Kick start, and more adventures.

Okay. I'm posting this with a 10-year-old waiting for me in the next room. I just nebulized my five-year-old, and with Maggie out, I put the two youngest to bed, did the dishes, and am taking five seconds to write this before I take my oldest on in ping pong.

Apologies for the poor quality of this post, writing-wise.

Maggie just walked in. So did my oldest. Oh. My. God. Not much peace.

So, real quick: this is the house in Vermont we might buy. They've accepted our offer, but there's some issues that might break the deal. We'll see. The grownup in the picture is neither myself or anyone in my family. Those are, however, too of my kids. Rock ON.

It's 70% likely I'm closing my company and joining another as minority owner. I'll write more about that tomorrow.

Maggie made the most over romantic overture of our marriage. Just want to put that out there.

Love to all. Even you, the loudtalking couple of conventioneers on the uptown 6 train.

This is just stupid.

Apple replaced their DOA MacBook Pro with another DOA MacBook Pro.

This is five bad MacBooks / MacBook Pros in just a few months.

I'm taking Maggie, kids and dogs to Vermont until Monday. Don't know if I'll be able to post from there. I sort of hope I can, since there's a lot going on that I'd like to write about.

If not, though...

Love to all. Even you, the fucking QC department at Apple Refurb.

More business excitement, plus FartyPants!

There's this old-school company that does what my company does, only in a completely unrelated field. They're looking to open a division that does precisely what we do, in the way that we do it. They want that division to be us. And they want me to own approximately 40% of the new entity.

I've met with them three times, now... and this is the first time it's become blogworthy, because if we can work it out, I'm going to go for it.

Also, I sometimes wish my name was FartyPants.

More Later.

Love to all. Even you, the sweaty-palmed dude who walked west instead of east.

Free at last! Free at last! OUCH.

No adderall.
No wellbutrin.
Just a moderately strained back and a serious hope that I can start running again soon.

It's good to be solo... chemically speaking.

Love to all. Even you, the in-your-face saleswoman with the flashy rings.

I have the BEST diseases.

A while back, a friend of mine told me that I have the best diseases. And I believe it today, more than ever.

Let's review:

Psoriasis:
Pros: I get to go to tanning booths. Immune system in "hyperactive defense mode" all the time.
Cons: Icky-looking if untreated. I bleed everywhere.
My treatment: Steroids, sunlight, salt baths, UV, exercise, diet, pixie dust, etc.

Alcoholism:
Pros: Alcoholics Anonymous. Get to work on a spiritual lifestyle, meet amazing people that I never would have met otherwise, try to help others.
Cons: Prior years of blackouts, family distress, and liver damage.
Treatment: Alcoholics Anonymous, prayer, meditation.

ADHD:
Pros: Baffling energy levels. Can multitask like nobody's business. Zaniness.
Cons: My thoughts interrupt themselves. I forget what I'm doing all the time.
Treatment: None at this point.

It's pretty obvious: my diseases rock.

I've gotten a lot of feedback from folks on medication, about how going off medication can be really bad... and how lots of people go off medication to disastrous results because they "think they've been cured."

And the folks who say this... well, they're absolutely correct.

Fortunately for me, I'm not bi-polar or depressed. I've got Adult ADHD... which can be a HUGE pain in the ass from a functional perspective (and none too annoying to the folks around me), but has a shitload of side-benefits, as well. It also defines who I am, how I am, and what I do.

For me, treating ADHD sucked donkey ass. Seriously. Donkey ass.

In some ways, Adderall was initially amazing. I totally chilled, focused, neatened up, etc. But my silliness completely left. At dinner last night, Maggie told me that Adderall made me not myself. And as I rapidly grew a tolerance to it, it became less about "leveling off" and more about "when's it going to kick in? IS it going to kick in?" For an alcoholic, these are thought patterns best left alone. And the withdrawal: oy.

In retrospect, Adderall drugged me. It didn't "treat" anything. It wasn't restorative or balancing, like anti-depressants are for folks with depression.

Switching to Wellbutrin (an anti-depressant which has stimulant-like effects, and can often be used when a patient responses poorly to or, in my case, ceases responding to, stimulants) was a nightmare. Admittedly, this could be because I accidentally took 750 mg of the stuff instead of 450, but the fact that it had no efffect at all for a month, then made me pretty nuts... well, I've had enough.

I'm not saying my experience is the rule. If it works for you, go for it.

So. I'm heading into Manhattan to go to a 7:30am Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. A.A., exercise, prayer, meditation - this'll be how I try to better myself for the foreseeable future.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the broadcaster's voice talking about how crazy James Taylor fans are.

Good times, lousy bed.

