Speed? What speed? Plus - Help wanted!

Well. It turns out that I have developed a complete tolerance for amphetamines.

My wife, my friends, and my employees have all noticed a Return to Scatterbrain.

I've had the dose increased twice. The first time I felt like it was working for me again. But within a week, I had completely adjusted and returned to my normal, what-the-hell-was-I-just thinking self.

I talked to the doc, and she recommended I take the weekend off, then change how I take it Monday through Friday. When I asked her about side effects from stopping, she said "None."

Right.

I slept 11 hours, from Friday-to-Saturday, 13 hours from Saturday-to-Sunday. I STILL feel like I'm thinking through gauze. It's pretty disconcerting.

I've come up with a solution, though: I'm hiring an assistant.

If I can't correct my behavior chemically, I'm going to hire someone to help me correct it environmentally. My own living, breathing adderall. Anyone want a job helping Rich | Championable get his shit together? It doesn't pay too much: 30k to start, but there's a salary review after the 90-day probationary period.

:-)

Anyway: I'm taking my daughter to Brooklyn to pick up her big brother from my cousin's apartment, where he spent the night. I was a big adventure for all... perhaps more for my cousin than for my son.

Love to all. Even you, the frat-lookin' guy driving the Humvee.

The door that leads to all other doors.

This is my favorite door in New York City.

Most weekday mornings, sometime between 6:45 and 7:10am, I walk through this door. What's inside this door saved my ass. And if any of you folks ever happen to walk through this door, I hope it saves yours too.

I'll be sure to say hi.

Love to all. Even you, the 5-year-old kid who I just can't stand.

A major minor breakthrough.

I rode my old Trek hybrid (now my "train bike") to the station this morning. When I parked in the bike rack, I whipped out my new lock (I hadn't had time to properly mount it to my frame yet), and hooked it through my front tire and frame.

But I couldn't get the lock closed. I messed with it for about two minutes. Nothing.

Now it was 5:45am, and my train was coming. I fiddled with the lock for another couple of seconds, and realized that I had a choice:

1. Not bother locking the bike, and hope that nobody stole it.
2. Freak out, start screaming and snarling and try to force the fucker to close.
3. Miss my train.

I sat down on the sidewalk, legs criss-crossed, and watched my train come. It pulled up... paused... everyone got on... and it left. Twenty-five minutes until the next train.

I looked down at the lock and noticed that I had the base on backwards. Click.

Love to all. Even you, the british dude who speaks almost exclusively in Morality Tales.

Silence, shins, bikes.

Why so quiet, you may ask? Emotional turmoil? Harried schedule.

How about: detonating laptop.

Stupid MacBook Pro. First the inverter is messed up, so I have to send it back. Then, the battery is recalled, but since this is a refurb, Apple messed up sending me the replacement. The, the logic board started to fail, randomly restarting and shutting down the machine.

I stopped using it, but not before it corrupted my data.

I had blown my Apple Developer discount on a Mac Pro, but I've cancelled that. I'm going to wait it out... see if the big machines have problems like the laptops. Economically, it REALLY makes sense, too, since I just got me one of these:


Is this thing badass or WHAT? Oh my god.

I haven't gotten a new bike in... twelve years, since about 30 friends of mine pitched in to replace a bike that got stolen, as part of the surprise 25th birthday party put on by my then girlfriend, Maggie.

Things have changed on the bike front. Materials, shifters, styles... But after an hour of getting a "fit test" done with a SUPER knowledgable guy, I went for the Giant OCR 2 Composite.

Now I have to take swim lessons, and I can think Triathlon.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who may or may not be deaf.

Sometimes I don't know.

There are things I feel and think that I can't write because this blog is not totally anonymous. There are at least four people who know it's mine. I'm not sure if all of them read it, but I know a few of 'em do. Or did.

So, since I can't really talk about how I'm feeling in any detail, I'll just say this:

Love is not an excuse.

And that is that.

Love to all. Even you, Coffee Bean.

Data Entry.

I posted an ad on Craiglist for a short data entry position for my company. The lucky winner will get to work in the same room as me for two weeks.

I've gotten some weird responses.

For instance... if you're going to reply to a financial data entry gig, make sure what you write is literate and sensible... data entry requires accuracy.

I'm interested in the Data Entry position if it is not yet filled. I am not sure of my typing speed but it type like a mad scientist!

I'm trying to mentally picture what "type like a mad scientist" means, but I'm just not sure.

Another example is:

do i need to be there or can I do it from home

That was the whole email. Nothing more.

But this one disturbs me the most, because it's just so icky:

I can get the job done for you quickly, if you're willing to pay me what I usually would get as a temp (around $30/hour), or I can spend the two weeks you're advertising doing the data entry at a much more leisurely pace for the rate you're offering.

How could anyone hire this person after a note like this?

Anyway... I think I've found my person. Lucky bastard.

Love to all. Even you, the wide-eyed lady who was both suspicious and hard of hearing.

Don't. Be. Stupid.

A minute ago, I thought I heard my youngest scream from outside. I ran up the steps from the basement, got to the front door, and realized:

1. He was fine. He was just messing around.
2. I ran up the stairs from the basement.

Up until a minute ago, I couldn't run at all. The swelling has subsided mostly, and there's one spot on my shin which is all messed up... but if I tried to run, it would hurt immediately.

So.
The thing to do now is NOT RUN.

I'll do the elliptical all week. And then, on Saturday, I'll try a short run. The marathon's not for months. I have to remember to let myself get better.

On the plus side, I went biking today, and had so much fun I think I'm going to get myself a road bike. I've had this hybrid since 1993, and I'd love to have a bike that has gears deep enough to let me pedal on the downhills.

Speaking of biking... I've decided that this year is NY Marathon year, and 2007 is going to hold for me some version of Triathlon... whether Ironman or Half I have to figure out. So, because I like to think about these things ahead of time, I pushed my ego aside and talked to the swim instructor at our local pool about giving me lessons, so that I start swimming with better form. Right now, it's just not pretty.

Anyway. I'm going to get the kids, and start the bedtime routine. Quite the slice-o-life post, this one.

Love to all. Even you, the owners of all the bike shops who are closed Sundays.

Not morbid. Just thinking.

Maggie is picking up our oldest from camp today. She left last night, and will be home late this afternoon. Before she left, she said to me: "It's so strange how I adjusted to his being gone. I feel bad because I got used to it."

I thought about that, and I realized that this is probably a very tiny version of what eventually happens when a parent loses a child. In the same way that I couldn't imagine life without Carter, I suppose that people just, eventually, have the pain of loss overlaid (not replaced) with a thick layer of Normal.

The pain can always poke through, but eventually it's not right at the surface.

In 2002, a girl in my town was killed in skiing accident. She was a young high schooler. I had coached her younger brother in soccer. I didn't know the family. But when the high school had a memorial event in the auditorium, I went. It was kind of a strange affair, with a big picture of the girl on the stage, peple coming up and talking about her, a bunch of high school kids playing "Wish you were here" by Pink Floyd. The whole thing was both touching and edged with teen drama, which made it a little bizarre. Her father even got on stage to talk to everyone about his girl.

How the man was able to do that, I have no idea.

I see the dad in town, on the train, on the fields, and every time I see him I think "How does he do that? How is he able to function after sustaining a loss like he did?" The answer, I guess, is just because he does. I don't think it's "for his son" or "for his wife."

I guess the nature of life is to keep living, no matter what.

Whoa. I'm missing Carter right now. A lot. Jesus.

Love to all. Even you, whoever abandoned that crazy black dog in a New Jersey parking lot in 1992.

A public apology to Miss Britt and Waldo.

My last post should have immediately mentioned that it was about being a fan of Rush, the Canadian ProgRock Band... not Rush Limbaugh, the drug-addled, hypocritical, lying prick.

So, officially, my apologies to Waldo and Miss Britt for accidentally making you think, however briefly, that I liked drug-addled, hypocritical, lying pricks like THAT guy. I mean, I do like drug-addled, hypocritical, lying pricks... but not that one. Also, I apparently like saying "drug-addled, hypocritical, lying prick."

Love to all. Even you, the drug-addled, hypocritical, lying prick.

Whoosh goes my memory.

I'm a Rush fan. It's true. And I'm proud of it.

I go through phases where I won't listen to Rush for a long time, and then I will. I didn't like a whole series of their albums, but with Vapor Trails, they had me back.

I just picked up R30... Rush's thirtieth anniversary concert tour double-dvd and double-CD set. It's blowing me away. Not only because these dude have been doing this for THIRTY years, and still completely rock the house (unlike a lot of other bands, which come back years later, after breaking up, with half of their people gone, or dead). Rush has been putting out music for thirty years, a lot of it really good, and some of it classic. It's still the same dudes: Geddy, Alex, and Neil.

One of the DVDs has about 10 videos from the 70's and early 80's. Great stuff. The other DVD is the R30 concert... which is just unbelievable.

I know I'm totally gorking out here. But when I hear these dudes cranking out Subdivisions, or La Villa Strangiato with such amazing chops, three decades after they started, I'm just impressed.

