Why I love New York, part 782

I love New York because just by walking across town to do collections at a deadbeat client, I can run across the studio of an awesome TV show.

Love to all, even you the incredibly twitchy lady sleeping next to me on the train.

20.25, and Happy Birthday, Dad.

I ran 20.25 miles today. At this point, I just need to be consistent... and not injure myself before March 25. This is no small undertaking. When I went skiing in Vermont LAST year, I threw out my back. Yikes.

Today is my father's birthday. I haven't spoken to him for something like 4 years now. The last time I heard from him was when he threatened Maggie and my father-in-law because I cc'd him on an email to my Great Aunt congratulating her on the move to California. And that was after three years had passed since there was any kind of communication between us. That kind of non-fading rage is pretty impressive. And frightening.

I had written my Great Aunt this:

Congratulations on the move! What a huge undertaking... I personally suggest you hook yourselves up with one of those fabulous California Spas for some serious pampering.

Things here are great: (Oldest) is skateboarding unbelievably well, and just finished his first season on the swim team. (Daughter) and (Youngest) are in gymnastics camp, and having a ball. Maggie’s got her hands full trying to get everyone where they need to be in a timely manner. As for me, I’ve got my 6th race of the year (and my third half-marathon of 2005) in a week and a half... I’m trying to convince (Cousin) to run it with me. Although if he does, I’m sure he’ll totally leave me in his dust.

Keep us in the loop, we’re really glad to hear what’s up!

And four MINUTES later, I got this from my father:

Never again send email to our address. Never. Keep in mind that your wife and your father-in-law committed felonies when they filed a false police report — and charges can still be brought. It was only on the advice of a Chief of Police for the protection of the children that we did not. Send a email to us just once more, and we will.

Now, he said the things he said in his note for very specific reasons, as far as I can tell. Having the kind of problems that he has: not being able to let anything go without a conclusive decision in his favor, not being able to de-escalate his anger, etc., etc., he's held on to the fact that we called the cops after he sent really threatening letters, and the cops told him to cut the shit or they'd arrest him. It's like he's been waiting, for years, for the opportunity to trump our local policeman with "A Chief of Police." The funny thing was that we didn't file a police report. We just showed them the letters, and the police asked us: "Warn him or arrest him?"

We chose "warn."

His whole "for the sake of the children" thing bugs me, though. For a while, he was making horribly scary threats about doing thing to protect his grandchildren, because Maggie and I were unfit parents for undisclosed reasons. But he never did anything.

And this is what pissed me off, and made me realize that all his raging was impotent, and sad.

Because if he really thought my kids were in danger, he should have done something about it. I would have expected nothing less from someone who really cared, and who really thought there were problems.

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

So, Dad. Happy birthday. I can't believe that you're missing out on your grandchildren's lives. It's so unnecessary. I hope you get whatever help you need, because I know that you're a good person with some serious fucking problems. But you're a good person.

I love you.

Love to all.

Fun with PhotoBooth

My youngest has a 103-degree fever. My oldest is at hockey. My daughter MUST be entertained. PhotoBooth to the rescue!

Love to all. Even you, plow guy.

Yes, Fiona. I admit it.

Fiona asked whether I bought my 12-inch lightsticks for the kids or for me. The answer is a little more complicated. Because, Fiona, I didn't buy the 12-inch lightsticks. Nor did I steal them. Nor were they a gift.

The truth: I was given them for free because I'm such a good bulk lightstick customer.

It's true. I buy lightsticks in bulk quantities. For myself. Mostly.

Now, it's important for me to make sure you know that I buy NORMAL size lightsticks. The massive beasts from the post below were promotional. And normal lightsticks come in handy in so many ways:

• soothing scared kids
• handing them out to every single person on the beach in Montauk before the fireworks on July 4
• party favors
• random acts of giving on elevators in New York City
  

When I submitted my order for the free glowsticks, I did wind up buying 5 LED "chaser necklaces," for which I have absolutely no use at all.

But they're so cool.

Love to all. Even you, the newspaper delivery guy with the 4:30 am lead foot.

Best. Lightsticks. Ever.

Oh, baby. 12 inches of pure chemical reaction. Dig it.

Love to all. Even you, whoever whomped by mailbox.

37 years, 364 days and...

Chompity chomp chomp!

Love to all. Even you, the understandably angry traffic cop.

One of the worst... oh wait.

I was going to say that this was one of the worst days I've ever had.

But then I thought about it... and it's not even close. Shit, today wasn't even in the top 500 worst days I've ever had.

True, I let someone go today. It wasn't an easy decision, and I hated doing it, but it was well thought out, and I sought the advice and feedback of two of my partners before actually doing anything. It wasn't a snap decision, either. I waited for the evidence and advice to trickle in. That's unlike me, but it's interesting how this is also the first time I was able to simply do it and move on. I feel bad, but I don't feel wrong.

Compare today with so many of those days from 1996 (when I started drinking again) to 2003 (when I quit again). Hell, I'm sober today. I didn't come home and drink myself silly. I just had a stressful day at work, like a million other people did. Lucky me.

Seriously. Lucky me.

So hey, God: thanks for the opportunity to have a run-of-the-mill really difficult day.

Oh, an update: My old bandmate (the singer), wrote me a really, really interesting email that served to:

1. Remind me that I was a dick for commenting like that. (She didn't say that. I did.)
2. Make me think a lot about how I relate to my pre-family life.

I'm going to write her back (privately, not in this blog), but I have to think about it a little.

Love to all. Even you, the vanishing man.

Don't.

It's hard to do the right thing without making a big point of it... of proving myself right... of trying to make the other person realize that they are wrong.

Sometimes, though, it's just best to make a decision and stick with it. Then move on. And to do it without editorial content, and without further explanation. Sometimes, explanations don't help. If there was further room for explanation, these decisions wouldn't have to be made in the first place. Sometimes.

Disengage.

I was raised in atmosphere of us-vs-them, crush-or-be-crushed. But life isn't like that. It's possible to make decisions based on fact, without animosity, and without anger. And to stick with them.

I think I might be a grownup after all. Sometimes.

Love to all. Even you, the guy making crazed, sweeping gestures at a maltese.

Yuck. And oops.

This is 20% warning, 80% confession of being an idiot.

The warning: check your personal email lists. Make sure that you clear people off from time to time. Or else you’ll accidentally be sending family info and updates to people who you don't necessarily want to receive such personal information.

And it can put you in an awkward position.

Every six months or so, I check the blog of some of my old bandmates. Actually, it's the singer of my old band, who I didn't know that well and didn't like that much, but there's some references in there to her boyfriend (or ex, or husband, I have no idea), who I really looked up to back in the 90's.

I totally admit that I check the blog out of imperfect motives… After years and years of reading about how, someday, they are going to make music again, I have a really morbid curiosity about how long this melodrama is going to last.Frankly, I have lingering resentments over how she and her boyfriend treated Maggie, and how they treated the other members of the band after I left.