The least comfortable bed in which I've slept is the one where I spent the night before my wedding. I swear, the mattress was an inverted bell curve. Seriously. Maggie stayed at her Mom's, and I stayed in this quaint-with-crappy-beds hotel with my family. I barely slept.

Happily, the second night I spent in that room was my first night as a married man... so I pretty much didn't care about the quality of the bed anymore. The company more than made up for it.

Tomorrow is 11 years that I've been married, and Maggie has put up with a LOT of crap from me. Even when I was drinking myself to death, she stuck it out. I guess she had hope. I guess she was afraid of what would happen if she left me. I guess she was hoping that she'd be able to say to me:

"You're turning back into the man I married."

And she did say that, a couple of years ago.

I've done a lot of things wrong. Some of them have been really bad. But I can honestly say that, today, I'm trying to be the best husband I can be. And with God's help, I'll try the same thing tomorrow.

11 years with me. The woman is truly to be commended.

Love to all. Even you, the people I've lost, and hope to find again.

Heartless headline of the week: CNN.

Hey, CNN.

Maybe you shouldn't use a tragedy as an opportunity for some headline writer to make a TV-show reference. I thought that was the New York Post's job.

Jackasses.

Oh, Apple.

My "new" refurb MacBook Pro came in today, with a 3-inch abrasion in the middle of the screen, and a 1-inch abrasion on the bottom left of the screen.

It's going back Monday.

Oh, Apple. First a defective MBP, then a defective MacBook, then this.

I' going to start thinking about Linux soon. Seriously.

Love to all. Even you, the grumpy dude with the backpack who sniffed for effect.

9/12/2001

On 9/12/2001, America was United and the world was behind us. The tragedy of the day before was an unbelievable opportunity to capture and kill Osama Bin Laden, demonstrate our military might, AND show the world that we were a moral, upstanding world citizen.

Instead, we underpowered the military action in Afghanistan, diverted resources to Iraq, and got ourselves mired in a war we should never have started.

Sometimes, I think we're doomed. This President has made us less than a laughingstock... Bush has made this country the enemy's best advertisement.

Could you IMAGINE what the world would be like if we hadn't left the capture of Bin Laden to a porous Afghani troop line populated by bribable, disinterested soldiers?

I can imagine a LOT of scenarios... all of them better than where we are now.

Just thinking out loud, here.

Love to all.

My chemical decision.

So, I've talked with Maggie, and my decision is: fuck this.

I'm going back to 300mg of Wellbutrin for the next three days, followed by three days of 150mg... followed by none. None of this crap anymore.

Love to all. Even you, GlaxoSmithKline.

Pivot.

It's one of those moments.

Less dramatic than years past: I'm not a somewhat-messed-up teen being sentenced to years in jail (suspended), nor have I been hiding vodka bottles at work, and buying duplicate bottles of wine so people will think I'm sipping a glass, even though I'm running downstairs to gulp down another every fifteen minutes.

Instead, I find myself on the verge of altering or continuing various patterns, and I have to... well... to paraphrase AA, I have to be true to myself.

I haven't run or lifted weights consistently for at last two weeks. The marathon is in slightly over a month. I can feel myself forming new, sloth-like patterns.

I've been trying different medicines for ADHD and after a really, really, really bad day/night, I need to decide if I should continue on for two weeks to see if there's any positive effect. Oh, by the way, I think I accidentally took the stuff TWICE in one day, which probably caused the seriously bad effects I experienced.

My company has experienced an explosion of short-term, high-margin sales which, in turn, has drastically reduced our medium-and-long-term projections. There's lots of work to be done, now.

The amount of AA meetings I go to has dropped over the last few weeks, as well.

So, I'm at something of a turning point.

I'm probably going to report in on these things on a daily basis, in summary format, whenever I post to this here blog.

I'm still feeling dizzy and strange... but I not so bad that I can't fake it.

Okay, then.

Love to all. Even you, the guilt-inducing dude who I should probably listen too more often.

Holy God.

This is nuts.

My pharmacology Doc upped this Wellbutrin I'm on from 300 to 450 mgs yesterday. I took the increased dose around 10am.

I can't think straight enough to write what happened yesterday afternoon, but it involved dizziness, vertigo, fear to go out in public (which is something I never have), slurred speech, and heart palpitations...

...the last thing is the reason I'm up right now.

More later.

Love to all.

A little much? (Or: time to go home.)

So, this guy writes me about employment. In the cover letter, he describes his school like this:

...a competitive small liberal arts college situated in NY's capital region.

But he doesn't say which school it is. so I write back:

I have to ask you... why would you say the below, vs. just saying what school it was?

And he writes back:

Why, because it's true. Sorry you don't seem to appreciate the description, it is what it is.