Anyway. I'm all tired and wonked-out from getting up at 3:30. I'm going to sleep.

Love to all. Even you, the dude on the train who was watching to see when I got up, so he could get up first and beat me to the door (you have to see this dude.. he's TENSE)... so I leaned all forward all sudden-like to see if he actually WOULD get up, and he did.

You NEED to know this.

At 4:30am, after being woken up to break up a viscious catfight outside (Between cats, boys, not between bikini-clad college women, or whatever the hell your sick mind thought), I discovered that I can simultaneously poop AND relace my blue Pumas with fat (not phat, tho' they are) white replacements.

In fact, it's a convenient combination of activities.

Love to all. Even you, the newspaper delivery guy who fell asleep at the wheel, car in gear, music blaring, a tendril of spit falling from his chin.

Thanks Nikon!

I've had problems with the Nikon S1. It seemed like such a great little camera, but the picture quality was pretty bad... which would really suck, if the camera ever took pictures. But the little Nikon didn't take pictures, because the lens cover got stuck.

I sent it back twice for repair. First, it came back and never took a picture... same problem. The next time, I used it once before it failed again. On the third call to repair, I asked for a replacement. And in the note to Nikon I said "If the lens cover problem is endemic to the model, could you please send me a palm sized camera that doesn't have the issue?"

Today, I got a brand-new Nikon S5 in the mail. I was stunned. Thank you, Nikon!

I figure since I complain on this blog sometimes, I should say "Thanks" as well.

Love to all. Even you, the strangely serene lady in the green dress.

Nike+ Review, Part II of II.

So, calibrating the sensor on a track works well, but...

Don't be an idiot like me. If you have good sneakers, keep wearing those, and fuck the Nike+iPod system. After an x-ray, a doctor visit, and a serious-ass ultrasound to insure that I didn't kick off a blood clot which was lung-bound, I have learned that it's A-OK to stick with what works.

Damn. I can't BELIEVE how much I screwed myself up, all for the sake of geek tech.

Hmm. Geek tech. Aren't there wearable GPS/Heart Monitor sets?

Yummy.

Love to all. Even you, the hypermuscular twenty-something who didn't know what "fast" meant... causing the nurse to yell "DID. YOU. EAT?"

Maggie sums it up.

I was talking to Maggie about how Tricia suggested I leave the Catholic church because I don't believe everything that it teaches (and think, in fact, that some of what it teaches is contrary to the word of Christ).

Maggie thought for a second and said:

That's strange that she would say that: Peter denied Jesus three times, and Jesus made him the rock of his Church.

Smart wife, mine.

Love to all.

Injury report.

Shin splints.

Way back in 2004 (which kind of feels like another life), when I first started getting myself in shape, I would get shin splints when I ran. But I found that if I ran through them, they'd go away.

Fast forward to yesterday, when I didn't bother to think about the fact that I got shin splints for the first time in a long time, just after switching to Nike+iPod shoes from my Asics Kayanos, and I figured "What the hell. I'll just run through them."

13.5 miles later, I was in quite a bit of pain.

This morning, I could barely walk.

So, I've ordered stability inserts for my sneakers, and if they don't work, I'll abandon the Nike+ system and go back to my Kayanos (at least until Nike releases a + version of the Kantara... and I'll be using my Kayanos from now until the inserts arrive. Either way, though...

Note to self: do NOT try and run through shin splints. Especially not over 13.5 miles. Unless you're running a marathon.

In that case, go for it.

Love to all. Even you, the ex-stylist saleslady at ABC in Chelsea whose jaded front didn't quite cover a disappointed interior.

Mel Gibson, example number 4029.

"Fucking Jews. The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world. Are you a Jew? (...) You motherfucker. I'm going to fuck you." - Mel Gibson to a deputy.

"What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?" - Mel Gibson to a female deputy.

So sad, so sad. And so sadly predictable. William Bennett, Ralph Reed, so many others. Folks who try to define themselves by some weird version of moral purity turn out to be hypocrites. Like Jim West, the virulently anti-Gay politican who, surprise, was caught trying to seduce underage men in onloine chat rooms (he denied knowing they were underage, but did not dispute that he was trying to seduce men).

It seems to me that people who have character traits (sinful - Anti-Semitism or not - being gay) that they can't deal with, often compensate by going on hogwild moral crusades. Can't deal with the fact that you like dudes? Become an anti-Gay activist. Have a gambling problem? Write books on raising children with moral character.

The Muslims say it best: There is no God but God.

We are inherently flawed, and admitting that is what, I think, let's us actually make progress.

The reason I love my AA sponsor is because he's taught me that I have to accept the fact that I can be a complete dickface. And my job is to try to be a complete dickface less often.

So, off I go to Manhattan, to go couch-shopping and art-browsing with Maggie. The kids are away, so it's just the two of us. This is the perfect time to practice not being a complete dickface.

Wish me luck.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who claimed he never got the project description, even though he emailed it back to me with his comments.

Whoosh.

Life overwhelms me,
tater tots and coffee beans,
bright sun on the bench.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the BMW doing 80 in a 35.

Note: I never knew, until yesterday, that Haiku required a kigo, or a word that referenced the season in which the poem is set. Please forgive my past Haiku errors.

The hypocrisy of the Lebanese Prime Minister.

"Is an Israeli tear-drop worth more than a drop of Lebanese blood?"

So said the Lebanese Prime Minister, yesterday. It's a great political comment. It tugs at your heartsrtings. It's also complete manipulative bullshit.

In 2004, the United Nations passed UN Security Council Resolution 1559, which called for the Lebanese government to, among other things, disarm Hezbollah. If they had done this, there would be no Israeli/Hezbollah conflict. The blame for each and every death associated with Israel trying to disarm Hezbollah and protect itself lies with the Lebanese government, Syria, and Iran.

Iran and Syria could stop this conflict in an instant. Hell, Jordan could have created a free Palestine any time in the last several decades. Does anyone really believe that Palestine exists only in the land that Israel occupies? Please.

And the Israeli's aren't fighting an army. They're fighting guerillas who drive around with truck-launched missiles from different locations. If anyone expects Israel to be able to fight back without causing serious collateral damage, they totally misunderstand the nature of the conflict. This isn't pre-Revolutionary war, line-up-and-shoot warfare. This isn't jungle warfare. The enemy acts from populated areas. Options are extremely limited.

Let me ask you this: If Hezbollah didn't attack Israel, would Israel attack Hezbollah? If everyone left Israel alone, would Israel start a war?

No.

To answer the PM's question: No, an Israeli tear is not worth more than a drop of Lebanese blood. But both are spilling because of you, your government's inaction, and your allies.

Love to all. Even you, Fouad Siniora.

Gay appraisal = The truth.

A short time ago, I posted an admittedly-egotistical but somewhat deservedly-excited body shot of myself which appeared as if I was actually getting in shape. Never having been in shape before, I'm pretty psyched on the whole situation.

I didn't expect many comments from women. But there was one person who I was hoping would comment, for better or worse, Albert, aka ARG, from Obliquity.

Why? Because, in the end, it's the gay man's opinion that'll really tell you how you look... and ARG is the only blogger on my blogroll who I know is gay. And if there's any reason for straight guys to get over any homophobia they might have, knowing whether or not you actually look good should be reason enough.

When I was younger and working in NYC (I still work in NYC, I'm just older) I would get checked out by dudes with some regularity. Then, over time, nothing. It just stopped. It could have been my vibe, that I was getting older... or maybe it was because I was green and bloated from drinking 10 - 16 drinks a day. That could have been it, too.

The thing is, women can't give semi- or unknown-men feedback. Because most dudes would incorrectly translate a "looking over" by a woman as her saying "Please have sex with me immediately." Regardless of whether a gay man is saying that or not, there's more of a perceived power balance between men, and the checking-out can generally happen without fear of one dude
stalking the other, etc.

Yesterday, I was walking from my morning AA meeting with some friends, one of whom is a successful interior designer (he was in Elle Decor a little while back), and this very topic came up.

He agreed with me: if gay men don't think you look hot, then you don't look hot. Alas.

So, I'd just like to thank God for making me appreciate the appraisals and dismissals of gay men. Homophobes just aren't getting appropriate feedback, which is a shame.

Love to all. Even you, Ms. Knock-Over-The-Apples-And-Run-From-The-Aisle.

Love.

How lucky are we who get to love people, and have them love us back?

I need to remember that, in the midst of everything else.

Love to all. Even you, dude who HAD to get on the uptown 6 train, much to the physical (and probably emotional) discomfort of the woman in front of him.

Preliminary Nike+ review.

Calibrate, calibrate, calibrate.

After gearing up with my iPod Nano, my Nike+ AirMax Moto Shoes, and my Nike+iPod connection kit, I learned that, without calibration, the Nike+ system makes me look SLLLOW.

For those of you who don't know, the Nike+iPod system is a combination of sneakers, ipod, a transmitter and a receiver, which collects running data from your sneakers (via the transmitter that slots into the specially designed shoe), sends it to your iPod (via the receiver that clips into the dock connector), and syncs it to nikeplus.com to track your runs. During a run, you can have the Nano give you feedback via headphones about distance, etc.