This was years ago, but hey... just like I keep in touch with friends every six months or so, I also check in on these people from time to time. I don't really like them, but they were pretty huge in my life back then.

Wow. That's a long time ago. Whoa.

Anyway: acting on resentments doesn’t work. Case in point: The last time I was there, I I left a comment about how annoying it was to continuously read about how, someday the musical story will continue, etc., etc.., and maybe it how it was time to either do something or stop talking about doing something. I thought I was being anonymous, but my browser autofilled championable.com as the "commenter URL."

Whoops. Serves me right.

Admittedly, the repetitive self-importance only partially drove my commenting. I'd say it was 30% habitually checking up on people I know (which is usually non-snarky), 30% did-they-make-music-yet?, and 50% my-god-is-the-author-still-whining?

Not the best mix. And not my best moment as a person. But this is a confession, after all.

Resentment is stupid. I never should have commented.

But stupid turns bizarre when it turns out I had also been sending these people my personal website updates for YEARS, without even realizing it. They had never responded, ever, and I just forgot that they were in the group. Whoops.

They had been getting emails from me and Maggie with links to pictures of my children for TEN YEARS... and not ONCE said they said "hey, why are you sending me these?" Or "stop." Or, "fuck off." Or even "hi!" Bleah.

So, not knowing about the autofill, I was a little surprised when I got this comment in my blog... sadly misplaced under a post about my daughter (I deleted it and moved it here):

I've been ignoring your email and your comments on my blog years now. I thought I was being pretty clear that I don't want to be in touch, but I suppose that wasn't enough. Let me clarify now: I don't want to be in contact with you. Please stop visiting my blog and leaving critical comments about me. Your hostility is NOT welcome at all.

Well... no, jackass. Saying "please don't send me updates on your kids" would have made it clear. If I don't know I'm sending you emails, you not responding to them doesn't mean you are sending a clear message about anything. Sheesh, I heard you became a therapist, for fuck's sake. I would think, maybe, you would know this. And although it turns out I've been unknowingly sending emails for years... I only left a handful (if that) of comments in the last decade. So what the fuck?

But then again: it serves me right for commenting unkindly.

Shouldn't have done it... but as everyone knows, if you post on a blog, people will comment. If you don't like it, delete the comments or moderate your bog. God, I hate that bullshit. It's a public space. FUCK. I only deleted one person's comments in the history of this blog, and that was because they were incredibly long and senseless.

Calm down, there, Richie. You're gettin' all riled.

Anyway, I feel bad about leaving the comment. She is who she is, and I don't know her anymore anyway. And this microexperience has made me think about how well I knew her boyfriend, who I really looked up to back then. Not that well, it turned out... I found that out well enough when they treated Maggie like shit.

But the idea that she had been receiving emails from me for a decade and never bothered to say word one... well...

Yuck.

I told Maggie this story when I got home work. She was a little like, "Rich, you idiot, why did you post a comment to that person's blog?" But when I told her I had accidentally been sending them emails for a decade, she said, "Ew."

Ew is right.

So, sorry about the snarky comment. But in the great scheme of things, getting caught leaving a comment actually helped me realize some things: her boyfriend was the single most disappointing person I have ever met, and I think I've let this resentment fester for years.

Tonight, I'm going to pray for them, and let this shit go.

Even little resentments like this one aren't worth keeping.

Love to all. Even you, Sovtek boy.

Without sin.

My daughter received her first penance this weekend. It was unbelievably sweet.

I could see her from a distance... far up in the corner of the church. Her feet were dangling and her arms were folded and she looked totally engaged in her conversation with Father V. For his part, Father V. was leaning forward, listening intently. He was making comments (or asking questions) to which my daughter responded. After watching this for a minute, my eyes teared up and I had to look away. Radiant, radiant.

Father V. made the sign of the cross, and sent my daughter over to the tabernacle. Maggie and I met her there, knelt down beside her, and prayed together.

Rarely... too rarely... I can feel God in my life. This was one of those times.

Love to all. Even you, the woman who blames me nonetheless.

15.0

Just ran 15 miles. I'm starting to think I might be ready for Atlanta after all.

Love to all. Even you, the Escalade owner who parked illegally, on a slant, in the church parking lot.

My name isn't Frances or: Bonanza Jellybean, Cont'd.

Sometimes I think that being nice is a liabilty.

I posted a comment on Bonanza Jellybean, a blog I found through while surfing one the links of one of my links. In my comment, I stated that I understood that I didn't know her all that well, and that I was being "incredibly presumptive" in my comment.

The main point of my comment was:

1. She should maybe not take corrective action based on psuedo-medical advice from a 3rd grade teacher. Asking a doctor might be a good idea.
2. Beware of telling children things that make them body conscious. Especially girls.
3. I am aware that I've only read one post on her blog, so sorry if I was being incredibly presumptive.
   

In my post here ABOUT the comment, I specifically said: "Hope I didn't overreact."

Then, Shqipo asked me if my name was Frances.

He asked me this because the attribution lines on Bonanza Jellybean make it look kind of like the comments belong to the wrong person. So he was associating the wrong comment with my name.

When I went back to see what he was talking about, I saw that I had driven some folks into a mad, defensive posture. No one more than the blog's owner, but a lot of the commenters were pretty pissed off, too.

Most of the people who criticized me used the "He must think he's SO perfect, judging you on one post. He must think he's the perfect parent." Hell, the blog's owner called me a fucktard. Which, actually, is awesome. But not as good as "Pretard." Which is way better. But that's beside the point.

Anyone who accuses me of thinking I'm perfect clearly hasn't read my blog. Or even my "about me" thingy on the top of every page. I'm a fucking ALCOHOLIC. I spent a great deal of my life completely drunk off my ass. Regardless of the innumerable other character defects I have, and there are MANY, this alone precludes me calling myself "perfect."

So fuck that noise.

Anyway: my other point, is the idea that I'm "judging someone on one post." We ALL judge people based on imcomplete information. Hell, I'd love have Ms. Britt, Fiona, Shqipo, Gina, Vinny, Lisa, Eric, Amy, Christelle, TC, et al, for a huge-ass roundtable once-a-week dinner, but we live in different parts of the WORLD. It's not possible.

You think you really know your coworkers? How many people are utterly certain about every situation about which they posit an opinion. Clearly, we're all making educated guesses. If not, everyone would pretty much think the same thing about everything. At that's not the case.

What I try to do, and what was completely ignored in this case, is make sure people know I'm aware that my comments are based on my limited knowledge. I literally SAID this in the comment: "I'm sorry if this is incredibly presumptive."

But you know what? It's the fucking BLOG world. Why do people put shit out there that they don't want people to read and comment on? Blogs can be "members only." It's easy. Or, you can moderate comments to filter out opinions you don't want... leaving only the comments that say "Man, you're awesome!" or "Right on!" Or whatever floats your boat. Or, at the very least, post a header that says:

Do not comment on this blog unless you have read the whole thing and thoroughly understand the psychology of the owner.

