but he just won't oversee policy. He'll be playing Gamecube and such. Lots of Super Monkey Ball for Mr. Rove.

Damn. Damn. The Bush Administration clearly thinks that we're a bunch of fucking idiots... that we won't notice that, um, Rumsfeld is still in office, and so is Karl Rove. But since Scott McClellan quit, some real reform must be under way. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Reform? That's impossible with this bunch, anyway. The only way we're going to change the self-promoting, isolationist, thieving, lying, contracts-for-friends doctrine of the current administration is to vote them out of fucking office.

Do I sound pissed? I am. I have never, ever in my life scene a group of American leaders act with such arrogance. It's disgusting. I'm so mad, I haven't taken any of the easy shots at Bush's ultra-inane "I am the decider" statement. The dude is such a schmuck, it's not even fun to make fun of him.

Are we as stupid as Bush and the people who run his administration think we are? I hope not. I guess we'll find out after the next election.

Love to all. Even you, Don.

Idea from ITS: iTunes Shuffle Snapshot

ITS did this, and I thought it was way cool. Here's my current iTunes random playlist.

Love to all.

Things I'm digging, presently.

1. The way Mimi (the dog) flops down beside me when I’m on the floor.
2. Universal binaries.
3. Playing catch with my two oldest kids.
4. This thing Maggie does when she holds the back of my head when we’re kissing.
5. “Show Your Bones” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Love to all. Even you, the lady on the train to Westchester who sighed BIG.

Shrink.

To figure out who would be my best therapist, I participate in a little interview. And after talking to them for a little bit, the directors of the center decided that my therapist should be the ex-CEO of a major publishing company… a guy who retired at age 50 in order to become a shrink. I met with him this morning.

I’ve decided that it’s time to deal with:

1. My crazy-ass father. Not in terms of talking to the dude again, but rather coming to terms with the fact that I may never talk to him (or my mother) again. That, and the impact that they’ve had on my life to date.
2. My supposed hypomania/ADD for which, apparently, I ‘m going to be getting tested.
3. My obsessive thoughts about sex and finances. Mostly sex. But I was too embarrassed to just say “sex.” So I said “sex and finances.”

Anyway. I like the guy. He’s affable, smart, and doesn’t set off any of my “full-of-shit” alarms. He seemed appreciative… even relieved… of the fact that I’m heavy into Alcoholics Anonymous. I think lots of therapists waste lots of time with alcoholics who are still drinking… and a big subset of that group is happy to do so. This dude is clearly not one of those.

Anyway, I feel like I’m moving on to the next phase. Whatever that may be.

Love to all. Even you, the lecturer at the Mustard Seed.

Hee hee hee.

Maggie didn't know what a dingleberry was. Thank God she married a genius like me, so I could fill her in on such important and weighty topics.

Love to all.

60.

Today is my Mother's birthday.

I haven't spoken to her in around 3.25 years, after my father's Borderline Personality Disorder zeroed in on me and Maggie (after years of it being focused on my grandmother and uncle), and we had to get the police involved to stop his constant threats. A couple of years ago, they moved to California without letting me know. All my stuff from my childhood was thrown away. All of my pictures and notes and books and knick-knacks... all the stuff from my room that I figured I'd get, someday. Gone.

The only reason I knew they were moving was that other folks in my family realized I wasn't being told, and called me.

If my mother was sitting here right now, I'd say: Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you so much. I miss you terribly. I miss Dad, too. I know he's sick, and I don't blame him for how he acted. I'm sorry that, for a while, I argued with the two of you. I should have quit earlier. Maybe that would have prevented the buildup. By I doubt it.

I wish I had you guys back. I get lonely without you.

Love to all.

Figurative or literal...

...we can all effect our own resurrection.

(Easier said than done, I know. Boy, do I know.)

Love to all.

The just-right amount of crystal meth.

So there’s a medical treatment for alcohol dependence.

“In a six-month phase III trial, patients treated with Vivitrol (380 mg) and psychosocial support demonstrated a reduction in days of heavy drinking compared with patients treated with placebo and psychosocial support.”