Sounds great, right? Is it, sort of.

Unless you calibrate the sensor on a track, by running a set distance and telling the sensor what that distance was (400 meters, a mile, etc), the sensor can be WAY off, which is disconcerting during a run.

During the 4-mile Run for Central Park, I would pass a mile marker, and a long time later, the Nano would say I just went that mile. When I finished the race, the Nano thought I had gone 3.49 miles. That's a huge difference between reality.

The drag is that it synced that race to the site... so it thinks I ran MUCH slower than I did, because the clock was accurate, but the distance wasn't. Bummer.

Anyway: I'm going to calibrate the sensor this weekend, and I'll report back then.

Love to all. Even you, the guy driving the limo, fast and in reverse, through the train station parking lot.

Last note to Tricia.

Fascinating, how you make so many sweeping statements, ask me to leave the Catholic Church, but then you repeatedly fail to answer simple questions like:

• If you believe the Pope is infallible, why did the Church issue a formal apology for it's inaction during WWII, when it allowed the Holocaust to proceed without protest?
• Comments about disturbing conceived blastocysts aside, what's your problem with condoms, which intercede pre-conception, just like the APPROVED methods of the Catholic Church?

Shocker. At this point, after asking you multiple times over several days, if you DO answer them, I'm going to assume you are repeating someone else's words, not your own. Sad.

Love to all. Even you, Tricia.

“Then don't be a Catholic.”

“Then don't be a Catholic.,” she says. “Why be something you're not?”

Aside from the response I gave her in the comments to this post, her comment to me demonstrates exactly what I mean about people who claim to be Christian but appear to be going completely off message.

Who did Jesus seek out? With whom did he take meals? Sinners. People who didn’t believe as he did. People who needed help. (Luke 15:2, Luke 19:7)

This lady, when she sees that I disagree with some of the man-made weirdness of the Catholic Church, wants me to LEAVE. “Don’t be a Catholic.”

And once again, she proves that not only is she not acting like a Catholic, but she’s specifically acting against the very basic teachings of Christ. Would Jesus ever have said “You are too sinful to follow me?” No, he said that these are the people whom he would seek. (Luke 5:31-32)

If she believes the the Catholic Church is the true apostolic Church, if she believes that she is following the faith and that I am misguided, then then she should embrace me, try to bring me into the Church, discuss things with me, and through her example of tolerance and kindness, try to show me the Way. No disciple of Jesus would try to convince someone to LEAVE the Church. That's madness.

But no: She thinks I should leave. And that, my friends, is antithetical to the Gospels.

It's also interesting how she completely ignored the whole condom thing. Why, I wonder?

Anyway, Tricia, I invite you to stay in the Church, even if you preach things that are entirely against what Jesus taught and did.

Love to all. Even you, the burly dude who, while bothering me with his loud-for-5am train conversations, has surprisingly lush hair.

Anti-Choice Hypocrisy.

"The truth hurts," the lady says, referring to a sign on a woman's car that says "John Kerry Approves of Killing Babies!!!!!" The truth hurts.

No, it doesn't.

What she doesn't realize is that she supports abortion wholeheartedly. In fact, she is doing a great deal to grow the number of abortions at the most rapid pace possible. I don't know a single pro-choice person who wants to do anything but make abortion a rarity (via education, contraception, etc). But this woman, she's doing her best to make sure that abortion remains tragically frequent.

This woman, you see, is anti-contraception. Thus, she's making sure that lots and lots of conceptions occur that are destined for abortion.

"Wrong," she might say. "Adoption! Adoption!" Yeah, right. I'm sure she's going to monitor and the nutritional input of the woman she is forcing to remain pregnant. I'm sure she's going to enforce this diet, lack of smoking, drinking, and drugs. And I'm sure she's going to pay for maternity clothing, housing, and lost work time. And I'm sure she's going to fund the life of the child that results from forcing a completely undeveloped, unable-to-feel-pain, brainless zygote through term.

"Wrong," she says. "Abstinence! Abstinence!" Well... no. There's not a chance on earth that abstinence will ever be the answer. This is historical fact. And besides, grownups having safe, mutually respectful, recreational sex is certainly on my moral "No-Problem List."

Oh, and since she won't fund international medical programs that include abortion in their broad suite of otherwise-missing services, she's going both to fund the lives of all the people whose lives she destroys, and attend the funerals of all the people she killed by withdrawing their medical care.

Actually, she's right. The truth hurts. Or rather, it should. But my sense is that it doesn't bother her at all.

Love to all. Even you, the people who do so much damage, thinking they are doing the will of God.

We never count on growing up.

My oldest son just left for sleepaway camp for the first time. Maggie is driving him all the way to Vermont, dropping him off, and coming back late tonight. It's for two weeks, with an option for four if he really likes it. Maggie and I both think he'll like it, but he'll want to come home.

He was so excited. So nervous. So big and tall and gorgeous and strong and at once ready to head out on his own and clearly wanting to stay here where things are known and safe.

His mother is trying not to lose it, which is decidedly cute.

Last night, he said to me: "Hey, Dad? Remember a few years ago when I said that I was never, ever going to sleepaway camp? I didn't count on growing up."

We never do, do we?

I just started crying. I have to stop writing.

Love to all.

Training Chart Update & Back to 160.

This was the most I've ever run in a week. Rockin. On another note, I weighed in at 160 for the first time in a while.

Love to all. Even you, whoever invented "waffle crisp" cereal.

Ten Seconds of Post-Workout Rippage.

Why, oh, why, do you fade away so quickly? Why can't you at least stay until I get to the local pool? WHY MUST YOU GO, OH 10 SECONDS OF POST-WORKOUT RIPPAGE?!?!?!

Love to all.

Raffle for Jesus!

So, I went to Church the other day, and in the front row of parking spaces, there was a brand new, bright red convertible that had a big sign on it saying "WIN ME!" The parking spot next to it was blocked off, so that nobody (like the older folks who normally park in the front row) parked next to, obstructed the churchgoers view of, or accidentally door-dinged the bright, reflective prize.

Tickets were $100 a pop. Apparently, proceeds were to benefit a well-off local Westchester hospital.

They announced the raffle during mass, too.

Now, if I recall, Jesus got pretty angry when he went into the temple and found it being used as a marketplace. And when I go to Church, I don't want my kids thinking "WHAT A COOL CAR!" And I certainly don't want my kids thinking, "Wow, at Church, they ask the grownups to gamble!"

I talked to the Monsignor about this, and he said he didn't have a problem with it. Now, I have a solid relationship with the Monsignor, so I felt comfortable enough to say that this struck me as hypocrtical.

His answer really bothered me.

He said "A lot of things in the Bible are contradictory. Sometimes, I preach one lesson, and a month later, I'm saying something different!" I asked him if that was really relevant to what we were talking about, and he said he thought it was. And I just dropped it.

I don't know. It just seems weird and wrong to me... the wrong message.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who has had the "John Kerry approves of killing babies" sign on her car for years, now.

Race Results: Run for Central Park, 7/22/2006

This is the first race where I had trouble breathing. 94% humidity. Ugh.

Previous best 4-mile race:
7/23/2005, Run for Central Park
261st out of 1734 dudes. 289th out of 3281 runners overall.
Pace: 7:04/mile.

Today's 4-mile race:
7/22/2006, Run for Central Park
96th out of 1931 dudes, 99th of of 3846 overall.
Pace: 6:30/mile.

That's fucking nuts. I broke the top 5% of dudes, top 3% of racers.

Competitive-ass me keeps thinking, what if I didn't run a 15-mile training run yesterday afternoon?

Love to all. Even you, the Dad at the swim meet who had a really angry way of cheering.

Wacky station and no record for me.

I've commuted on the three major rail lines out of New York. NJ Transit is by far the rudest. Metro North is nicest. The LIRR is a close second But when it comes to train stations, nothing is zanier than the information and ticketing area at New York's Penn Station. Normally, I'm a Grand Central kind of guy, but last night I was visiting family on Long Island.

Yesterday, I ran a 15-mile training run. It was scheduled for today, but Maggie is working, so I took a long lunch and did it yesterday. My initial idea was to do today's 4-mile race, the Run for Central Park, and then run another 11 miles. But since Maggie has to leave early, I'm doing the race and going straight home.

My legs are a little shaky from yesterday... so I think today won't be one of those personal record-breaking runs.

On another note, I'm trying my Nike+iPod sneakers for the first time. We'll see how that goes.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the gym who was talking on his phone beneath the "No Cell Phones" sign.

TV Audtion Number Two.

In case you thought the offices of a major TV production studio were fancy, I’m here to tell you that it isn’t always the case. While this office is atmospherically very pleasant, it is physically like any other… only more casual.

For the second time ever, I got asked to audition for a TV show. It seems that a well-known production company is putting together a show that involves people in my field helping other people do better in their field.

They emailed me because they were looking for someone to host the show who, well, was a lot like me: someone 30-40, outgoing, has teaching experience, is in this particular field of expertise, etc.