Me? I think the people who disagree with me make this blogging thing just as interesting as the folks who I tend to agree with. Disagreement makes me clarify my own position.

Hell. It sometimes makes me CHANGE my position.

Love to all. Even you, Painting Chef.

Faith.

I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I need to refocus my energies. Literally. I need to take family energy, and focus it on family. Friend energy on my actual friends. Romantic energy on Maggie. Work energy on work.

I think I sometimes mix up my foci, and throughs off my spiritual gyroscope.

On that note: I sustained a profound disappointment in someone today, but I'm finding it to be remarkably helpful, in terms of examining why I let certain things upset me... and why I shouldn't.

Anyway. This is vague, I realize. But it is what it is. Sorry.

Also, "Epic Movie" sucks. Like, big time. My 10-year-old disliked it as much as I.

Love to all. Even you, the unbelievably foul-mouthed kid at the Greenberg Multiplex.

Maggie gets funny.

I have this bad habit: I call Maggie every day right when she's about to leave to take the kids to the bus. She tries to be nice about my timing, but always has to say: "I have to get off the phone or we'll be late for school." She says this every time I call. Without fail.

Today, I knew my timing was bad. But I called anyway. And instead of saying "Hello," I said: "Say those words you know I want to hear, baby!"

And she said:

Rich, you are right. I am wrong.

Hilarious girl, her.

Love to all. Even you, the guy on the 6 train who refused to look at the map.

The 9/11 families: Enough is enough.

NY1 has a brief article about how some of the family members of the victims of the WTC attacks in 2001 are, yet again, protesting the memorial design.

The WTC Memorial foundation had agreed to list the victims by name either based on where they worked or where they were when they died, but...

...the family members want to add the victims' ages, the companies they worked for and the floors they worked on to be listed.

Enough is enough. This isn't a private memorial. It's a public memorial. And there's only so much say the families should have, unless they want to pay for it themselves on private land. This is a memorial honoring the victims, put up by New York City.

And New York City can decide how it wants to honor them.

Love to all.

Best marketing email EVER.

Oh my goodness. This is AWESOME. It's from a company called "StaffITNow."

Subject: Fill the Holes in Your IT

Got Some StaffIng Holes To Fill?

Sometimes, it's good to have holes...like a hole-in-one during a round of golf. Most times though, holes are a problem, like when you get a hole in your tire while driving. When faced with that unfortunate situation, you seek the help of your friendly mechanic to plug your tire. So when you have holes in your staff, to whom do you turn?

I just felt so dirty after reading this. Dirty.

Love to all. Even you, the snarky copywriter who uses three times as many words as he needs to... no matter what.

The truth hurts.

My friends are so used to me. I can't shock them at all. I'm on the right. And sexist as it may be, I only talk this way to dudes.

Love to all. Even you, speakerphone guy.

Can't win 'em all.

Hell, I can't RUN them all.

I bailed on the Manhattan Half-Marathon yesterday. Instead, I ran 10 miles in my basement while watching Die Hard 3. I decided that 20-degree weather and my propensity towards upper-respiratory badness precluded my running. Work and family-availability prevail.

I still feel like a loser for not running, though. Alas.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who sneezed so loud I almost pooped in my pants.

Scary post.

Every now and then I surf the links of MY links. I look at people who people I find interesting find interesting. Say THAT three times fast.

This post scared the crap out of me, from a "Let's accidentally turn my daughter into a bulimic" perspective.

Then again, I'm exhausted, and am going to take a nap now. I commented on her post. Hope I didn't overreact.

Love to all. Even you, the mom who extended the visiting four-year-old's tantrum-laden playdate ending by about twenty minutes.

Run.

So, well, whoops.

The Manhattan Half-Marathon is this Sunday. I thought it was in another week or so. I'm SO not ready for this. But I'm running it anyway. Yesterday, I ran 7 miles, just to make sure I'd be able to run 13 tomorrow.

Yesterday.... well... sucked.

I had three clients call to complain about work performed (even work that had been performed months ago, to happy and signed-off-upon results). I've had interviewees not show up, and those that were were attitudinally challenged. I've had one staff person developing a moderate internal Culture of Opposition, and another who needs to learn that her job, however interpersonally fun, requires adherence to a hierarchy.

I have one client who, it turns out, was sued by one of our partners for 42k. They owe us 10k. I have another client who has decided only to pay us half of what they owe us, for reasons, as far as I've been able to uncover, are made up. I have one MORE client who said she's just not paying us, just because she doesn't want to.

I'm a wreck.

It's times like this that I just want to fire everyone who's not a partner and just do everything myself. I'm a great recruiter, I can do collections, I can do invoicing...

I don't know if it's a crisis of confidence in my STAFF, or a crisis of confidence in me.

My beloved isn't helping. (Oh, by the way, she doesn't read this blog. People are confusing comments from one person with comments from my wife.) I checked our checking account, and it looks like we're deficit spending. She's also suggesting really expensive things for the office (I asked her to help decorate). And when I express doubt, say, about the price and look of the lamps she picked, she buys two of them anyway "just to see how it looks." And when I ask her to cancel the order, she decides to buy them for her office at home. (Okay. One lamp was $40. The other, though, was $189. Gulp.)

Where, exactly, is that money supposed to come from?

One of my partners drew a really simple graph. He drew a square and put a thick line down the middl. Then he said: "This side is work. This side is home. Don't let them meet. You're first mistake was letting her paint."

I think he might have been right.

I don't seem to be able to find a way to destress and calm down. Maybe I need more sleep. (Duh.) Maybe I need to eat better (not having a Whole Foods nearby sucks).

Not sure.

Anyway. I'm in something of a funk. I'm going to try and work my way out of it.

Rock on.

Love to all. Even you, the NJ taxi on the West Side Highway who wouldn't pick a lane.

Anyway.

Oh, I don't know.

It's 6:30. My feet are up. Everyone's gone home. My office is empty.

I spent the entire day wrestling with a new payrolling system... sometimes literally. The payroll company sent us a PC, a Monitor, and TWO printers... I thought they were sending us a single check printer. Crazy.

The PC had a user account that was "managed," and they didn't give us the password. Lucky me, I guessed that they were silly enough to leave it as the login name. It was. We changed that right away.

I REALLY don't like having computers on my network over which I don't have admin access... but, thanks to bad security and piss-poor IT policy, they left the default windows Admin account password blank. I changed all the passwords, including their little Techie password account, and felt a little better about having that pile o' XP crap chit-chatting with my OS X Server.

Anyway.

I'm going to go home in a minute. But I have to say... I feel fried. Not upset, nor disturbed, just kind of drained of color. Cardboard-ish.

Would all of you like to have lunch on Friday?

Love to all. Even you, the young artist who couldn't stifle her strange and arrogant chuckle.

Hey! HEY!

I just replaced the top manifold on my dishwasher.