My first, admittedly alcoholic reaction: "A reduction in days of heavy drinking? Who the hell wants that? I mean, why drink, then?"

Seriously. I don’t understand the point of this at all. Even if versions are developed which work better than this (which is highly likely), why would you want to get an alcoholic to drink again? Why is this considered a medically appropriate form of treatment? Would you do this with cocaine, crystal methadrine, or heroin?

I hear a lot of people in AA say how they’re glad they got to AA because of how it helps them with the REST of their life... You know? That's certainly the case with me.

Love to all. Even you, Thoughts-Like-Sledgehammer.

"All options are on the table."

Over and over, President Bush has said that "all options are on the table" when it comes to dealing with Iran. There are some who worry that this includes the use of tactical nuclear weapons.

A tactical nuke is a battlefield weapon. Instead of a city-buster, it's designed to be used with relative precision. Most folks think of nuclear weapons only in terms of megatons, but there are tactical nukes with yields of about 1 kiloton or less.

The moment we use nukes of any kind, we are forever granting free license for anyone else to do the same. End of story. I don't care if it's a Davy Crockett or a Peacekeeper: once we excercise a nuclear option, we've guaranteed that the U.S. homeland will eventually sustain a nuclear strike. This isn't World War II. This isn't a new technology being developed in a desperate and morally clear time. To use a nuke now is to write our a worldwide permission slip.

Which brings me to a broader point. What used to make this country great was the fact that we held ourselves to higher levels of conduct. I.E., we could demand fair treatment of prisoners when we treated prisoners family. Now, we've made a mockery of our moralism, and the whole world is laughing. Or testing their medium-range missles.

I don't know what's going to happen with Iran. As Vice-President Cheney pointed out, Israel might pre-emptively strike Iran's nuclear facilities, "and let the rest of the world worry about cleaning up the diplomatic mess afterwards." The Israelis would have good reason to do this, too... Iran is openly dedicated to their destruction.

All I know is this: we have got to stop the moral backslide in this country. We can start with this year's elections. We can make write our leaders to let them know that the nuclear option doesn't exist. And, well, we can pray that saner heads prevail.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Rumsfeld.

DON'T SAY THIS.

If you're going to call a company about employment, don't have this conversation:

Her: What are your hours?
Me: Hi. You mean today and tomorrow, or in general?
Her: Oh, is this a Jewish firm?

Love to all.

"I am Gay and an Alcoholic."

Apparently, if you query for this phrase on some search engines, championable.com appears in the results. So, whoever found me via this search, I say to you:

1. Go hit a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, my friend! It sure as hell works for me, and you'll find that there's nothing you have ever said or done that will ever be held against you. If you've tried and failed to stop drinking, AA works.
2. You'll probably find some hot dudes, there, too.

Love to all. Even you, the owner of the Toyota Land Rover that took up multiple parking spaces in the "compact car" row.

Well, thank God for that.

Seamless design eliminates chafing, while providing unmatched support.

I mean, my God, who likes to chafe? And who doesn't like support?

Love to all.

Eye candy is great, but...

..."older" women rock.

I use quotes so nobody kicks my virtual ass.

(Note: Skip this post if you don't want to read an objectifying, impolitic, ageist, and purely sexual analysis of women by a hormonally overloaded thirty-something dude.)

Why don't my friends believe me when I say that I'm totally into women over 40? Why doesn't Maggie? What's the problem here, people?

Look, I know some really hot twenty-somethings. One friend of mine works as a "fit model," and literally has the archetypical awesome body. And don't get me wrong: she's beautiful. But looking at her feels like a misdemeanor. And as a Dad, I've found that checking out younger women feels increasingly wrong. (Althought that might just be so that I'll feel good about stomping the shit out of anyone who ogles my daughter. Preemptive moralism, you know?)

Besides... these twenty-somethings look like they'll just break. I like real women... with real curves, bodies you can work with, you know?

Sex. Sex, sex, sex. Older women (according to me) have had enough time to figure out what they want, what they don't want, are much more likely to be able to talk about, and act on, their desires.

I guess this all bodes well for Maggie, considering she's turning 40 this year.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Mehlman.

You know it's spring...