They invited me in because they liked my written response to their email, and thought I sounded good on the answering machine when I followed up with a phone call.

Pardon. Can you move over, please? My ego needs more room.

I arrived 15 minutes early. Before I went upstairs, I said the Serenity Prayer, and asked God to help me do whatever it was that I was supposed to do as well as I was supposed to do it. I also called a TV-experienced friend of mine (who gave me advice the night before) and told him:

“If I don’t pee on anyone, I’ll consider this a big success.”

She said: “This is going to be quick. We’re just going to do a 3-5 minute video, and then we’ll edit it down and send it upstairs.”

She told me where to look (to the right of the camera), and asked me to repeat the questions back to her before I answered them. Then she asked me questions about my job, my life and my field. And I answered them the best I could, trying not to think about why I was there at all.

I think she was a little surprised when, in response to a general “describe yourself” question, I said: “Well, I own my own gorilla suit, which has always been a lifelong dream of mine, and I buy glowsticks in bulk.”

When it was over, she said: “Well, you did great. You seem confident on camera, you definitely know your business, you’re funny, and the fact that you can change your schedule to accommodate the shooting schedule is a real plus. I’d be totally surprised if you didn’t get a callback.”

I’m afraid you have to move over some more. My ego just grew again.

My TV friend said: “Congratulations! Now forget about it. You did as well as you can do, but someone upstairs might reject it for a totally different reason. But good job, brother.”

So I’m reveling in a fun event for a moment, then I’m getting back to work.

Love to all. Even you, the two twenty-somethings engaged in a very loud conversation about how much they hate their boss.

If you're bored... or, why I have no friends.

Lisa's post reminded me that I haven't done this in a while.

Sit at your regular phone. Take out your cell phone.

1. Using your cellphone call a friend.
2. Talk to your friend for a minute.
3. Using your regular phone, dial *67 and their number (this is caller-ID block, at least on Verizon, so that they won't see your incoming phone number)
4. When your friend switches lines to answer call-waiting, say "Still me."
5. When they try again, say "Still Me."
6. When they try again, use a grandma voice, cough, and say "Still me."
7. Repeat with iterations until they strangle you through the phone.

Love to all. Even you, the group of soldiers in Grand Central Station who I've only seen standing in a tight inward-facing circle, talking to each other.

I. Can't. Resist. Part II.

Doesn't this joker know he's 37?

Sheesh.

Love to all. Even you, the sweet, personable purple-haired HR woman who has absolutely no idea what the people she hires does for a living.

Edited for Snarkiness.

When Lisa AND Tricia AND Shqipo think my attitude is getting a little wonky, it's time to step back and self-examine.

And you KNOW how much I love to, um, self-examine.

More soon.

Love to all.

One question about Palestine.

Okay. I believe the Palestinians should have their own country. Mostly to keep them safe from Arabs, who have slaughtered many, many, many thousands of them over recent history.

But why is it that the land the Palestinians want happens to be ONLY IN ISRAEL.

Ancient Palestine was much, much bigger. In fact, Jordan is included in this area. Why don't people ask Jordan for land? Jordan, of course, is responsible for some of the biggest Palestinian slaughters in history... so this would make some sense.

Israel is teeny weeny. It just seems a little stupid that it's precisely that land which is desperately important to the Palestinians. You know?

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the crinkly foot.

Splash and Dash 5 Miler, Central Park, NYC

So, check it:

Had a five-mile race today. For the first time I can remember, the announcer said:

Do NOT try to set a personal record. It’s way too hot and humid. Go slow. Just have fun.

Note well, people: never, ever tell an alcoholic what to do.

Previous best 5 mile race:
July 20, 2005, Nike-Run-Hit-Wonder: 7:51 pace, came in 642 out of 3391 dudes (top 18.9%), 822 / 7553 overall. Although to be honest, a lot of non-runners sign up for this race, so the percentage is skewed.

Today’s 5-Mile Race, 76 degrees, 74% humidity.
July 15, 2006, Dash and Splash: 6:56 pace, came in 129 out of 1657 dudes (top 7.6%), 144 / 3227 overall.

That’s just nuts. NUTS.

Some thing cool happened to me: At mile five, I started to slow down... but this Italian dude (like from Italy, not just ethnically), gestured for me to run with him (he was using me as a pacer, apparently, and noticed when I fell behind.). So we ran together, picking the pace up a little at a time. I’ve never had somone push me (and vice versa) like that.

Then, at 200 yards to the finish, I took off in a sprint. He didn’t. I actually screamed: “COME ON!” And he smiled, put both hands up and said “No, no.” He patted me on the back after the race.

It was way cool to make a quick connection like that.

Love to all. Even you, runner who blew snot rockets every five seconds for like three minutes.

My take on the Israeli/Lebanon conflict.

Hezbollah holds 14 seats in the Lebanese parliament. That's all that matters to me.

If a U.S. Senator was openly a member of a terrorist organization, and the terrorist organzation started attacking, say, Canada, AND the U.S. Government didn't kick his ass out of the Senate and/or jail the fucker, I'd understand if Canada tried to kick our ass, anywhere it could.

If Hezbollah was operating inside Lebanon, but wasn't an official part of the government, I'd feel a little differently. But it is what it is.

Love to all. Even you, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini

Rational? Huh?

I have kickass machines at home that I never have time to use.

Take my G5. It's a kickin' 2.3Ghz dual-processor machine with monster drives (totalling about over a terabyte of space) and many gigs of RAM. It faces the world with a Dell 24-inch flat-panel display.

Mostly, it's used to play Marble Blast with my kids.

So I finally decided to face the technological reality that it's better for my server at work to be the G5, and the computer at home to be a Mac Mini (instead of the other way around) and that the 24-inch monitor would be put to best use at my desk. Not at in home office that I don't use enough.

I got home from work 10 minutes ago. I set up the G5 with a mirrored raid, wrote all kinds of backup scripts (offsite and onsite), and basically tweaked the crap out of everything. It took me all day, and most of the night. I'm having a pasta-n-butter dinner tomorrow, before the 5-mile Dash and Splash race in Central park. Gotta get up early.

Whoa: rational application of technology, for the first time in 37 years. And I don't think the kids noticed that they played Marble Blast on a mini, vs. a G5.

No worries, though. I'm sure once the quad-core xeon Macs come out, I'll be getting one.

Love to all. Even you, the bus driver who parked in the only passable lane on University place for twenty minutes.

I love my friends.

I was in a crappy mood last night... and I told this to a friend of mine. A few minutes later, I get an email back from her saying: "Smile."

With a picture attached.



I love my friends so much. At 37, I'm developing the kind of super-tight friendships I had when I was 19. Lucky, lucky me.

Love to all. Even you, the corgi who has me posting at 4:57am, because her stomach is upset and she needs to go out a lot.

My Bronx Half-Marathon Playlist.

Lots of slower songs, here... but not all. I found that running to slower songs often makes me faster, but more fluid.

Love to all. Even you, the lady I just put on my company's email blocklist.

Madly, joyously.

Let's take a moment, here.

Okay. Cool. I realize that I've been moderately whiny, recently... but when I sit back and think about it, it's because life is rocking along mightily and change, even good change, can be a little disconcerting. Some things to be happy about:

• I'm coming up on 3 years sober, again.
• Maggie's rocking away at her new job.
• My oldest is confident and funny, and he's freshly 10 and starting middle school.
  
• My daughter rocks my world with every breath, and challenges me constantly.
  
• My youngest is incredibly social and happy and starting kindergarten.
  
• I can run 15 miles at any given moment, which is hilarious, and utterly antithetical to the way I used to be.
• I've got muscles I've never had before.
• I've got my own company, again, and I'm being pursued by others for work.
  
• We have a nice house, cool dogs, and sassy cats.
• We've got family that loves us.
• We've got friends that we love.
  

So we're adjusting to changes, here. But who isn't? We're lucky people, and while I think that we know it... I certainly need to take more time to appreciate it.

I am madly and joyously in love with the process of living.

That's all for now.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who apparently deleted a magazine's press-ready files on purpose.

Babysitter blues.

The babysitter didn't show up today. I've been saying that this lady's unreliability has overstepped her niceness for years. She was even fired once for being late, not showing up, etc. On the other hand, she's super trustworthy with the kids, and genuinely nice. Apparently, even though Maggie says she explicitly gave her instructions as to when she was going to be working.

Although, she didn't give me those instructions, either.... so...

Maggie told me that if I didn't come back home, she would get fired. Of course, and this sounds so mean, Maggie's job doesn't generate revenue yet... it kind of washes with the babysitter (when she shows up)... but mine is the one that, at least currently, pays for our lives. And after discovering that several things fell by the wayside at work while I was away, I wasn't keen on coming home. But Maggie really needed me. So. After taking the 5:30 train to NYC, going to my morning AA meeting, and walking to my office near Union Square, I got the call at 9:20 asking me to come home. I sprinted to the 9:48 train.