AND IT WORKS!

Holy CRAP!

Love to all. Even you, the Apple repair center guy who misassembled my MacBook Pro.

My day: a haiku.

Winter winds blowing.
My to-do list seems longer
than when I started.

Love to all. Even you, the street dude with the bloody hands.

Bliss.

Love to all. Even you, the futurist who threw me into a panic this morning.

View from the floor.

I'm sitting on the kitchen floor, reading an installation manual for our old dishwasher. There are identical-twin 5-year-old boys visiting my youngest for a play date. Maggie is out at the skating rink with my daughter and oldest.

I felt that I needed to share this.

Love to all. Even you, the misguided youngster who doesn't know how good she has it.

Useless protest.

In Times Square yesterday, there was a protest about the U.S. Government's new (and old) position on the Iraq War.

Useless, I say. Well-meaning, but useless.

Why? Because there can be NO bigger protest than the mid-term elections. No bigger statement than the Iraq Report released by Baker, et al. Only 30% of Republican's think Bush has a viable plan for Iraq.

The country is convinced. The only person who isn't is President George W. Bush.

And he isn't listening.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who spilled his coffee into the container of sugar packets in Starbucks.

6:52am Casual Friday.

'cuz now I'm in NYC, in my office. Ha!

Love to all. Even you, the loudtalker who repeated the last three words of each sentence... every sentence.

5am Flannel.

I love my new PJs.

Love to all.

Infallible.

For the folks blasting me for questioning certain tenets of the Catholic Church, for those folks telling me the Church is never wrong, and is always "univocal" ...

I ask you to kindly explain this.

Love to all. Even you, the angry leading the angrier.

All because it's right-wing... [updated]

...that doesn't mean it's wrong. And all because it's "left-wing," that doesn't mean it's wrong, either. I agree with my Conservative brethren on a variety of military and economic issues. In fact, there are TONS of things that aren't right/left/center, etc.

Opinions don't always have to be pushed into little bins.

So when Steve Nicoloso (who, according to his comment in this post, prides himself on the fact that he's not very nice) said:

The idea that the Church's teaching on contraception is causative (or even correlative) with ills such as neglect, HIV, and murder is standard left-wing agitprop, and not worthy of any response above mockery.

It bummed me out.

The fact is, the science is, that the availability of barrier-method contraception does not lead to increased promiscuity. But LACK of barrier method contraception DOES lead equal higher death rates. Period.

If I say "the sky is blue," Steve, does my position on gay rights mean I'm wrong?

The sky IS blue. Being anti-condom kills. Love rules. These are absolutes.

Steven also said:

NFP is not a licit method of contraception, but rather a licit method to delay conception or space out children for just reasons. A fine point, perhaps, put a clear one to those willing to think with the Church.

It's actually NOT a fine point. It's a pretend point. The whole "think with the Church" comment, though... that's just frightening. And it's augmented by Steven referring to the:

"...Church's clear and univocal teaching throughout her history."

Nothing could be further from the truth. The Church has absolutely NOT had a "univocal" teaching throughout History. Church. From start to present... there have been radical disagreements over doctrine and dogma. The Pauline Church was WAY more liberal than the folks who followed Peter. Deacons have been suppressed. Nazis indirectly (at best) supported. You've had Crusades, multiple Popes, and Creeds (Nicene and otherwise) which came about due to politics. Indeed, the Gospels themselves, while divinely inspired (in my opinion) are also political statements. Especially John, which was written in no small part to put down Thomas, and solidify the power of the Twelve.

Jesus created an Apostolic Church, with Peter as his rock. But none of those Apostles are, were, have been, or will be God.

How any follower of the Greatest Rebel of All Time, Jesus Christ, could say that you have to blindly follow the teaching of clearly fallible men is beyond me.

God demands otherwise.

Love to all. Even you, Steve.

Zing.

A song from Liz Phair's last album came on my iPod in my office.

My assistant noticed.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Very Visible Hairy Chest.

Abortion, Birth Control, “Respect Life.”

This is the text of a note I sent to my favorite priest at my church today. I’ve never written him before, but after a “Respect Life” homily, I felt I’d be hypocritical if I didn’t.

Dear Father M,

There are very few issues with which I can’t see both sides. Agree or not, I think it’s important to take a step back and try to understand where folks are coming from, and to try and see things from their point view. Thinking about it, there’s only one issue where I absolutely reject the “opposing” viewpoint: gay rights, gay marriage, etc. For the life of me, I cannot fathom how anyone could possibly say that being gay is somehow wrong, bad, inappropriate, or otherwise a question of “morality.” There is no “other side” on this one. Whoever is anti-gay is just, to me, purely wrong.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

On Sunday, you gave a homily about stem cell research. I can understand the moral and ethical reasons behind being against embryonic research, and I’ve read a little about how our own (marrow-based?) stem cells might be more effective in healing illnesses. But your most emphatic reason for abandoning stem cell research stopped me cold:

“There’s no guarantee that it’s going to work.”

I was pretty blown away by that logic. If the possibility of failure is a reason not to continue, then I can see very little that we should attempt.

Love is risk. Life is risk. Parenting is risk. Opening a school is risk. Heck, crossing a street is risk. Especially in the SUV Heaven that is Westchester, NY.

But even THAT isn’t why I’m writing.

I need to understand the Church’s moral stance on pre-conception birth control. I can fully understand the Church’s position on abortion, and post-conception birth control like Plan B, RU-486, etc. But the idea of pre-conception birth control being immoral seems just the opposite.

In my view, being anti-contraception is being a tacit accomplice to the spread of misery and disease. More directly: being anti-contraception is to be a tacit accomplice to murder. Murder via HIV, murder via neglect… there’s a lot of options on this one.

I sort of understand the “natural law” argument. But frankly, if we’re not supposed to modify the way we’ve been set up by God, then we should probably stop wearing clothes, riding in cars and airplanes, and DEFINITELY stop with all this “medical care.” Talk about intervening on natural processes.

The kicker, though, is that the Church approves of “Natural Family Planning,” which I understand to be the updated and MUCH more reliable birth control replacement for the “rhythm method.”

My understanding is that by using a combination of measurements (of secretions) and temperature, it is possible and allowable for Catholics to have recreational sex with an anti-conception accuracy that rivals barrier methods.

Where’s the true moral difference here? There’s a mechanical difference that’s self-evident, but the goal is the identical: having sex for fun, and to avoid conception.

I’m baffled. Truly baffled. Help?

* * *

Love to all. Even you, the lady who wouldn't even read this letter.

Banned.

Last Sunday, my employees and I gathered together to paint the new office. We put up primer and the first coat. Today, the second coat is going up. They are meeting at 10am to get cooking.

...I, however, won't be there.

It's like this: you need some copy punched up? Give me five minutes. Computer broken? I'm on it. Kids need motivation / distraction? I'm the man. But, um, need someone to paint without messing spraying paint everywhere like it came from a water gun? Well...