Now I'm amused and annoyed. I write back:

All because someone takes the time to ask a question, that doesn't mean they were being negative. But now, spiraling into the depths of a depression that only the chronically misattributed can truly feel, I remain,

Rich

He wrote back:

My apologies for the tone of the last email. As an English major I am used
to being more descriptive, and perhaps not concise...

I couldn't resist. I wrote back:

It's too late. I'm in the dark place.

Then I went home.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in the mauve shirt who wanted to edge his way past me on the 6am train.

Real time.

I'm sitting crossways on our green chair in the living room, feet hanging over one of the arms, back against the other.

Looking across the room, I see my youngest boy and my only daughter in silhouette, assembling the SpongeBob version of the Game of Life. My daughter is in her nightgown. My youngest is... well... he's naked again.

It's his way.

I'm amazed at how big and lithe and non-toddlerish these two are. These are my babies... the little ones who are supposed to remain forever young, but who are getting older just as fast as I am. The fact that they assembled a 20-piece Life game on their own is proof enough of my delusion.

It's a sweet moment, so I'm sharing it with you.

Love to all. Even you, the 60-something guy who is too afraid to have faith in his family.

So sad, so sad.

Before I failed out of college for the first time (actually, I failed out, went back, then left to go to rehab in 1989... so technically I only failed out once), I wrote a paper on metal vs. plastic slinkies. (And got a B+, I might add.) The paper was unequivocably pro-metal, due to the incredible variety of uses of the metal slinky, including aural transmitter, self-defense tool, and burglar alarm.

When a metal slinky bites the dust, it's a sad, sad sight. Even though it can be untangled, the little guy will never be the same again. It'll always be all googly and shit.

So goodbye, Slinky. Goodbye.

Love to all. Even you, whoever decided Plastic Slinky Jr wasn't an insult to Slinky lovers everywhere.

Sick day delight.

I have important things to write. I want to write about how I need to lower my expectatations of faith in order to actually have faith. How now, more than ever, I really need to get over myself.

Instead, I'll tell you how fucking cool it is to hook up a GameCube to a widescreen plasma. I'm home sick today, and my Tivo Series 3 arrived... so until the cable guys come Monday with two CableCards, things are all switched up, and the kids can watch TV in the basement, but play GameCube upstairs.

In other words, I wanted to play Madden 2006 on the plasma, and this was my excuse.

Love to all. Even you, the financial services guy who, in spite of impossible odds against his success, kept up his sales pitch.

Am I? I guess so.

I hired someone who is closer in age to my daughter than to me. It's a little disconcerting. She's supersmart, works really hard, and is funny as hell. She understands my core management philosophy: silliness through structure.

Anyway: she kind of nailed me this morning. (I'm on the right.)

Love to all. Even you, generation whatever.

SO busted.

The folks at attrition really did a number on this dude.

The lesson here:

1. Never ask someone to commit a federal crime.
2. Never ask someone to commit a federal crime.

He must have been running scared for weeks.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who asked someone to commit a federal crime.

A true friend...

...will quietly tell you if you have a booger hanging out of your nose.

Agreed?

Love to all. Even you, the newspaper dude doing mach 4.

You heartless bastards.

All this time, I thought you loved me. All this time, I thought we had something going. But no. It turns out that you... Yes, you. AND you. ALL of you... you all never told me that I had a typo in my profile!

How could you?

Hou could you?

Harumph.

Love to all. Even you, Lisa, Shqipo, Vincenzo, Peter, Al, Zube, TC, Jill, Chickie, Obliquity, Aesthetic, Wash Lady, CG, Doug, Aurelius, Miss Britt, Jeremy, and anybody I missed.

p.s. I'm kidding. You knew that, right?

Dude.

I love "Lost." I'm only one episode into Season Two (which I just got on DVD), but I thought Season One rocked. The main reason I love this show: It has a character who truly knows the many uses of the word "Dude."

Oh Hurley, my brother... you may be fictional, but I love you dearly.

Love to all. Even you, the employee I caught stealing yesterday.

Three years ago today.

I was at my second job and hungover again. You could light my breath on fire with a match. It had been seven years since I started drinking again. Seven years since I thought I had "outgrown" my drinking problem. Hell, I was 20 years old when I quit drinking the first time. Who wouldn't think they had outgrown it.

I was wrong.

Seven years went by: repeated and broken promises to quit that I really meant at the time, hidden vodka bottles, waiting for the kids to leave the room so I could slam down some booze, buying booze in duplicate so nobody would know how much I drank (right!), waking up every day thinking "I am NOT drinking today ," a general and depressing withdrawal and a lack of being there... even when I was physically present.

On September 18, 2003, Maggie said to me:

"Rich, is this what Jesus wants for you?"
I said: "No."

And went to the AA meeting on 14th Street between 5th and 6th and haven't had a drink since.