And now the day is done. Maggie is back, but going out tonight. Admittedly, the kids had a hell of a schedule, and I'm impressed that Maggie handles all this stuff: tennis team, swim team, diving lessons, dentists appointments, AND one of our cats had to be picked up from being spayed. Busy, busy.

Now, though, I'm making dinner, and trying not to feel unappreciated. Maggie did tell me at the end of the day how much she appreciated my help. And I should be glad she did. But I feel kind of weird. Maggie and I even got into an argument during the day when she called me on the phone for tech support with Excel... and laughed at me because she thought I wasn't listening to her. I was. There's a difference between "duplicate" and "fill down" and Maggie was trying to do neither, but accidentally doing the latter, and describing it as the former. She thought they were the same thing, and that I was just repeating myself.

I love this woman a lot. We are adjusting. It's a good thing I'm such a big jackass, so that I can't be too judgemental when she's a little wonky.

Love to all. Even you, bride-o-mine.

Bronx Half-Marathon 2006 and a story.

I am SO psyched.

I just blew the doors off my old personal record for a half-marathon, in weather that was much less conducive to setting a PR than the last time I did so.

On March 19, 2005, in perfect 40-something degree weather:

• Time: 1:48:10
• Pace: 8:15
• Gender Place: 819 out of 1965 dudes. (Top 30.05%)
• Overall Place: 1007 out of 3351

Today, I ran in a sunny, 77-degree day (62% humidity):

• Time: 1:45:25
• Pace: 7:53
• Gender Place: 482 out of 2073 dudes. (Top 23.2%)
• Overall Place: 536 out of 3187

This makes me think I can hit 7:30 in the next cool-weather half-marathon.

Cool story: I was walking back to my car from the race, and a young, kind of petite woman said to me:

"How'd it go?"
I said, "I think I just ran my best race. I'm happy. You?"
Her: "Well, it wasn't my best race, but I won."
Me: "Won what?"
Her: "I was the first woman to finish. I won the race."
Me: "Oh... you mean won won."

So we talked a minute more, and she told me that's she was from Morristown, NJ. So I said "MORRISTOWN! That town put me into the hospital!"

She: "What?"
Me: "Since I'm never going to see you again, I'll tell you a true story. One time, I was hired to walk around Morristown NJ handing out leaflets for Penny Press dressed as Mickey Mouse. But since I was kind of a dirty drunken oaf, I didn't wear socks. And the Mickey Mouse shoes cut my feet up something fierce. So, about two weeks later, I'm tripping my face off on mushrooms, my ankles get super-infected, swell up, and I had to go to the ER. I made a conscious decision to have a blast, since the alternative was to freak out completely."

She was looking at me with a really awesome, entertained smile. I think she didn't expect this kind of story (duh), but clearly wasn't worried that I was psychotic. I have this weird vibe which lets me chat with people kind of randomly, without offending. My boys have it, too.

I finished up: "Anyway, I've cleaned up my act since then."

We got to the corner, and I said "Congratulations again. I got a killer parking spot, I just hope my car is still there." She told me that she was given a parking spot by the security folks, and that she worked at a running store, gave me her name, and said that if I ever was back in NJ, I should come by the shop where she works.

By the way, I checked her results: she won at a 6:28 pace. Holy smokes.

This was an awesome day.

Love to all. Even you, the crazy truck driver who passed me on the shoulder, even though there were other lanes available.

And now, the real training!

So, this is my last week of pre-Marathon Training training...culminating this week with the Bronx Half-Marathon this Sunday. After this, I'm going to go on the formal training program, as provided by the New York Road Runners. I didn't run a long run this week because Sunday's race is 13.1 miles. That's far enough, this week, even if the miles count towards next week.

I'm getting kind of psyched about the condition I'm in. I've never been that fit... I mean, I had the cardio, but never the musculature... and at 37, I'm starting to look somewhat, well, good.

Weird to say, but it's true.

We leave for Westchester tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing the kitties and puppies.

Love to all. Even you, the Armonk parents who kept their backs to their six-year-old while he played right on the edge of the ocean.

Trajectories.

“Yo! Get out on my side, please!”

We had pulled up on the side of the road, and Maggie was dropping us off at the beach place in Montauk. I asked the kids to exit the van on my side, so that they’d step onto the grass, not into the middle of the road.

As I got out of the van, I saw my daughter already across the street.

I asked: “Did you look both ways?”
She answered: “Yes.”

Then my youngest started running around the back of the van.

A red car was coming down the road, approaching our vehicle. My youngest was rounding the corner of the van and heading for the road, not looking for oncoming traffic. Not seeing that there was oncoming traffic.

Slow motion.

Trajectories overlayed my vision in neon, just like they used to when I was a younger. My youngest was going to get hit. He ran out of my field of vision, and I started sprinting around the van. “STOP!” I yelled. He kept going. “STOP!” I yelled again. He didn’t.

I rounded the back of the van at speed, figuring to run into the middle of the road and knock his ass off the street.

No need. Apparently, I screamed loud enough that the oncoming car heard me. They were stopped, about ten feet from my son, who was still in the road. I grabbed him, and said “Jesus. Do you see the car? Do you see what could have happened? You HAVE to look before crossing the street. Always.”

He started crying.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the hearing aid who screamed “HUMILITY!”

Hey, America.

Happy Birthday, you big, dumb, son of a bitch.

I love you SO much, even though you're really making me nuts. I even wore a special shoe combination just for you.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Unemployed on 1/20/2009.

Two feet for two kids.

Normally, we don’t have the pool to ourselves. This is a pretty sweet moment.

Love to all. Even you, the 40-something-year-old, brother-in-law who didn’t get my son a 10th birthday present, even though he was in a toy store this morning, and said “uh, I, uh, helped pick out the present your grandmother gave you.”

Who knew?

After going to the 7am AA meeting across the street, a friend and I went for coffee. Now, I’ve been going to the farmer’s market in Amagansett, for like, a decade… but when my friend took me around the side of the market to sit down and chat, it turns out there’s a way cool seating area.

Nice stuff.

Love to all. Even you, the Mother-in-Law who came over to visit my son, but immediately went to sleep for the entire time she was here.

Looking out.

And thus the dad-enabled segment our family vacation begins.

This is my youngest, taking in the day, seeing the possibilities, and planning what to do next.

It's nice to be here. We've been coming to Montauk for 8 or 9 years, now. And we've been coming with the same friends for 6 or 7 of them. One year, they just showed up. And we've been doing it ever since.

I have so much going on in my head and in my life. I have to figure out how to blog it. And soon. Frankly, I'm just a little baffled by how to express things these days, and that is certainly not my normal mode of operation.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who clearly didn't know where the corners of her Escalade were.

I had this marker board sitting around in the basement, so I hung it up and wrote "Leave notes for Daddy on it."

Turned out to be a really good idea.

Note how when I didn't write "done!" after completing the task on the bottom left, one of my kids did for me... Exclamation point and underline... just like me.

Tomorrow I leave for Montauk at 5am. Spending the week with Maggie and the kids, who've been there since Wednesday. I hope there's some restorative interaction for me and Maggie. Although when I told her that I was looking forward to being her boyfriend again, she told me that she was, too... and then started to bring up lots of negative things about me, and then either her phone died or she hung up on me.

Maggie things the medication I'm on is making me less happy. That might be somewhat true. On the other hand, this medication I'm on has brought my life into focus, and seeing how much there is to do at home, and at work, I've started doing it. I don't want her to take it personally, but she does. And as I tried to point out before, there were a lot of concurrent stressors. This was definitely a two-way street.

Wow. This post turned depressing. Sorry about that.

I'm going to do my best to facilitate other folks having a fabulous time. That's my goal.

Love to all. Even you, the big-bellied dude who threatened to throw the skater kid off the train because he didn't like his shirt.

Note to self.

When the VP of HR at one of the largest national media syndicates says that a job offer for someone you were pushing to get hired is being withdrawn due to a failed drug test, don't say:

Do you really think marijuana is more dangerous than alcohol?

Love to all. Even me.

It just keeps going.

Okay. This is my final "jackass cell phone user on the train" post. The reason she was especially annoying was that:

1. She cleaned her pores with seriously smelly chemicals, and then left the cotton pads on the seat in front of her.
2. She took up three seats with all her crap.

Love to all. Even you, the lady trying to annul her marriage, even though she has three grown children and was married for 25 years.

I realize that I have electronics, too. But my phone is on vibrate, I move to the doorway if I need to talk to someone, and dammit, I keep my computer close, and out of anyone's way. Electronics can be used politely. I swear.

Why, iPod, why?

I know I have "Def Leppard's Greatest Hits." I did it for the history, the majesty, and the cheesy perfection of "Photograph" and "Pour Some Sugar on Me."

But why do you always pick songs from this album, iPod? Why? There are thousands of other songs to choose from... why are you making me listen to "Animal"? Again?

iPod, are you mad at me?

Love to all. Even you, Rick Savage.

Wait! We have a new winner!

Right on the heels of my mini-epiphany about "how to love different people the right way" comes a dude who just rockets me right back to my character defects. Meet the ickiest train rider yet, completely displacing the previous June winner.