Maggie and my employees banned me from painting.

So I'll be home alone with the kids, again, while Maggie goes to the city to hang with my crew. Yesterday, she was at a job interview, and then completely crashed for the night at, like, six o'clock. So, it's a solo-childcare weekend. In fact, that's the one thing about this gig Maggie is up for... it includes two Saturdays a month, which means I'm going to have to figure out how to do two soccer games and ice hockey pretty much simultaneously.

How do single parents do it?

Love to all. Even you, fumbles.

The ultimate ogeda machine.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is my first-ever "fancy" car. We signed the papers today, picking it up Monday. I'm kind of freaking out. It's really nice, though. It's a 2007 328XI wagon, all-wheel drive.

After 10 years, we're not going to have a minivan anymore.

This is really Maggie's car. I'm going to be using the Miata, mostly. But jeez. I've got a beemer. Never thought THAT would happen.

Love to all. Even you, the bristly kid at the playground who acted like it would be a privilege to have him play hide-and-seek with us.

We interrupt this here blog...

...to point out that my five year old boy is an artistic genius. That's one emotive shark.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the timing issues.

My computer hell.

That is one hog-ass process. Didn't even NOTICE the 99.9% CPU usage when I snapped this.

This was only the beginning of my computer hell day. I'm too tired to go into it.

But, still. I'm excited about the prospect of things.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who talked on her cell phone in three different languages.

It's all wick, baby.

Fuck that whole "burning the candle at both ends" thing. Right now, it's all wick.

This URI I've got (not to be confused with a UTI, please) is hanging on strong, in spite of four days of Levaquin. Last night, it kept me up until about 12:15am, hacking away... then let me sleep for three hours. I took the 5am train to Grand Central, worked on some marketing materials, went to my AA meeting, then started my first day at the new company.

It was a strange and interesting day. I've never been in such a leadership position before. I'll get into some of this later.

Home, home, home.

I'm dead tired, but Maggie is going out tonight, so I've got to give the two little ones a bath and get them to bed before I do the same myself.

Zzzz.

Love to all. Even you, the nice lady who wanted to co-opt our branding on day one.

14 hours later...

I'm on my way home from painting and arranging the new office. Are we done? Nope. But everyone can print, the cams are up, the databases work, and the DNS routing is good to go.

I'll head in on the 5:01 train on Tuesday, try to do an hour's work or so before heading to my morning AA meting.

I've got a lot of mixed feelings about 2006. It was a strange, wonderful, difficult, and interesting year. My goal for 2007, I think, is consistency.

If I'm going to run: run frequently but not too much.
If I'm going to lift: do so in moderation.
I need to focus on the new company without being obsessive.
I need to focus on being a level-headed family guy.

I need to try and keep to the middle ground.

Hey. Happy 2007.

Love to all. Even you, the 20-ish girls in Grand Central station wearing way too much bling and way too little skirts.

Yay, I'm not a hypochondriac!

So, I went to the doctor's. He was like: you need strong antibiotics and albuterol, like, right now. Does anyone else out there fell vindicated when the Doctor tells you it's a good thing you came in, and don't wait next time?

I sure do.

Love to all. Even you, critter.

An Iraqi woman's persective.

I read this just now. I'm still processing it. It's terribly sad.

I've said it before: George Bush has taken this country's greatest recent chance for generating enormous amounts of worldwide goodwill (the tragedy of September 11, 2001), and turned it into a sick, twisted, hate-filled and murderous disaster -- from OUR side.

Every time George Bush talks about anything "Faith-based," I want to throw up. It just seems the height of hypocrisy.

Love to all. Even you, operator.

p.s. This is quite sobering, as well.

Mild collapse.

I've been running on piss-poor combination of 4.5 hours of sleep, Excedrin, and Robitussin CF for the last three days. I'm exhausted.

We completed the move from my place on 11th Street the new offices on 41st and Madison. Bye-bye East Village!

I don't understand one of my employees, sometimes. I like her a lot, and she's incredibly nice and honest and works really hard... but she also can be really needy.


Like, we had discussed her coming by on the Sunday before Christmas, because she was going to be in the nearby towns looking at houses... and she did call that day, but it didn't work out. But then she called me on Christmas Day to see if we were busy... even though she knew we were having a family over.

Like, today, knowing I'm dog-tired and completely fighting with a URI, she asked me if I would drive her home to 96th street so I could come meet her cats. She didn't actually want a ride (she declined). She only wanted one if I was going to go see her cats. And when I said that I didn't want to park my van with my stuff from the move in it, she said: "You don't have to come in."

Was she going to bring her cats OUT?

I know this sounds like nothing, but it's kind of cumulative. I can't explain it better right now, in my sickity-sick state.


Anyway: I feel calm enough to get sick now. My chest hurts, and I'm lying in bed, writing this, about to watch Dead Man's Chest.

Love to all. Even you, the toothless pedestrian crossing 14th street on a major, time-consuming slant.

Era.

My company is closing tomorrow.

It's been four years since we opened... almost to the day. And these last four years are, I think, the years where I finally grew up a little. I got sober again, I got married again, I learned a whole ton about love, lust, faith, pain, and hurt.

Mostly, though, I learned one thing: I have got to get over myself.

Life is easier when I realize that I'm not such a big deal. That my problems are petty and my joys should be shared and if I can make the people around me feel somewhat happier, then things pretty much rock.

I've done this before. Sort of. I sold my last company in 2000 for something in the very-low seven figures, and promptly lost most of what I got in the stock market crash in 2001. Live and learn. The difference, this time, is that I'm going to be the largest (albeit minority) owner in the new company. I'm going to have partners. Instead of working for the people who bought my company, I'm going to be part owner of a whole new deal. And THAT is pretty exciting.

My title doesn't change: "President & Technical Evangelist." But I have partners, more employees, and a much more complicated social and corporate environment to navigate.

I'm worried. And excited. And scared. And I'll let you know how it goes.

Love to all. Even you, the lady who just LOVES Chad Pennington.

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

A little Wii baseball action at Clan Championable.

Life is a little crazy right now. My chest hurts, I'm fighting off a sinus infection. I'm trying to get this new company off the ground. Maggie is out for a while. My daughter is seriously disrespecting her mother. My oldest is taking WAY too much candy.

And life is just fine.

I need to go upstairs, give my two youngest a bit of Dimetapp, give my youngest Pulmocort, take some advil, put the two youngest down, take some Robitussin, and go to bed. That's a lot of drugs. Ah, seasonal sickness.

Love to all. Even you, the 42 year old guy who hasn't unpacked his stuff six months after moving into his own apartment.

What is love?

"To love someone is to have them in your heart.
And I have you in my heart, Daddy.
...
...
And Mimi."
- My youngest boy. Age 5.

Mimi, of course, if one of the dogs.

Love to all. Even you, the old lady sleeping upstairs.

Merry Christmas from Clan Championable.*

From my heart to yours.