...when I start taking the Vino to the train station.

Thus, it's officially Spring. Yay!

I mildly customized the thing so as not to get run over by all of the Westchester SUVs... the custom exhaust has no restrictor... letting me get all the way up to... check it... 40 miles per hour.

Love to all.

Thank God for the Generation Gap.

In fairly spontaneous fashion, Maggie and my oldest just took off for Vermont. We got a line on some property we might want to buy, and Maggie wanted to see it first hand. Last night, my oldest asked if he could go, too. After making him promise he would be at least a little patient, we said yes.

Now, my parent's worked in the same room, in the basement of their house, for 30 years. The idea of my father "letting" my Mom leave overnight... holy crap, it's laughable. Shit, when she decided to go to cooking school at age 50, my father went into a borderline-induced rage/suicidal funk because she was "deserting him." It was a bit scary and, retrospectively, utterly pathetic. Bleah.

Let's hear it for intergenerational change.

Love to all. Even you, my tardy, tardy babysitter.

Pagan? I'll TAKE it.

Twice a year, 'round Christmas and Easter, I always hear folks saying "Yeah, but the Easter Bunny is just an incorporation of Pagan Rituals, just like the Christmas tree! I has nothing to do with Jesus whatsoever!"

And they're right. But so what? Does the red paint job on your Honda improve it's handling? Does that striped tie make you a better businessperson? Of course not. But it helps with the presentation (and acceptance) of whatever it is your trying to do. And thus it was with the Catholic incorporation of Pagan ritual. Sometimes it worked resoundingly well. Other times it failed: All Saint's Day didn't manage to quash Halloween. And thank God for that, or else I'd have no reason to own a gorilla suit.

Much ado about marketing, you know?

Love to all. Even you, chirpy.

Time is limited! Act now!

Minor epiphany in Church today: I'm going to die soon.

Hopefully not that soon, but soon enough. 50 years, If I'm really lucky. Probably less. Which means it's time to get off my ass and try and do a better job at being less of a dick. I'm pretty much halfway done, lifewise, so if I'm going to start making some serious changes, the time is now.

I'm not talking about work. I work pretty hard. Shit, by age 37, I have already started a company, sold it, become a liquid millionaire, lost most of my money the stock market (my former broker thought Corning was a great investment in 2000), started another company, and took that one to a seven figures in sales within three years.

No, I'm talking about the fact that I can be a petty, small-minded, quick-to-anger dickhead with those I love the most. I need to change that. Little things like: instead of getting annoyed that my 9-year-old wants to drive by the skatepark (which would take us a whole three minutes out of our way) I just say... are you ready...

"Yes."

I'm getting better at intercepting and countermanding my inherent dickishness. But my goal is to not have to reverse myself, but to intercede before the initial response leaves my mouth.

This dude I know... a smart, hilarious, Irish ex-priest, told me his philosophy on marriage: "Say 'yes' at all times, unless you have a VERY, VERY good reason." Which dovetails with: "Would you reather be right, or happy?"

This is a good time of year to act on these things.

Love to all. Even you, the fucking scale.

I just couldn't help it.

So, I'm riding on the train, and this dude makes several long phone calls. He's discussing business. Loudly. He's giving out names, financials. It's clear he's an M&A guy, discussing what divisions of a company he'll jettison, which he'll keep, and what staff he'll clear out. I connect to the internet via my bluetooth phone, and just for kicks I start Googling the guy... and while I'm doing that, I'm taking notes on his conversation.

And then he gets off the phone. And he says "Was I too loud for you?"

Oh God. Here we go.

I say "Not at all. But I've learned a whole lot about you. Your name is XXX. Here is your picture [turn computer around to show his picture on my screen] You work at XXX. You joined there in 1987 after leaving XXX. You're currently trying to finish brokering the acquisition of XXX for $XXX... but you had to leave a voice mail for Mr. XXX, who is apparently your client."

He looked a little dismayed, but we wound up having a very pleasant 10-minute conversation. At one point he asked where I lived, and I asked him the same. He said "I thought you would have looked that up, too."

I said: "Oh, no. That would be creepy."