He was using a tablet computer, and every time he got to the bottom right of his screen, he was wacking the crap out of my arm. It wasn't subtle. It was repeated, as if he were trying to move me off my seat. He also had a bag on the seat in front of him.. and had his feet on the seat, too. (We were in a two-facing-two seat arrangement).

So after whack number 20, the following conversation ensues:

Me: Excuse me, can you move your computer two inches to your left, every time you draw on part of your screen, you're hitting me pretty hard.
Him: No.
Me: No?
Him: There's no room to move an inch. This is the only way to do it.
Me: Wait. Are you fucking telling me that you're going to keep hitting me?
Him: Yes.

I take out my Palm, put it in his face, take his picture, and say:

I'm posting your picture online as the biggest dick ever to ride a train.

I got up and moved to the doorway, and did crossword puzzles. Admittedly, this wasn't my finest moment as a Christian, but damn, dudes... what a prick! AAAAAH! Maybe it's something about me that attracts these kind of people.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who let her viscious dogs off lead.

A sudden realization.

I woke up this morning in turmoil. I knew I was spiritually out of balance, and had been for a while. My purity of dedication to my family was eroding. Maggie and I were becoming more distant, and oppositional. My thoughts were wandering elsewhere.

I went for a run.

Four miles in, out of nowhere, this thought takes over: "Your job in life is to get closer to God, and to love everyone the right way." It was a strange, simple, and powerful moment.

I feel clearer, more properly directed, than I have in a long time.

Love to all. Even you, whoever designed the keyboard on this Treo 650.

A new phishing variant.

I've gotten used to the email scams from people pretending to be eBay, Citibank, etc., claiming you need to login immediately in order to verify your account. But this is the first time I've gotten an eBay phishing scam as a pretend "Item not received" dispute.

I didn't click. I did think about it for a second, because of the "What the hell is this?" instinct.

But, paranoid dude that I am, I checked the headers (and besides, you should always type the address in manually, never click an email link), and saw that, no, it didn't come from ebay. Rather, it came from ip address 61.211.238.83.

Running a port scan on the offending computer reveals that it is associated with the hadano.tv domain, has a slew of open services, and is running Linux.

This phishing scam was better written, and a bit more sophisticated, than the run of the mill crap we're all (hopefully) fully aware of.

Let the surfer beware.

Love to all. Even you, the kid who has an answer to everything, and then some.

And the award for...

...most obnoxious cell phone user for June, 2006 goes to...

THIS GUY!

Because he wasn't only loud, but his phone's volume was turned up so high I could hear his wife clearly through my Sony Fontopia Noise Isolating headphones.

Fuck, dude. Get a grip on politeness.

In second place was the jackass next to me playing a game on his Treo with the sound on, followed closely by the guy two rows up who repeatedly adjusted his ring volume. WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH THESE PEOPLE?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!


Love to all. Even you, the Physician with the Mango Juice Pyramid Scheme.

Tattoo questions, answered.

Squipo asked:

Hey, hypothetically speaking, IF things with Maggie don't get better, what will happen to your arm? Just curious... Does she also have your name tattoed on her chest?

Answer 1: When I got the Maggie tattoo done, the artist pointed out to me that there's room underneath to write in fairly large letters, right underneath "Maggie", the word "LEFT." Besides, any woman who was willing to bear three kids for me deserves her name tattooed on my body regardless of any current or future status.

Answer 2: When I told Maggie I was going to get her name tattooed on my arm, she said "That's really sweet, but I will never, ever do that for you."

And that's the scoop.

Love to all. Even you, the dude with the bad, bad cough who was hanging out in the doorway of Whole Foods.

Feat of Survival and a New Profile Picture.

Well, we took 8 ten-year-olds to Rye Playland (plus three other children), and we made it back with the same number with which we departed. That, in itself, deserves a round of applause.

I said, THAT IN ITSELF DESERVES A ROUND OF APPLAUSE.

Sheesh. Anyway. I put up new profile pic, which features my other arm, and my slowly developing musculature. Accent on "slowly."

Love to all. Even you, the sleepover participant who I hear running around upstairs. Again.

159.6 and a Pre-Teen Adventure.

159.6 this morning. That’s kind of fucked up. I’m going to have to make a conscious effort to eat more, because I’m certainly not going to stop the exercise thing.

Today, I’m taking the 5:30 train to Manhattan, going to my morning AA meeting, going downtown to the gym, running 6.5 miles, doing the weight circuit, possibly having lunch with a friend, then coming back to Westchester to take 8 pre-teens to Rye Playland to celebrate my oldest’s 10th birthday.

Although scheduling the trip was kind of a hassle, I’m totally psyched to go now. It’s a mix of boys and girls, and chaperoning the group should be really interesting. My oldest is friends with the school psychologist’s daughter, so he’s coming as our other chaperone. Always interesting to watch a psychologist interact with his kids.

Ten. My oldest is turning ten. Holy SHIT.

Love to all. Even you, bleeder.

Return.

Like a breaking fever, things between Maggie and I have suddenly improved. I think both of stepped back and truly acknowledged, the way a lot of commenters on this blog saw right away, that the combination of stressors in our lives has been unusually high. I also think (hell, I know), that Maggie realized that she had been very (even uniquely, in terms of our 12-year history) harsh with me. I feel weird saying this, because this is the reverse role for our normal experience together.

I’m the jackass, dammit. Not Maggie.

Maggie’s a fine lass and a good person. This has been a unsettling, painful, and upsetting couple of weeks. But I’m done with it and moving on -- just in time for our vacation in Montauk, which starts for Maggie next Tuesday, and next Friday for me.

Love to all. Even you, the less friendly fraternal twin who we always have to invite along with the twin we actually like a lot.

Verizon sucks [the happy ending remix]

So, a while back, I mentioned that I was able to patch my Treo 650 to use bluetooth syncing and, more importantly, enable the Treo's wireless dial-up connection. I was told by the Verizon sales guy that this would let me use my Treo the same way I used my V710... that 1x data calls would use minutes, and not charge me on a per/kb basis.

Minutes, not data.

So I was checking my bills today, and I noticed 50.5mb in data usage. I called Verizon, and the lady told me that, no, even though I WAS using the phone in the exact same way I was using the V710 (I mean, I even use the same modem scripts), and even though the person at Verizon told me that it would use minutes only, I now owed them $780 dollars for data usage.

I disagreed.

After some discussion about the identical nature of the services used, she basically said "tough shit, the Verizon store guy didn't note on your account that he told you this." So I was out of luck. So I finally said "Fine. So let me sign up for data, and backdate the plan a month."

She said: "We don't backdate plans."

Now, I know this is a lie.

I said, "Okay. Let me make sure I understand what you are saying. Are you specifically telling me that Verizon, without exception, doesn't backdate their plans?"

She said "Um, no. I meant they don't backdate data plans."

I said: "I don't mean to be rude, but I think you should get a supervisor."

She: "If you want, you can, but they don't have any authority to backdate data plans."

Me: "Still, I'd like to speak to a supervisor."

The supervisor gets on the phone. We have three seconds of conversation.

She says: "No problem! And while we're at it, we can reduce your calling plan by $20/month, so your net increase will only be $20/month after backdating the data plan."

Thus, I saved $760 by politely not believing the original Verizon person.

I don't even know what to say about this, but that's the scoop. Verizon kind of sucks, because you have to doubt certain people to get to other people who will help you. That's all. Weird experience. But I'm psyched on the savings.

Love to all. Even you, Andrea from the South Texas Verizon Call Center.

Current body update.

Oh, what a transitional state I'm in!

After hitting a low of 160.xx pounds, I seem to have leveled off. This morning I was 163.

I've never enjoyed lifting weights before... but now it's just a blast. Makes me wish I had a "before" to go with an "after." Of course, right now I'm in the "middle," and I'm using "quotes" in a way that I "can't" "stop" "doing."

""
Running-wise, I had a big few days. I did 12.5 miles on Saturday, 4 on Sunday, and 7 today. I'm taking tomorrow off, but Wednesday we're on it. On July 3, I start my actual marathon training.

I'm hugely "psyched."

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Young, Stupid, and Clueless.

Stupid funk.

I’ve got to shake this funk. I’m super-upset and disappointed with how I’m being talked to and treated these days. I know I play a role in it, but I also know that there are much better ways to talk to me. And if I take the time to say “the way you are talking is really hurting my feelings,” maybe that should be taken into consideration.

Maybe it’s a bad idea to compare me to my father.
Maybe it’s a bad idea to say I consider my son and wife The Enemy.

Maybe things can be said in a less hurtful manner.

I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll look back at this in a week and be like, “God, you are such an idiot.” But for the moment I’m pretty bummed out.

Maybe seven hours of sleep will change my views.

Love to all. Even you, the crazy fuck who spit on my employee.

Fairly crapalicious, and a movie review.

Father's Day kind of sucked.

So did Nacho Libre.

With Maggie at work all day, I had to contend with my youngest acting out nearly non-stop, which basically involves him ignoring anything I ask him not to do. Like "Please don't jump into the deep end of the pool, because you can't swim!"