I'm posting this at 5:45am, because I'm catching the train to NYC to hit a 7:30am AA meeting. Because I don't want to drink today. And because I want to be the best father, husband, and worker I can be. I fail a lot. I can be a total, irritable jackass. I can behave badly. But I'm trying. And the one thing I've managed to get right is not drinking.

And if I keep that up, well, anything is possible.

Love to all. Even you, the guy my age who can't seem to put together three days.

Beautiful Shards.

You shattered everything I thought I knew
about love,
and depth,
and protection.

My old ideas in beautiful shards
replaced by windows
and pathways
and scattered light.

Everything I knew has changed
because of you.

Happy 7th Birthday, little girl.



Love to all.

Come ON.

I literally, literally, literally eat a bag this stuff EVERY MORNING when I get to work. And now they say it could be contaminated with E. Coli. Shit.

That's what I get for being obsessive about my leafy greens.

Love to all. Even you, the rude girl who wouldn't listen at the birthday party.

Bush: If you can't win, redefine.

Damn, is George Bush a poster boy for Machiavellian politics. It's only the end that matters.

Since Bush got caught violating the Geneva Conventions, he's trying to have legislation passed that will change the American "interperetation" of the Geneva Conventions. Thank goodness, two of the Republicans most military-experienced politicians are leading the rebellion: John McCain and Colin Powell.

Since Bush's war in Iraq is getting thousands of people killed, the Bush administration changed what they report as "deaths:"

The U.S. military did not count people killed by bombs, mortars, rockets or other mass attacks — including suicide bombings — when it reported a dramatic drop in the number of murders around Baghdad last month, the U.S. command said Monday. - Marine Times, 9/11/2006

Part of what makes America amazing is that we structurally (via the Constitution, etc.) accept certain levels of risk and danger for the sake of freedom. Freedom of speech can be really annoying. Due process might let some criminals get away. Not torturing prisoners might mean we don't get every available piece of information.

Being structurally honorable is what separates us. But not for long, if Bush has his way.

These are not Democratic/Republican issues, here.

Love to all. Even you, Senator Frist.

God, I love New York [Warning: Rated PG-13]

I was on the 6 train, heading uptown to Grand Central in NYC. The train was packed. I was standing at the very back of the car, against the rear door. There were a lot of people packed around the pole, including two very cute 20-something women. Now, New York is awash in very cute women of every age. So normally this would’t get my attention for longer than a passing glance.

But these two women were clearly in lust.

I tried not to watch them talk, but it was difficult. I mean, holy crap. When they talked to each other they half looked at each other’s eyes, and half looked at each other’s lips. Back and forth. Up and down. They kept leaning in somewhat close to each other… it was insane. All of a sudden, the first woman moved to kiss the second, but the second leaned ever-so-slightly away, and smiled. Without a doubt: it would happen later.

I got off at Grand Central. I mean... I exited the train.

God, I love New York.

Love to all. Even you, the tourists whose minds were utterly blown.

Um, I forgot to mention.

So, for those of you who followed my experiments with Adderall, please pardon the brief recap:

1. It worked incredibly well for a few weeks.
2. It stopped working and they increased the dosage.
3. It stopped working and they increased the dosage.
4. I completely stopped working.
   
5. I went off adderall, and crashed horribly for, like, four days.
   

End of recap. A few weeks later, I met with the pharmacologist, who suggested a few other options for my ADHD, including this weird kind of dual-release Ritalin which spikes you twice. Now, I'm on friendly terms with this lady, so I said: "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

She agreed that it was a bad idea.

She suggested Wellbutrin, which is a much more subtle drug... one that takes two weeks to a month to saturate your system and really kick in, and whose effects are way, way, way less obvious.

So what I forgot to mention was: it's been two weeks since I started the stuff. I haven't noticed too much, except that my moods are slightly less prone to swing towards darkness.... and my silliness, which vanished while I was on Adderall, hasn't gone away in the least.

Maggie says that she's noticed my temper has become less sharp. So, even it the ADHD stuff isn't handled that well... being less of a dick doesn't suck. I'm giving it another month to see how it shakes out.

Love to all. Even you, the dude at the Mustard Seed with the stinky-ass feet.

Pillhead.

Meet my pills (with one exception):

• Lecithin granules - for healthy skin.
• Calcium - for healthy bones.
• Amino 1500 - for the ol' muscles.
• A multivitamin - for everything.
• Shark cartilage - for psoriasis and arthritis
• Cod liver oil / primrose oil - for psoriasis
• Coenzyme Q10 - for psoriasis and because it kicks ass

So now you know. I know you wanted to know. So I told you.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who said I'll see you in ten, but never showed.

Drunk, chainsmoking, and staring at the sky.