Love to all. Even you, the interrupting in-law.

Black edges.

There are two things I'm hesitant to talk about on my blog:

1. The extent of my issues with lust.
2. Flirtations with depression.

The first is because I don't want to get in trouble. Not like "you-cheated-on-me trouble," but "damn, rich, you THINK about cheating on me a lot" trouble. Not that Maggie reads this blog anymore, but... I don't know if I'm worse than most dudes, but this is definitely something I struggle with. It occupies way too much of my time.

The second. Well, it's weird and embarrassing and scary.

For the last three days, I've had cliff-like drops in my mood. They've been unlike anything I've had before. My chest gets all tight, and my vision actually blackens at it's edges. I couldn't look people in the eye. It only lasted a couple of hours at a time, but jeez.

What the fuck IS that? I mean, my natural state is pretty fucking perky.

Anyway, I'm a little baffled and bummed out, but this too shall pass.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who shot me a withering look for bringing a djembe on the Metro North train.

And that's that.

I'm so sorry to have put you all through this again. Really. If I ever, EVER talk about switching to Windows, please stop me. PLEASE. Use non-lethal , non-permanently injurious force, if necessary.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Ballmer.

sigh.

Okay. I've had it. This is just a representative window of like, 7000 just like it.

Love to all.

Motherf$#(r!

That's it. I've had it. Love. to. all.

Oh. My. GOD.

Well, thank goodness the document wasn't lost with the envelope. I guess. Sheesh.

Love to all.

No solution.

I've got your solution. Get a Mac.

DAMN.

Love to all.

I am the new Conservative.

I've just HAD it with these label-stealing bastards. George Bush is no more a "conservative" than Hu Jintao, and I've decided that's it's time for a little re-fucking-definition.

I remember the first time I heard the word "liberal" used as a weapon. It was against Michael Dukakis (remember him?). And all I could think about was "Jesus, why are the Democrats so afraid of that word?" To borrow Microsoft's philosophy, why not Embrace and Extend? Accept the word Liberal, and define it properly. Make the word an asset.

That didn't happen. In fact, Tom Delay used the word to explain why he's resigning. He doesn't want his seat taken by Democratic Liberals. He forgot to mention the whole "Oh, and I'm a criminal" thing. Whoops.

But no worries. I don't WANT to be a liberal anymore. Shit, if you take "liberal" at it's true meaning, President Bush is the consummate liberal...

1. Tolerant of the massive loss and wounding of American solders.
2. Generous with big government contracts for friends' businesses.
3. Open-minded about WMDs.
4. Non-interventionist when it comes to having criminals in his inner circle.
5. Exceedingly liberal with the Executive Powers.
6. etc., etc.

Now, me? I'm a real Conservative:

1. Fiscally responsible: if you don't have it, don't spend it.
2. Environmentally Conservative: Ethanol first (good for farmers!), Hydrogen later. And remember, I support giving American Oil Companies a 10-20 year lock on ethanol processing and stateside distribution.
3. Militarily Conservative: no pre-emptive War. (Oh, and with the New York Times article about how Bush was going to war regardless, and had even picked a DATE, we can clearly add "liberal with reasons for going to war."
4. Addendum to #3: maintain the strongest and most nimble military planet-wide.
5. Loyal to the second amendment: Only infringe on the right to bear arms if the gun owner isn't part of a well-governed militia. Infringe does not mean "ban."
6. Equal application of the Bill of Rights to every citizen.
7. Etc., etc.,

My point? Let's kick that pansy-ass liberal son-of-a-beyotch out of office and install a REAL conservative. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the bespectacled guy with the 14-inch iBook. Lucky bastard.

Stephen Colbert vs. Congressman Adam Schiff

Colbert: Did you pass legislation banning the very sort of unregulated donations that helped you win?

Schiff: Yes.

Colbert: Isn’t that the political equivalent of sleeping with a prostitute and then strangling her to hide your shame?

Schiff: I wouldn’t want to say that.

I thought one point Colbert made was pretty funny and quite possibly true: A Conservative is what George Bush says a conservative is, and that’s that. In that case, Conservatives stand for big deficits and big government. And if that is the case, what the hell is a liberal?