Love to all. Even you.

* pics by maggie.

*Really* stuck in my head.

For years and years, I hear the same thing when I perform certain actions. For instance:

Whenever I brush my teeth with my Sonicare toothbrush, I hear the Beastie Boys:

Intergalactic planetary, planetary intergalactic.

Whenever I have to type a lot of consecutive spaces on my computer, I always hear (one space per syllable):

I like to be in America!
O.K. by me in America!
Ev'rything free in America
For a small fee in America!

In the first case, it's the note that the toothbrush hits. In the second, I guess it's a pattern thing.

Which brings me to a point of great comfort: I think there's very little chance that I'm going to go crazy. I've been there for a good long time, now.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who realized about 20 years too late that, maybe, taking action to financially support his family is a good idea.

Thought process.

I ran 5.65 miles tonight, then jumped in the shower. I finished up, dried off, and was getting dressed for bed. As I was putting on a t-shirt, it slipped from my hands...

...and my hands were directly above the toilet bowl.

As the t-shirt fell, I immediately felt a twinge of panic, followed immediately by "Oh, crap. This sucks." Hot on the heels of that thought was "Shit. Did I just pee in that bowl?" Then: "No, it's relatively clean." And then: "But you know, if I drop my shirt into a bowl full of pee, thats pretty hilarious."

Then I caught the shirt. Event averted.

Love to all. Even you, my shifty friend with the contagious grin.

State of the Richie (and company)

• I'm officially closing my company and forming a new one with partners. Next week is the last operating week of my firm. Oh. My. God.
  
• Mimi has fully recovered from her emergency room visit. While they initially detected nothing wrong, it turned out she had eaten a sock. Yeah, you read that right. A SOCK. Did you know that dogs-eating-socks are the #1 reason for emergency room visits by dogs? Neither did I. And frankly, I'm not sure if I believe it.
• Maggie is officially 40. Last night, it was a Catch-22 of husbandhood wherein she was a little irritable and tired and reading... and therefore didn't want to talk to me... but she kept saying "'I'm SO old." And when I tried to soothe her, she said "SHHH!" Alas.

How are you?

Love to all. Even you, the lady who kept speaking to her blackberry about how it functioned.

Snippets.

Snippet I:

Youngest: Dad, you gassed!
Me: No, I didn't.
Youngest: Fine. You farted.


Snippet II:
Youngest: Dad, I want to get dressed like you.
Me: Fine, but don't put your underwear on your head.

Love to all. Even you, whoever got into a fight with the parking attendant at the wedding yesterday.

Real quick, part II.

Just got back from a wedding. One of the partners in my new business just got married, for the first time, at age 45.

With the exception of my own, it was the best wedding I've ever attended. It was emotional, funny, heartwarming, the band rocked, and I made Maggie really happy by dancing with her. I don't like dancing all that much, but when I saw how happy it made her when I made an attempt, I stayed on the dance floor for a lot longer than I think she expected.

The groom. Well, the groom should pretty much be dead.

The groom had done a lot of drugs in the past. A lot of DIFFERENT drugs. And even when he was brought down by a heart attack, stroke, and anyeurism... he kept doing them. Hell, for over 20 years, the guy had tried and failed to clear up his act.

But, like will happen in AA, he got involved, got his shit together, and has been sober for a few years, now. It's incredible to see.

There were about 10 of us from my home group in Manhattan, and seeing all these people I love SO MUCH, and then meeting all of their SPOUSES... holy crap. It was fun.

Happiness.

Love to all. Even you, the huge dude who, it turned out, didn't know the woman with who he, er, "dirty danced."

Real quick.

We just had our family holiday party. It's an annual thing that also doubled as an unannounced birthday party for Maggie. She's turning 40 on Monday.

I'm tired.

I just wanted to say, though, how totally awesome it was to have 50 people to our house... neighbors, old friends, people we've met through our kids... all coming over to drink a little, eat a little, and genuinely share cheer and happiness.

I'm living a blessed life.

Love to all. Even you, the folks I wish were here, but weren't.

Salesperson, meet your boss.

After explaining to me the details of a conversation she had with a client, I asked my new salesperson if she had brought pixie dust to the meeting.

(I am the one on the right.)

Love to all. Even you, the flip-flopping client.

Oh, Mimi.

My dog started hacking and coughing and making gross noises at around 12:30am... she was having some breathing trouble, so Maggie called the Animal Emergency center to bring her in. Maggie's been sick, so I said "You call, I'll go."

Naturally, as she was calling, Mimi got better. Playful, even. So I took her downstairs to wait and see if she started hacking again. At about 1am, she started hacking again, so I got her in the van and took her to the 24-hour vet.

And here it sit. Right now, they're x-raying my Flat-Coated Retriever to see what the hell she ate this time.

Love to all. Even you, you sweet, crazy puppy.

This is getting a little TOO obvious.

Another day, another evangelical minister who hates homosexuals but turns out to be gay.

Look. Real men don't care who you love. Or who you bang. As long as everyone involved is a grownup.

Love to all. Even you, Reverend Barnes.

I've been saying this for years.

I've always held the view that the second amendment applies to "well governed militias." Now, some folks in Washington DC are taking the same view. Interesting to see what happens. The only thing about this that bothers me, though, is that I had always assumed this angle had been thoroughly case-tested. I mean, those words are IN the amendment. Has nobody challenged home ownership of handuns based on the wording of the actual amendment prior to last week?

If so, that's baffling...
If so, shame on me for assuming otherwise.

Love to all. Even you, Mr. Heston.

Joe Kleinerman 10k: 12/10/2006

Time: 45:19
Pace: 7:12
Total: 641/4895
Guys: 566/2599

About 3 miles in, I felt the same sort of tearing in my left calf that I felt during the little race I ran on Thanksgiving. This time, though, I slowed it down a little and didn't try to push through it. By halfway through the fourth mile, I was able to pick it up again. It only hurts a little now. Phew.

Shower time.

Love to all. Even you, the burping dude who said "That was not my intention."

Ha!

We wore out the 22-year-old. She's staying behind to take a nap while I pick up my youngest from a party and Maggie brings my daughter to another.

Ha!

Love to all. Even you, the 4 cops who pulled over that one dude.

Lines? What lines?

My assistant / office manager is having mega-boyfriend issues. There's various issues of trust, potential alcoholism, verbal abusiveness, etc. It's the kind of thing that happens to everyone at some point, and the question always is: stay or go.

My opinion on THAT isn't really the point of this post.

The point is that Maggie and I invited her up to tony Westchester for a weekend getaway, where she can escape the drama, experience the "old people's" lifestyle, and basically just have a weekend of non-pressure. Does this totally obliterate the line between work and home? Ayup. The good thing is, I've pretty heavily examined my motives on this one, and I feel totally awesome about having her up for the weekend.