F-15s don't sound like commercial airliners. I'd never heard anything like it. A few times, I saw one of the fighters banking through Manhattan's airspace. But mostly I just heard them. I was pretty shitfaced, smoking one American Spirit after the other. From my vantage point on the roof of an East Village apartment building, I saw the fighter com briefly into view again, and I thought:

"You're late. Much too late."

September 11, 2001.

Earlier in the day, around 8:50am, I was in the back room of my company on 38th street between 5th and 6th. A coworker told me that a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. That didn't make sense. Since my office had a direct view of the World Trade Center, I went to see what was happening.

It was insane. Impossible. Huge. It was an enormous hole in the fucking building.

I went to the conference room next door to check in with my other colleagues. Spent a few minutes with them, then went back to my office to try and reach Maggie. She answered. She had the news on, so she knew what had happened.

While I was talking to her and staring out the window, another plane came into view, heading downtown. Fast.

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

Impact. Fire. And everything changed. September 11, 2001.

There are thousands of people who aren't going to have thousands of children who won't make thousands of friends. There are thousands of couples that are never going to meet, and that's a lot of love that's gone missing.

There's a lot of tragedy in this world, but this is the one that happened my city. The one that I saw with my own eyes. The one that changed my life and country.

Love to all.

That's what I get...

...for not pacing myself.

I hid a 64-ounce container of gatorade behind the Verizon shed near my house, and took off. The idea was to do four five-mile laps, having a big ol' drink break after each lap. Instead, I decided to try a whole different route, which took me 10 miles until I made it back to the shed.

During the next lap, I started to feel all dizzy and weird. So when I got back to the shed, I stopped and walked up the hill to my house. 15.5 miles total. I figure, better to be alive and off-the-mark than to get run over by a car at mile 18 because I was too spaced-out to keep an eye on traffic.

Still, that kind of sucks. Oh, well.

Love to all. Even you. Yeah, you.

Immodium, pasta, and wish me luck.

I've got a 20-mile training run today, starting in an hour.

Think happy Richie thoughts, if you would. My body is completely sore from sprinting around for 2.5 hours while coaching my AYSO teams, yesterday. Oof.

Love to all. Even you, half-smiling neighbor.

Top ten news stories you haven't heard.

I rarely quote straight from FARK, but they're referring to this.

Some highlights:

• Halliburton charged with selling nuclear technology to Iran
• Hunger and homelessness increasing in the United States (and the Bush Administration's attempts to remove these statistics from reports)
• Pentagon exempt from Freedom of Information Act

It's amazing, depressing, and infuriating, what's happening to my country.

Love to all. Even you, Albert O. Cornelison, Jr.

8264 calories later.

I just coached my first two soccer games of the season. This is the first year I'm Head Coaching two separate teams.

9am: U6Boys. It was totally maniacal and hilarious. One boy wouldn't play, but he promised to play next week. My voice was half gone by the time it was over.

10:15am: U8 girls. Two parents I have to watch carefully. Also, one player is a "special needs" player who, although she completely deserves to play, is going to be a very, very, very weak spot on the team.

I'm one of those coaches who runs like a freak the whole time, cheering and rooting (for both sides) and generally carrying on. After 2 hours and 45 minutes of this, I'm a little tired.

Still, today is a weight day, so after dropping my daughter at a play date, I'm going to come back and lift. Tomorrow is a 20-mile training run. Think injury-free thoughts for me.

Love to all. Even you, the father who apparently thinks I'm paid for doing this.

1st full day of Kindergarten.

Love to all.

11 Haiku about a Coaches Meeting

A coaches meeting
we do this every year
I still don't know why

The coordinators
many of them didn't show
inside jokes are dumb

Referee courses
maybe this year I'll take it,
but probably not

The pattern baldness
pervades the room left and right
thirty-something guys

wealthiest people
take the time to coach their kids
I should be nicer

talking U10 boys
this doesn't apply to me
I am getting bored

more older kid stuff
U6 boys is so simple
yet I must endure

five requirements
most of them about parents
crazy-ass people

sixty minutes now
I have yet to learn something
I hope it ends soon

THIS guy is happy
enthusiasm is good
I think it is done

thought it was over
plea for newsletter content
can we be done now?

Love to all. Even you, the guy who kept asking questions.

Lucky?

I stayed home from work this morning to escort my oldest to the 7:15 bus, and my two youngest to the 8:45 bus. This was the view from my driveway at 7:10am.

Damn, I'm lucky.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who thinks her dog knows english.

How to feel bad.

I heard today that one of the great things in Alcoholics Anonymouse is that you learn how to feel bad. At first I thought "That's kind of stupid." But I'm starting to get it.

How good are you at feeling bad?