...

{Splash}

I did take the kids to see Nacho Libre... we were pretty psyched, all of us being huge Jack Black fans and all. But, alas, the movie was... dull.

Towards the end of the day, Maggie called from work. I was telling her about the day... how my youngest hit my daughter in the face twice, how my oldest twisted her arm immediately after I told him not to touch her... when Maggie said (about the altercation between my oldest and my daughter), "Well, she really picks on him."

That totally pissed me off, because:

1. I don't care if she picks on him. If I fucking say don't do it, you don't do it.
2. He comments on everything she says, and I don't think that justfies her smacking him.
3. I just wanted Maggie to listen to me, because the kids were making me nuts.

So, in glorious Rich fashion, I said: "I don't want to hear you explaining why it's okay for him to hit her. I just want to vent for a second." She got pissed, I got more pissed. We got off the phone.

When she called back later, I had actually forgotten about the conversation, and she was still really angry. I said "what are you mad about?" She said: "Are you kidding me?" I said I wasn't. She reminded me abour the prior argument. So it started up again. When I asked her how her telling me why my oldest hurt my daughter wasn't explaining away his behavior, she said:

"Don't even go there."

Now, I'm a big jackass, and I'll also take a lot of shit, but ladies and gentlemen, I seriously doubt I could remain married to someone who says "Don't even go there," and means it.

I'm only sort of kidding here.

Anyway: I feel pretty much like Maggie and I are misfiring, the kids are missing her and acting out because of this, and, well, this to shall pass.

Bleah. What a lame post. Ah, well. Such is life, and such is blogs.

Love to all. Even you, the A&P patron who lost her shit because the credit card machines went down.

Whirlwind.

Father's Day weekend. Maggie worked yesterday til late. Same with today.

Craziness abounds, time is short, tickets are bought, plans are made.

Love to all. Even you, the fast-driving, tailgating couple in the BMW and Chrysler Vans... sorry about the mailbox.

I am 40% girl.

I’m not kidding. I came to this conclusion a long time ago… so long ago that I don’t really remember when I first started saying it. I’m not sure what it means beyond the simple fact that I am, indeed, 40% girl.

Anyway. Over the last two days, I spent like $500 on Personal Upgrades. Normally, I’m somewhat reticent to shop for anything except for computers, but I’ve been mulling over a moderate clothing overhaul for a while, and a perfect storm of sales and opportunity presented itself.

The dust is settling, and I see:

3 Brooks Brothers shirts. 40% off.
2 pairs Brooks Brothers Gabardine Pants – 40% off.
1 pair plaid Gap summer shorts – 50% off
1 pair olive Gap cargo shorts – 25% off
1 pair flat-front blue Gap shorts – 25% off
1 pink and green Gap shirt – 50% off
1 in-ear Bluetooth headset from Plantronics – 25% off
1 pair Sony in-ear headphones, 0% off – oops.
2 pair suede Pumas, 1 pair bright blue, 1 bright red – Buy 1 pair, get on 50% off

Craziness, right? I can’t think of another time when I bought myself clothes like this. I think maybe I’m upgrading my look as I upgrade my way of doing business.

The only thing is, I bought stuff based on the size I think I’m going to be, when I weight stabilize… and that’s about 10 pounds higher than I am right now. So the shorts I bought are kind of loose. Okay, REALLY loose. Kind of freaky loose. But I’m hoping to gain back some good kind of weight soon, and… it was a sale!

I have officially decided that another $280.00 of spending is in my future. There’s absolutely no chance that I’m not going to buy the Nike+ iPod Nano connector kit, with attendant iPod Nano and Nike+ sneakers. Yeah, I’ll have three iPods. It’s true.

But I want to reward Nike and Apple for targeting me so perfectly: I AM THE AUDIENCE, AND I SHALL PURCHASE.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who prefaces nearly everything he says with “I’m sure you don’t know this, but…”

161.0: Adderall, caffeine, focus.

I’ve got some new observations on this whole Adderall thing, for those of you keeping track. (And I know you’re out there, because I pay you damn good money to pretend to be interested in me.)

Creativity: I was worried that Adderall would bring my creative side to a dead stop. This has turned out not to be true. I think. Feedback from my most reliable critics on my last direct mail piece was excellent, so that’s good. My friends (unpaid) have also been unfailingly excellent in telling me that I’m simply a less distracted version of the same ol’ idiot I’ve always been. And THAT rocks the house.

Caffeine: Holy crap. I used to drink a lot of coffee. Now I only have a small cup in the morning, and a small cup in the afternoon. There is definitely a synergistic effect between Adderall and caffeine, and if I have that small cup at 4pm, I’ll be up until midnight. Also, it seems that a small cup of coffee in the afternoon.

Weight: Still dropping. Since May 12, I’ve lost 20.5 pounds. Simultaneously, though, I’ve increased my exercise about threefold. I’m up to 30 miles a week running, and I’ve been doing the most serious weight circuit I’ve ever done.

Mood: This has been the hardest thing. Since Adderall affects mood directly, but also causes sleeplessness and lack of appetite (two things which can affect mood as well), I’ve had to be really careful to try and maintain balance while I adjusted to the stuff. The last 4 days have been such an improvement, though. So, yay.

Focus: It’s a freaking gift, this medicine. I’ve completely revamped my work life (I’m not finished, but hot damn, am I making progress), and my desks at home and work have both been clean for 41 consecutive days. It’s absolutely unbelievable. My colleagues are happily amazed, and I feel that, whatever sparse talents I may have, I’m bringing them fully to bear.

Overall, I’m going to say that this has been a really amazing thing for me to do. If the moodiness hadn’t started to level out, though, I would have quit the stuff. I’d rather be happily married and utterly distracted than completely on-task and divorced.

And that is quite enough from me.

Love to all. Even you, the expectant-poppa who was so unadmittedly nervous that he threw his back out on his wife’s due date.

oh man oh man oh man

I just took delivery of the coolest thing I've every bought: bulk glow sticks, in seven colors.

Love to all. Even you, the older guy at the Affordable Art Fair who was utterly transfixed by the charcoal trees.

Plain.

Today:

I wrote a new direct mail piece.
I interviewed someone.
I got elected Treasurer of my home AA group until 2008.
I bought a Skype phone.
I started to setup a Crontab to backup my databases and FTP them to my house.
I made chicken and macaroni n' cheese for the kids.

Maggie is working until 9 or 10 tonight, so it's me and the kids. To be honest, I'm letting them watch a show before bed, to make cleaning dishes easier. To be even MORE honest, and STOP READING RIGHT NOW IF YOU ARE EASILY MADE QUEASY... I'm writing this entry from the potty. Really.

So this is one of those times where I say: "Thanks, God. Thanks for my life, my family, my job, and my day. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to come home from work and make dinner for the kids. Thanks for helping me do these things without being an unbelievably irritable dickface."

Love to all. Even you, the lady who took ten minutes to unwrap her jolly rancher before shifting it noisily from one side of her mouth to another every...ten...seconds.

Like a hammer.

I was sorting through my company’s mail today… lots of notifications from various NY state agencies, bills for medical and worker’s comp, other stuff… and there at the bottom of the pile is an envelope that's a little out of place.

It was a Wonder Woman envelope. And it was addressed to “Richerd” at my company’s address. I recognized the handwriting immediately, and then it was hard for me to see.

Dear Dad,

I hope you are having a nice day at work.

Love and kisses,

[my 6-year-old daughter]

My friends, let me you tell that nothing, and I mean nothing, beats the feeling I got from receiving and reading that note. It was like being hit in the chest with an hammer. I love that girl so much.

When I think about her, all the colors in the room saturate and intensify.

Love to all.

The best pharmacology report ever.

So, I've been having side effects: sleeplessness, irritability, weight losss. They're ongoing, but starting to lighten up a bit. I've slept fairly well for three nights running, and my weight has leveled off, it seems, at 164: 17 pounds down.

Still concerned about the side effects, I called the doc to ask the scoop.

She said: "Everything you're reporting is typical for this medication. By the time I see you for our June 25th, all of the symptoms should have resolved, except for one: weight loss.:

I was like: SCORE!

Admittedly, the weight thing has been helped by getting my running mileage up to 25-30 a week, and the near-total elimination of sweets... but if I have to have ONE side effect, I'll take it.

Love to all. Even you, the costume designer who forgot the dancers were children.

Why do I care so much about Gay issues?

ITS asked me:

Rich,
I wonder why do you feel so passionate about supporting the gay cause?
Could it be because the New York Knicks suck?

No, but that could be why I avoid walking near Madison Square Garden... I don't want the sticky aura of suckage which surrounds the building to rub off on me.

Here's why I care so much about gay rights: it's black and white. There are so many issues in this country with nuance, where both sides have points to make, and even though I have specific opinions on one side, I can see where the other side is coming from. See: abortion, Iraq, NSA wiretapping, nuclear energy, etc., etc.