She's 22 years old... Which means she's WAY closer in age to my son than me, and equidistant to my daughter and me. Once she arrived in the house, she pretty much hooked up with the kids, and has gone off to play. I've checked in once or twice, and I'm definitely not needed in that crowd right now. In fact, there's already been a little bit o' tension between my oldest son and the other two kids over who is taking up too much of her time.

Twenty-two is so very, very in between. It's an unbelievably powerful, funny, tragic and interesting age.

Anyway. I'm sitting in the kitchen, having a nice cup of coffee, and writing this... in the background I hear happy screams and peals of laughter from the basement, where my assistant and my three kids are playing Super Smash Brothers on the GameCube.

I'm feeling all of my 37 years, and that's pretty much exactly where I want to be.

Love to all.

A mild case of the "fuck 'em"s.

I don't think I pluralized that correctly. Alas.

I tend to put people on pedastals: sponsors, friends, family. I think that they've got it together, and that they're always going to give me clear, untainted advice, and that they'll live their lives in outstanding fashion, setting a clear example for me to follow.

Yeah. That's supersmart thinking, there. But I do this regardless of how many events to the contrary occur.

We all know this. Pedestals lead, unversally, to disappointment... because nobody has their shit together. But that, my friends, is a huge-ass relief.

What I, Rich-At-Fucking-Championable-Dot-Com, need to do is close the gaps between realizing that everyone is somewhat fucked up, realizing that I am somewhat fucked up, and that it doesn't really matter in the end. Shit, it's because we're all a bit fucked up that life is such a wonderful and weird parade of delightful little experiences.

The things I've done wrong, would I trade them in for a less fucked-up past? With one real exception, no.

Anyway. This was something of a stream-of-consciousness post. Forgive me.

Love to all. Even you, the building security guard with the amazing glare who, for some reason, thought I was trying to bypass the ID system.

NYC goes big.

Big government, that is.

New York City just banned trans-fats in its restaurants. I'm completely blown away by this. I mean, my God, NYC is supposed to be a progressive city... a modern city... a SMART city. But for some reason, this liberal metropolis decided to allow the government to dictate what it's allowed to eat. It BANNED an ingredient because it's NOT HEALTHY.

That's fucking madness. The same kind of madness as motorcycle helmet laws. I mean, look: when you want to regulate things, you have to logic-test it to its most intrusive conclusion. And as far as I can tell, once you start banning ingredients based on healthfulness, you're giving the government permission to mandate people's diets in total. It's the logical extension of the law.

Look. If people want to kill themselves without harming other people, that's their business. We don't need the government run our lives for us at this level.

And please. Don't try and give me the logic that lessens the public burden via medical treatment for heart diseases, diabetes, etc. If you logic-test THAT one, think of how many
things you've have to ban because the public would be safer overall if it was disallowed.

Love to all. Even you, the big guy on the Metro North train scraping who was rubbing mud on the seat in front of him.

Whole Foods market, Union Square, NYC.

Or what, exactly?

Love to all. Even you, whoever patrols the floor.

Will. Not. Throw. Through. Wall.

When you're experiencing small-business panic at 3:30 in the morning and decide to do some of the common computer maintenance you sometimes forget to do, this is the LAST thing you want to see when you're troubleshooting software.

The tech support site needs, um, tech support.

Love to all.

Brother.

Hey.

Haven't talked to you in, Jesus, three-and-half years now. I gotta admit, bro', you totally caught me by surprise when you went along with Dad's craziness. Especially after we talked about what he did with our Uncle, and our Grandmother. Shit, dude. He didn't talk to THEM for 15, 18 years apiece. The same thing over two generations.

And now, of course, it's three.

What bothers me most, though, is that you know that I think he's a good person with problems, not a bad person overall. But you still made the decisions you did. Other people have explained to me why, but their reasoning seems so sad and small and petty. What a waste of time and potential joy. Anyway.

If I could saying anything to you today, brother, I'd just say:

Happy 40th birthday.

Love to all. Even you, Josh.

Everything is porn.

I spend a couple of hours this afternoon hanging these really cool and sparkly light globes on one of the trees in the front yard. Maggie peaked out at them after it got dark. Our two youngest kids were in the room with us.

M: Those sparkly balls look really amazing.
R: There are more in the bedroom.
M: Really?
R: Yup. Two. I think you should check them out. Extensively.
M: {that "Rich, you are SO thirteen" look.}

To me, everything has porn potential. It's just the way it is.

Love to all. Even you, the neighbor with the tech issues.

Run run run run run run run run run run

Maggie emailed me our schedule for the weekend. It was a fairly extensive email. I've got 17 minutes until Go Time. Sometimes, I feel like I go to work to relax.

Now, I'm NOT complaining at all. I'm actually more psyched about life than I've been in some time... and I was never particularly down on it.

RIGHT NOW: my ten year old is holding two plastic lightsabers and waiting for me to beat the crap out of him. I'm cutting this post short.

Love to all. Even you, the stupid friends-of-my-employee who ruined her bowling party.

Hell, yes.

Today, things went right and wrong and I'm COMPLETELY psyched about it.

I took my new salesperson to the WRONG building, even though it was the only address on their website. Then, I took my new salesperson to the RIGHT building for our next appointment. I was nervous about looking like an idiot in front of her. Just before the client came in we had this conversation:

Her: What are you going to say?
Me: I have no idea.
Her: You don't know what you're going to talk about?
Me: Not the slightest.

Then the client came in, and we had a really great conversation. On the way out, I asked how I did, and she said: "You were amazing."

So that felt good.

But what was even better was that when we were on the way back to the office she said to me: "You're kind of a happy person in general, aren't you?" And I thought about it for a minute, really thought about it, and said:

"Yeah. I really am."

Love to all. Even you, the discredited police officer with the serious jealousy issues.

The day turns weird.

New employee started today. It seems that she might completely rock in a totally new way. I think that one of my people was a tad nervous about the new hire, even though they are doing completely different things. And when this person gets nervous, she gets a little needy. Normally, that's not a problem. Today, though, I was really focused on getting the new hire up to speed. I was really explicit about this, too.

Gotta work on those management skills, I guess.

Came home early to go the dermatologist to see if there was anything to treat my AssFace. Hee. I realize that makes no sense, but I just felt like writing that. Anyway. I came home early to see the dermatologist about getting a Narrowband UV Lamp for my house. Since UV is the only thing that really truly works for this crap, I tend towards tanning salons (which have a lot of the wrong kind of light). But I'm definitely getting too old to bake myself that way, so I'm going the medical route. Turns out, I have to do their onsite UV treatment for like two months before my insurance will cover an at-home thing. Bummer, bummer drag. Especially because the doc is near my house, and I work in Manhattan.

Anyway. Left the Doc's, went to my car, and the car alarm went off. Couldn't figure it out. I thought maybe the battery had died, and reset the alarm state. (There's precedent for this.) Called Maggie, who came with jumpers. (Bless her heart, because she had a friend over.) But they didn't help. The alarm just kept blaring, resetting, blaring, resetting etc. The kill switch was useless.