Love to all. Even you, the strangely heavy dude explaining the bathroom layout to a colleague.

They can't hear my thoughts.

Today was one of those days when the kids have been irritating the shit out of me. Non-stop questions, fighting, interruptions, etc. Sometimes, my irritation surfaces slowly, sometimes quickly... sometimes I say: "Can you leave me alone for FIVE MINUTES?"

Sigh. Nice guy, me.

Just a minute ago, my oldest was asking me his tenth question in five minutes, and I thought to myself "Jesus, kid, will you just SHUT UP?" But outwardly, I listened to and answered his question politely. Because it hit me: He can't HEAR my thoughts... so even if he's irritatng the crap out of me (as long as its benign) I can get irritated on the inside while pretending not to be on the outside.

It's an improvement.

I realize that the goal would be to not be irritated, but in the meantime, I'll take it.

Love to all. Even you, the angry bald guy in idling in the handicapped spot.

Work in progress, but it ROCKS.

Okay. So, take a Dell 20" widescreen monitor that you got on sale, put it on an articulating arm that's bolted to the stud in the wall. Install a little Target shelf for the DVD player, then run 1/8" audio cable up over the ceiling, with an extension adapter to plug in headphones...

...and you've got the beginning of a really cool "Watch movies on the treadmill" situation.

Love to all. Even you, the frowny guy makin' his kid all nervous.

Damn, this is cool.

Watch this.

Just give it at least until thirty seconds into "The 1k Project" part II, about one minute in.

Love to all. Even you, brother-in-law.

Still miss you, buddy.

One year ago today, my buddy Carter passed away. And if that isn't the saddest accidental rhyme I've ever heard, I don't know what is.

I still miss you, you big, crazy, gentle freak. I don't have a ton of friends, and losing you was losing one of my best. When I think about you, amigo, I smile and I cry. There is no other Carter, and that's the way it should be.

Love to all.

Puppies with lasers.

I'm sitting in my home office, freaking out about the fact that I'm closing on a quarter-million dollar line of financing in about 45 minutes. My boys are 10 feet behind me, playing "Rebel Strike" on the Gamecube.

My daughter walks in and says: "What level are you playing?"

My five-year-old says: "Puppy Robots."

I have to say: "Puppy Robots" stomps the crap out of "Imperial Walkers."

Love to all. Even you, Geraldo.

Is that WHAT?

So. My office manager and I are leaving the office. Just before we went our separate ways, she sticks one of her iPod earbuds into my ear, to show that she's listening to Fatboy Slim (who I listen to, as well).

I say: "Have you heard of PodJacking?"
She says: "No."

I explain it was this brief fad where complete strangers would kind of randomly switch ipod jacks for a few seconds, check out each other's music, and move on.

She was like: "Is that an old people thing?"

Love to all. Even you, youngster.

A rare sight in NYC.

It's a rare thing to have East 11th Street all to myself. I took this picture this morning, at about 6:30am.

God, I love New York.

Love to all. Even you, the pooping bum.

Stupid, stupid apple.

Dead Macbook Pro.

Dead Macbook.

Why do I not blog? Because I'm FIXING BROKEN MACS.

Fuck.

Love to all. Even you, Greg Joswiak.

How to tell that I'm me.

If you ever think you see me on the street in NYC, come over and ask me for a pirate eyepatch or a glowstick. If:

1. The person doesn't immediately scream for the police and/or
2. The person has one or both of the items extremely handy

...then it's probably me.

Love to all. Even you, the screamin' Poppa in the next booth at City Limits.

God, this is weird.

My youngest has had a fever of 103 all day.

He just woke up twenty minutes ago. Or rather, he catapulted out of bed, semi-delirious, said he had to throw up, and spent the next five minutes trying to get his hands into the toilet, and screaming when I moved them.

He kept screaming "I want to play! I want to play!" And trying to reach into the toilet bowl. I was thinking: this little dude is asleep. This little dude is delirious.

So I finally said: "Do you want to play with the bath water?" He said yes.

I brought him downstairs. His fever was high, but not 103. He insisted that he get in the bath. He also started to seem much more lucid. I gave him some Motrin. He kept up about the bath, only in a less emotional

"What's my name?" I asked.
"Daddy," he said.
"How old are you?"
"Five."
"Where's Mommy?"
"Hershey Park."
"You still want to get in the bath?"
"Yes."

So I let him. I set the water in at a medium-cool level, thinking that would help knock the fever back until the Motrin worked. He got in, and started chit-chatting with me about Star Wars. Then, after five minutes he said: "I'm done."

I said: "Why did you want to take a bath?"
He said: "I just did.
"Why were you trying to stick your hands in the toilet upstairs?"
"I don't know."
"Do you remember that?"
"No."
"Whoa, this was really funny, youngin'."
"Well, it wasn't that funny."
"Hm. I guess you're right. Ready for bed?"
"Yup!"