Gay rights, however, is a one-sided affair. I believe that absolutely any rights that are afforded a heterosexual couple should be afforded any couple of any gender mix. Our representative republic is designed to allow it's citizens to grant and withdraw rights, which then must be evenly applied. Period. As a country, we have decided to grant rights to legally married couples. This must be applied to all citizens equally.

It's that simple. No muss, no fuss.

Love to all. Even you, the puppy with a piece of my couch in her mouth.

Just one of those convergent times.

I think between marital miscommunication, lack of sleep, business challenges, and chemical adjustments, I'm having a bit of a hard time with things. But it's all relative. I mean, it's not like I'm waking up in the back of my car, wondering how the hell I got there... that's SO 1987.

WARNING: I may be about to whine.

I feel like the way my wife and I are communicating recently just sucks. I realize there's a LOT of history of me being an irritable dickhead, so I guess I shouldn't expect those times when I'm NOT being an irritable dickhead to be greeted with responses as if I've NEVER been an irritable dickhead.

But still, I'm getting really tired of this dismissive attitude I've been getting recently. I hate, hate, hate being shut down pre-emptively. I hate global statements about my behavior. I hate being told what I'm thinking.

And I found our Big Date yesterday evening very difficult. My wife was twenty minutes late to the dinner, then wanted to "freshen up" before we actually went into the restaurant, then rejected the first table we were offered, then asked to move from the second table we were offed, knocked over a water glass on the way to the third table (it was an accident, but it was annoying), but she really like the third table, although I was next to a giant pole... then, after good appetizers, the entrees were actually CLOYING... then we left the balley early because both of us were tired, then we argued on the way home, when (okay, I admit this was a stupid move on my part) I asked her to either stop taking her foot off the gas every 20 seconds, or shifting to 5th so the car wouldn't lurch, since she was at 4700RPM. We went to bed displeased, to say the least.

And when I try to talk about stuff, I'm told to get over it. Which I guess I should, but it makes me not want to talk to her at all, if her response to my having things to talk about is either "get over it" or "I'm not talking to you about it."

I'm frustrated. I don't know if my new-found focus has allowed me things in a different way, or if the way I'm seeing things is tainted by Adderall. I should talk about this with my Professional Dude on Monday.

Note: I realize that I'm probably completely full of shit.

Love to all. Even you, the weird-ass Spanish businessmen who flushed the urinals at Cafe Grey with their feet.

Nothing.

I'm just really pissed off right now.

Love to all.

Gay Marriage: My County Approves.

Just want to toot the local horn, here.

My county just officially recognized gay marriage via an executive order. Here's the scoop:

The effect of the order is to give married gay couples the same county privileges as heterosexual couples, such as the right to buy family passes to county parks and the right to seek emergency housing as a family.

"I don't see why people, just because they're the same sex, shouldn't have the same benefits," Spano said yesterday.

Exactly. It's that simple.

Love to all. Even you, the poop-dragging corgi.

Thanks, JP Morgan Chase!

On April 23, 2006, I forwarded a phishing email to the abuse mailbox at JP Morgan Chase. I occasionally do this, just in case the security folks are being proactive. Last night, almost two months later, my inbox started getting bombed by autoresponses. Nice. I just started filtering them at the server level.

Love to all. Even you, the bank who refused me a business loan in 1999 even though we’d been profitable for four years running.

166.4

Well, I now weigh less than I did when I got married in 1995.

Wild.

Love to all.

This means YOU.

You know how at the beginning of every single ride, the train conductor always says "Keep your feet off the seats?" That means YOU. You think people want to sit down on top of whatever it was you just fucking walked on? You think we want NYC detritus ground into the seat of our pants?

I believe I speak for all of Metro North when I say, "No. We don't."

Love to all. Even you, the lady who yelled into her phone: "I'm on the train!" Four times in a row.

Gay marriage redux, again, etc.

My President, via CNN:

"Ages of experience have taught us that the commitment of a husband and wife to love and to serve one another promotes the welfare of children and the stability of society," Bush said in his Saturday radio address. "Government, by recognizing and protecting marriage, serves the interests of all."

Fine, as far as it goes...

But how does gay marriage not promote the welfare of children and stability of society? How does gay marriage demote the welfare of children and the stability of society?

What the fuck is going on here?

Can someone please, please, please explain it to me?

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Feet on the Fucking Seats.

Fatherhood, Rock and Roll, and 26 seconds.

I used to be the drummer of a half-decent band. We played loud rock and roll, had three guitars, and permanently damaged the hearing in both of my ears. We played in NYC, Jersey, and Philly. Our little vinyl singles made the playlists of several dozen college radio stations around the country. It was fun as hell, and I still miss it.

Click here for 26 seconds of my life in 1993.

I left that band in 1995 to pursue a career, get married, have kids, and, of course, start a blog. I've played out a few times since then at the C-note in Manhattan, but never anything approaching the regular kind of situation like I had in the 90's.

My compromise goal has been to find a bunch of dads who want to play, but don't have the time. We'd get together to rehearse when possible, play out whenever we could, and basically have fun and not give a shit.

It appears that my goal is being met. Starting this summer, a few dads and I are going to start practicing together... and likely taking stuff back to our respective suburban enclaves to practice in between meetings. I'm so psyched.

If we ever record anything (ha!), I promise to post it here. And I apologize for that in advance.

Love to all. Even you, the bleary eyed lady who couldn't stay awake during the school play.

Adderall adjustment.

Apparently my body adjusted to the Adderall. Over the last few days, I've been kicking up many notches, sporadic-brain-wise. I've still been better in the office, but it's been a noticable switch back to my main prior mode. As always, with this stuff, it's a funny thing: my adjusting to amphetamines has made me speed up.

The doctor pretty much told me this would happen. In fact, the actual prescription was for 10mg 2-3x per day (depending on how early I got up), with an increase the second week to 20mg 2-3x p er day. I didn't up the dosage, though, because I want to be careful about this stuff.

So I talked to the doc, and she said: "Yup, up it to 20."

And again, I'm having first-day side-effects. The first was that I accidentally ran 10.25 miles while watching Jarhead on the treadmill. This was a problem, because I dehydrated myself and got pretty sick about three hours later. The second side effect was "overstimulation," as in, there was WAY TOO MUCH FUCKING INPUT IN MY HOUSE. Caps intended. Everyone just drove me absolutely nuts.

On the other hand, it definitely brought my thought processes back in line to where I want them to be. I'll give it a couple of days, and if this shit happens, I'll talk to the Doc about cutting back.

Now, though, I'm going play drums for a while.

Love to all. Even you, the neighbor up the street I saw tailgating the hell out of someone on a road near my house.

A period of fucking GROWTH.

Maggie and I have not been getting along that well. She's superstressed from starting her first job in ten years, and she's learning a lot on the fly. The babysitting thing hasn't been going that smoothly, and Maggie has made it abundantly clear that she doesn't want my help in fixing it. Nor my opinion on the subject.

It's frustrating. I've actually taken the time to plan my conversations with her in advance, so that I'd hopefully seem neither bossy or lecturing. My goal, in the last conversation, was to offer having the babysitter four days a week, instead of three, so that Maggie would both be covered for work even if the days switched around, and she'd have one day a week where the babysitter could do housework. Considering that, on net, it would still cost less than when we had a babysitter two days a week and Maggie had no job, I thought it was a good idea.

Maggie didn't agree. She wants a day with kids on her own. Which is fine, if she can work out the babysitting... but what bothered me more was that she was offended by my even having an opinion. She thought I was making a statement of incompetence about her coping skills.

I wasn't.

I think she realizes that, now... sort of. She apologized for the conversation... and I apologized for saying "screw you" and hanging up on her when she told me she wasn't interested in my opinion, and that I was saying she was incompetent.

Ugh. Bad communication, both ways.

Anyway, I realize that we're in a period of growth. Both of us. That we are adjusting to new schedules, ways of doing things, etc. But it kind of sucks.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who nearly flattened a woman trying to get on the 6 train at 8th street.

Dear Verizon:

Thank you for selling me this spiffy Treo 650 with your “new every two discount.” It has all the features I want, for hundreds less than the Treo 700p:

• Bluetooth synchronization of my contacts and calendars with OS X
  
• Bluetooth Dial-up networking for my Laptop… oh.. wait.

No it doesn’t. You disabled it, you enormous corporate jackass. Apparently, you cripple the phones you sell in order to make a lot of extra money by forcing your customers to use your wireless data services. These services, instead of using plain old Plan Minutes (and I have a LOT of Minutes), costs about as much as the monthly plan itself. Instead of cheaply (if slowly) surfing the web and getting email on my big-screen laptop, I’m supposed to use the teensy-ass screen on the Treo to read my damn Slashdot.

Well, thanks so some research and a patched Palm OS Bluetooth Manager from shadowmite, I’ve got my DUN (dial-up networking) working on my Treo 650... and by changing one top-level pop-up menu, I’ve got full iSync Bluetooth data exchange.

I’m posting this from the Metro North train, using my Treo fucking 650. No thanks to you, Verizon, you big beeyotch.

Shit.

Love to all. Even you, James Earl Jones.