I have no idea what to call myself anymore.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who created a Coffee River on the 6:30 train out of Grand Central Station.

WTF is wrong with Windows?

Whine, whine, whine.

I switched from a Mac PowerBook 1.67 to a Dell E1505 Intel Core Duo laptop. 100 Gig HD, a gig of RAM... supposedly a speedy little Windows machine.

This sucker is SLOW. I mean... once you're in an application, it's okay. But try to multitask... try to switch between various programs... or keep 6 ot 7 applications open at once, and the thing just crawls. Crawls! CRAWWWWWWWLS!

It's killing me.

I'm stuck with this for 8 months or more: the day Adobe Creative Suite 3, Macromedia Studio 9, Filemaker 9, and Office 2007 for Mac are released... I'm buying a MacBook Pro again. But until then, I'm going to force myself to use Windows. It's my own damn fault for giving Maggie my PowerBook and buying this piece o' shit.

Anyone know if I can safely uninstall the .Net Framework? Will that speed things up at all?

Ugh. God help me. And if I'm using Windows, God help us all.

Love to all. Even you, the Big Voiced Lady on the other side of this office wall.

My new golf club.

It's the only private club I could afford: Club Ricardo.

Love to all.

Chill day, warm day.

I love to play catch. And now we're totally equipped. It's days like these where I wish this wasn't an anonymous (or 99% anonymous) blog, because I'd love to show you some of the pics I snapped of the kids tossing a baseball around.

But then again, if this wasn't 99% anonymous, I couldn't be honest about what a lustful, dumbass, panic-sticken worry-wart I am.

Worry-wart. Now that is a distasteful term.

It's a beautiful spring day in Westchester, NY, and I'm trying to take a day off from things like:

• Bill Frist and his fake adoption of cats from shelters in order to practice surgery on them.
• George Bush and his complete rejection of checks and balances.
• The FBI's spying on, and infiltration of, peaceful domestic groups, because of their anti-war stance.

No, instead of dwelling on the Great Polarization of America... instead of worrying that Americans are buying into the fact that criticizing Bush aids enemies of the US... I'm going to go out there, do some gardening, play some catch, run the scooter, and enjoy this glorious day.

Love to all. Even you, the oil tank company that cut a six-inch hole in the basement door.

Saturday haiku.

brand new baseball gloves
playdate, shopping, three mile run
suburban bliss, this


Love to all. Even you, the 50-mile-an-hour neighbor.

Oh, forget it.

Can I just say what an icky, stereotypical Westchester Rich Bitch is sitting next to me on the train? If you've ever read this blog, you know I don't normally talk about people quite like that, but seriously: She's rude, she put her bags on my feet, when her bags fell over, I offered to put them on the shelf, and she didn't look at me and snapped "no, I've got it" and shoved them into the feet of the person in front of her. She's reading a book on Vacations in the Greek Isles, and she just radiates Beyotch-ness.

Or Biatchness, depending how you spell it.

Anyway.

I was nervous this morning. You betcha. I had committed to an office space that was 75% more expensive than the one I currently occupy. I had offered a job to someone who my instincts had totally greenlighted... and that person had accepted. We were meeting at 11am to finalize things.

So.

At 7am, I get an email from one of my outside employees saying that they were going to withdraw from a project, which would cost me about $7,500. At 9am, I get an email from the same employee saying "forget it, we're good." At 11am, the person who accepted the job withdrew. At 11:15am, I sat down with my landlord and begged my way out of our new contract. Then I called my super-cool hippie massage person who I see every now and then, and made an appointment for 3:30.

Then I worked for a few hours. And then I split.

So now I'm sitting on this train, spaced out from an AWESOME session but bothered by Ms. However-You-Spell-It, thinking that you just never fucking know how things are going to go down. So you know what I'm going to do? Go home, play with my kids, and, with any luck, seduce my wife.

Love to all. Even you, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyotch!

Panic time!

I'm an entrepreneur. I started a company in 1996. Sold it in 2000. Started another one in 2003. We're three years in, and we just completed the billing for the first quarter of 2006. It's our best quarter ever. In fact, March was the best month we've ever had.