And he's fast asleep. Now, how am I going to accomplish the same thing?

Love to all. Even you, the video graphics woman with the special pinky.

Best laid plans, Part II.

A while back, we got a big-ass plasma TV. Three days or so after we got it, one of my youngest's friends dumped a shake on it.

This week, Maggie bought a really nice rug. This morning, my youngest threw up huge amount of berry flavored (read: neon pink) Rice Krispies on the new rug.

Next time we invest in something expensive for the home, I'm just going to spray paint part of it right away... just to get it over with.

Love to all. Even you, Amrut International.

Best laid plans.

Last year, I instituted a fun little policy wherein one parent would go on a mini-vacation with one kids in a rotating pattern:

Me + Kid 1
Maggie + Kid 2
Me + Kid 3
Maggie + Kid 1
Me + Kid 2
Maggie + Kid 3

Thus, on Friday, Maggie and my daughter (Kid 2), left for Hershey Park. This morning, me and the boys were supposed to head out to do all kinds of fun things. But, alas, kid 3 has a fever of 103, and our plans are cancelled.

On the other hand, while I was attempting to remove a link from my new watch, and punctured my finger with a 1mm screwdriver, and accidentally flung the watch accross the room.

Yeesh.

Love to all. Even you, the nurse who acted like my not taking anything for a fever was crazy.

I am Zarkon: Destroyer of worlds.

I was going to write something about Love, and being therein. But I can't do that right now.

Instead, I'm going to say that, dammit, the ladies in the coffee shop GOT IT WRONG.

Some of these fancy coffee shops ask for your name so they can call you when your order is ready. The conversation went like this:

Her: What's your name?
Me: Zarkon: destroyer of worlds.
Her: Sorry?
Me: ZARKON: DESTROYER OF WORLDS.
Her: Um... okay.

As you can see on the slip, they spelled my name wrong.
Love to all. Even you, Aroma lady.

Why I love Maggie, part 2758

Maggie called and asked if I could come up with some extra cash. In the past, I would have gotten a little huffy, asked her what for, made her provide reasons, etc. Really stupid power-play reaction on my part. This time, though, I said "hey, don't worry about telling me why, just tell me the amount, and I'll tell you if we have it to front."

She gives me the figure, I say "okay." All ends super-peacefully.

She calls me a half-hour later and adds 50% to the figure. I say "But... but... I was just patting myself on the back for being so un-dickish about money for a change!"

And she said:

You know me, I have to push the envelope until you're angry, so that I feel successful.

Now THAT is self-awareness.

Love to all. Even you, the angry ex-junkie who thinks we're out to get her.

I'm *still* an ass.

Once again, I'm on the right. Same friend. Different icons.

A haiku of mild exhaustion and depression.

Summer may yet wane
Somehow things will settle down
Missing what I've lost

Love to all. Even you, the tech guy who forgot to run backups for a month.

I'm an ass, part XXIV.

I'm the one on the right.

Love to all, even you, the dramatically didactic redhead.

So close.

So, only four miles into my bike ride, I realize I'm riding alongside NYC's water supply. Nice.

20 miles later, I realized that I had ridden FAR... for a first bike ride, at least.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who just tried to rip me off, but failed.

Six hours straight: Maggie is ecstatic.

Oh, you dirty-minded, sickos. Six hours of CLEANING THE GARAGE.

God, I don't even know why I bother with you people.

Love to all. Even you, the people riding two x two on a very narrow path.

Exactly my point, CTH.

Conservative Trail Head (normally a nice enough guy, blog-comment-wise), left this note about my railing against NSA Wiretaps.

Can you please show me one US citizen which has been agrieved [sic] by the NSA wiretaps? Whose privacy is being violated? We are at war, no matter how much you deny reality.

Little and unnecessary insult about me denying reality aside, this question is an excellent statement of exactly what is wrong in this country. My reality is that the US is a Constitutional Republic and the constitution is the Supreme Law of the Land. Until the Constitution is Amended to disable parts of the 1st and 4th amendments, etc., it doesn't MATTER if someone is "aggrieved." Warrantless wiretaps are illegal. Does the law not matter? Besides, the Bush Administration could have used the proper FISA procedure and applied for warrants retroactively. They did not.

If Ii were to take CTH's question literally, I would say ME, for one. Aggrieved just means "feeling resentment at unfair treatment."

But answering what I believe he really meant: That logic is precisely the problem. Would you be aggrieved if I broke into your house while you weren't there, damaged nothing, broke nothing, and merely walked around and looked at all your shit, because I thought there might be some evidence that you were messing around with my wife? (Smart choice of lady, though. You have good taste.)

Sure you would.

What war are you fighting? If you're not fighting to protect our country and it's Constitution, what are you fighting FOR? Why can't people understand that you have to sacrifice some "security" for Freedom.

As Ben Franklin said:

Those who would sacrifice essential liberties for a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.

The Bill of Rights? I'd call that "essential."

Love to all. Even you, the guy playing tennis with the outrageous combover-turned-vertical-spike.

Oh, BABY!

Just rode my new bike home from the shop. These padded shorts sure make me look WEIRD. Other than that, though, I am SO impressed with this thing. It's super light, goes FAST FAST FAST, and is just a joy.

Love to all. Even you, the lady followed me for about 1.25 miles, afraid to pass me.

Making us safer (by destroying America).

If you currently live within the territorial boundaries of the United States of America, and if you want to live in a Constitutional Republic, raise your hand. All of you are now considered “Group A.” Lower your hands.

If you currently live in the territorial boundaries of the United States of America, and if you want to live in a Theocratic Oligarchy, raise your hand. You folks are “Group B.” Lower your hands.

Group A, pack your bags and find somewhere else to live. Group B, now would be a good time to invest in land. You can settle in for the long haul: this country is for you.

Today, a federal judge strucked down the Terrorist Surveillance Program as unconstitutional, and according to the judge, was in violation of the "separation of powers doctrine, the Administrative Procedures Act, the First and Fourth amendments to the United States Constitution, the FISA and Title III.”

Sounds good, right? Just you wait.

The Bush administration is going to ignore the ruling, claiming that it somehow has the right to do this while the rulilng is appealed. Of course, that would mean the Bush administration would be acting illegally… but that’s nothing new. I could be wrong, here, but I doubt it.

The slimiest logic of all The Bush government claimed that it couldn’t defend itself in the suit, because doing so would be a national security risk. That, my friends, is self-serving logic which allows the Bush (or any other) administration to basically do whatever it wants, without being troubled with things like, um, legality.

Ick.

And Senator Frist? He just pooped on the Constitution as follows:

Terrorists are the real threat to our constitutional and democratic freedoms, not the law enforcement and intelligence tools used to keep America safe. We need to strengthen, not weaken, our ability to foil terrorist plots before they can do us harm.

Regardless, of course, of whether these tools are illegal and concretely un-American.

According to CNN:

Some legal scholars said the program is an illegal and unwarranted intrusion on Americans' privacy. The Bush administration defended it as a necessary tool in the battle against terrorism.

Regardless, of course, of whether these tools are illegal and concretely un-American. Wait. Did I just repeat myself? Weird. Sorry.

Group A, raise your hands. The Bush administration is removing the core values that made these United States so wonderful and unique. So you might as well keep your hands up: you’re being robbed.

Love to all. Even you, Tony Snow.

Tap. Tap-tap. Or: Adderall denoument.

Is this thing on?

Holy SHIT, has this been a weird week. I'd say I'm at, oh, 85% of my normal energy level... and that is one hell of an improvement. I haven't been exercising, though... so today I HAVE to change that. Either through a light 5-mile treadmill run, weights, or both. Hopefully both.

I'm disappointed in my pharmacologist. She's nice. I like her. But she clearly doesn't understand the ins and outs of what she is prescribing. I appreciate that she called the drug manufacturer to ask some questions, and that she got in touch with a colleague to ask him specific questions about amphetamines... but perhaps those should be before-the-fact questions... research questions... prior to prescribing stuff. I don't know.

A few words about alcoholism:

Back when I was hiding bottles and drinking 10-18 drinks per day, I would be waiting... waiting desperately, for the hour to come when the first drink would hit my lips. That first feeling, which I can only describe as "Cascade," when the alcohol started washing over my brain... well... that was what my life was about.

Having Adderall move from a day-to-day medication to a useless medication, to a "waiting to see if it's going work" medication... the thought processes are too much like how I felt about alcohol.

When I quit drinking in Alcoholics Anonymous, the urge to drink was removed. I had tried for years to quit prior, but it didn't work (other than my seven years of AA sobriety in the 90's). Having the impulse, obsession, and compulsions lifted was a common AA miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.

I will NOT engage these thought processes again in order to be less scatterbrained and distractable. Fuck that.

I'm glad to be back. Weird to say, but true.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the facelift who should damn well know better.

Where the hell have I been?

Hi, folks.

I'm just recovering from adderall withdrawal. I've been semi-conscious for about four days. I've worked a bit, come home, and slept 16 hours.

I'll get into this more by tomorrow.

Whoa.

Love to all. Even you, the pharamacologist who told me that she may have been "cavalier" when espousing the lack of withdrawal symptoms.

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