So I'm absolutely convinced we're going to close. Bankrupt. Soon. Sorry, kids... no college for you.

There are valid reasons for a different kind of concern.. April is looking like its going to slow down quite a bit. We've got to work hard to replace the one-time spikes that made March so tremendous. We've got to build our core business to stabilze our revenue. But this is a rational concern, not the "We're gonna die!" panic that I've been experiencing.

And I'm taking steps to remedy these concerns. I'm hiring my first-ever salesperson. I'm going to have her focus exclusively on expanding our current-client depth, and our base in general. I think she's exactly the kind of person who can do this sort of thing while maintaining our unusual kind of branding and personality. I'm really excited. I think she could help take my little company from where it is to where it needs to be.

So, in the face of abject panic I’m taking rational steps to do the right thing. Now, if only I could stop freaking out.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who stood with his bag blocking the elevator door.

In Praise of Carl Hiassen

A friend recommended I read a Carl Hiassen book. So I read one. Then two. Then three. Then four.

• Skin Tight
  
• Basket Case
• Strip Tease
• Sick Puppy

I'm working on "Lucky You" right now. It started off slower than the rest of them, but it's picked up pretty nicely.

If you need easy-reading book that's funny, engrossing, well-written and pointed... go for Carl Hiassen. He rocks.

Love to all. Even you, the cackling ladies in the next cubicle.

Bellevue “Green House” MICA Unit, 7pm, NYC

MICA stands for Mentally Impaired, Chemically Addicted, and it was in that unit that I sat with a friend of mine, surrounded by people who, for the most part, had to be there. Some were on parole. Some were on probation. Some were simply not allowed to leave the building or they’d be thrown permanently back on the streets. And some of them were there because they wanted to be there.

It was an AA meeting, and I told my story.

Admittedly, there’s a bit of intimidation here. Before arriving at the unit, I was thinking “Oh, boy. I don’t know how these guys are going to relate to an upper-middle class white guy like me.” But I also knew that this was bullshit. The one thing about alcoholism is that it treats everyone equally. Once he drinks, an alcoholic cannot stop. Period. No matter what the circumstance, we have that in common.

And that is huge.

After going through the metal detectors, signing in with the Police, and taking a truly scary elevator upstairs, I entered the meeting. I introduced myself to some of the men. Then, as the opening passages were being read, I said a little prayer. I was introduced.

The first thing I said was: “My name’s Rich, I’m an alcoholic, and I am the luckiest person alive.”

The last thing I said was: “We bow before no one.”

I said about 20 minutes of other stuff in between.

I left the meeting feeling lucky, happy, and grateful. There are dudes in there who aren’t going to make it. But there are dudes in there who are. Talking to them was a trip, precisely because of how much we have in common.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the blue Audi.

Explain yourself.

A commenter said:

Explain how you can be a pro-gay, pro-Choice Catholic? Wouldn't proclaiming yourself a Catholic just be an oxymoron?

That's a great question, which I'm glad to answer.

I believe that Jesus Christ set forth an Apostolic church, and that the Catholic Church is the embodiment of this idea. With that said: it's also painfully obvious that, throughout history, the Catholic Church has screwed up the message, tried to fix itself, then screwed up the message again. Over and over.

Why? Because it's run by humans.

I mean, the Pauline church was much more inclusive, gender-neutral, and otherwise "liberal" than the Church that wound up dominating those early days. And we shouldn't forget things like, say, the inquisition, the mutual excommunications of Urban and Clement, etc., etc.

The Church hasn't always been channeling the will of God, that much is certain.

My answer, then, is this: I believe in the message of Jesus. I believe in the overarching goodness of the Catholic Church... especially at the local level. I do not believe that the Apostles were perfect, just like I don't believe the Pope is infallible. If you doubt me, read the Gospels. The Apostles were well-meaning, jealous, egotistical, loyal, frightened, and ultimately human.

So I disagree with the Catholic Church on its positions on gays and abortion. And Jesus loves me for it, whether those thoughts are sins, or not.

Love to all. Even you, the woman who put the doughnut back in the box.

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.