THEN, just before we left the car to call a tow truck, I noticed that the wires to the alarm's killswitch had been disconnected. I didn't have strippers, nor did I think the length of wire remaining would allow me to reconnect 'em, so I left. We'll get the car tomorrow.

Got home, the ceiling is leaking. The feed from one of the loos is faulty.

Then the diswasher detergent dispenser broke.

Then Maggie went to bed sick.

Then my daughter gave me attitude for like, three hours.

Then I wrote this.

Love to all. Even you, the vigorously smoking nurse standing just outside the doctor's office.

Bookend productivity.

Why is it that I can get so much more done between 6:30 and 9am... and then between 5:30 and 8pm... than during any other parts of the day?

I don't get it.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who thinks covering his mouth somehow makes his cellphone call inaudible.

Serenity can wait.

In AA, we talk about serenity a lot. There's the serenity prayer, which is said after most meetings... there's lots of discussion about meditation (which is part of the 11th step)... and you'll often hear comments form folks about getting serenity, having their serenity blown, etc.

Well. I'm not ready for serenity just yet.

My sponsor fired me. Nicely. He thinks that our lives had become a bit too intertwined for him to be able to give me good advice. I agree. He's a good guy and I love him, but I was starting to find his behavior and advice a bit hypocritical and not in my best interest.

This had been coming for about six months, I think.

My ex-sponsor recommended a replacement. It was a terrible recommendation. He suggested this guy (who I know and like) because the guy has been sober for a while, and was looking for a sponsee. That's fine, but the guy also has terrible marital troubles, and the one thing I'm looking for in a sponsor is someone who has found a way to make marriage work.

And work well.

I have a new sponsor already. Someone I'd been thinking about asking for while. A guy I thought of as my backup sponsor anyway. So that's good. He's a different kind of AA person. Less of a fundamentalist and more of a balance-is-everything kind of guy.

Which is where I need to be, I think. I'm not going to hit a meeting day, seven days a week. I think if I hit four or so, I'm in fine shape. I think that AA needs to be an important part of my life.. a CRITICAL part of my life, but it the operative word here is, of course, "part."

I started back at my old home group this morning. I hadn't been there in about three months. It was scary and nervewracking and utterly delightful. The other meetings I've gone to have been fine, mostly, but home is where the heart is... and for me, that's The Breakfast Club. 7:30am. Manhattan.

Serenity can wait. I'll take stability.

Love to all. Even you, the angry young man worried about his "stalker."

Whoops!

I was thinking it was my template modifications that stopped me from switching to the Blogger beta, but I was wrong. Now I have to re-edit my template.

Poop.

Love to all. Even you, the guy in BJ's wholesale who was saying "No, that's STUPID." to his wife/companion/other over and over again.

Everything.

This is pretty much my whole life, right here.

Love to all.

My first "win."

So, my awsome neighbor's parents have a charity race every year. It's a 3.5 mile run through parts of Westchester County, NY. You bring canned food, you run the race, you go home, you make pies. This is the first year I ran. There were about 20 people running. Usually there are more, but I think weather inhibited quite a few.

When I finished the race, there wasn't anybody outside to meet me. It was freezing cold and raining, so this is understandable. So I went inside the hosts' house and yelled "HEY! Anybody home?" They were like "What? You're done?" About four or five minutes later, the next runner arrived.

The funny thing was, I actually hurt my calf AND had to stop and ask for directions. I'm feel very validated about being an actual runner vs. someone going for a run.

So now I'm home, and I have an enormous chocolate turkey to give the kids. They're very happy I won.

Rock it.

Love to all. Even you, the guy who tried to tell me that being a marathoner was a disadvantage.

True art.

My five-year-old ran into kitchen and said: "Dad! Dad! Come look what I made!"

I went and looked.

He smiled: "I made an ENVELOPE!"

Love to all. Even you, the sad-eyed woman resignedly chatting up her Mom.

Subtle.

I'm slowing down on my AA meetings. Calling AA people less than normal. Instead of giong to 7:30am meetings, I'm getting to work by 6:30 and doing database work and data entry and generally fretting about the impending merger.

I have to regain balance.

At work, I am stressed to the max and acting stupid-silly at the same time. One of the people who works for the landlord saw me in the hallway and said I looked "furious." These are all bad signs.

When I look furious but don't know it... that's a bad sign.

Maggie just called. We have a babysitter tonight, and I'm going to her home group with her. I guess, even though that's the opposite of what I want to do, that's exactly what I need right now.

Love to all. Even you, the guy to my right who keeps watching the movie playing on my screen.

NYC Marathon ->2007<-

I just qualified for the 2007 NYC marathon with my 9th race of the year: the "Race to Deliver" in NYC's Central Park.

Pace: 6:55
Gender Place: 286 out of 2424
Total Place: 312 out of 5093
Age Place: 127 out of 932

My shin splints were killing me the whole time, but fortunately it was only a 4 mile race. I'm pretty psyched to have done under 7 minutes under those conditions.

Anyway. I'm going to make chocolate chip cookies with my two youngest, then start cooking dinner: daddy's special tacos for everyone!

Love to all. Even you, the dude who accidentally spit on the nice and speedy lady behind me.

Bush to women: fuck off and die.

Always the optimist, I thougth that the elections might have sent President Bush a signal that he might want to moderate his insanely divisive stances a wee bit.

Oops.

Instead, President Bush appointed an ANTI-CONTRACEPTION ACTIVIST to oversee Federal reproductive / family planning services. We're not just talking anti-abortion-rights, we're talking anti-contraception. Anti-birth control.

Holy shit.

It's more than an insult. This guy's policies will kill some women, and ruin the lives of countless others. From my perspective, putting this person in charge is nothing short of crimial collusion.

Add it to Bush's ever-growing list of crimes.

Love to all. Even you, whoever answers the phone at (866) 435-7292.

Luckiest. Boss. Ever.

How cool is it that my staff likes to videoconference, even though we're only separated by about 6 feet? Very.

Love to all. Even you, the lady in the SUV who forgot to share the road with runners.

Stupid blogger image posting.

Grrr.

Love to all.

Sage advice that I’ve always ignored.

“You can’t be friends with your employees,” I’ve been told. And that may be true.

There’s a clearly structural reason for this: the employee is inherently unable to be truly an “equal” friend, because their livelihood depends on their boss being happy with their contribution to the firm. That contribution consists of work ethic, work quality, and demeanor.

Had a weird thing today where my friend/employee actually pissed me off, because she wasn’t listening to me when I tried to show her something on the computer. Her reason: she didn’t know I was serious because I joke around so much. Fair enough. But what that means, from a functional perspective, is that I shouldn’t joke around nearly as much, or at least in the way that I normally do.

Her other reason: she thought she could do what I was going to show her better than I could. I tried to explain that even if this was true, it doesn't matter.

Am I an idiot? Should I try to be less me at work?

Because what frustrated me more, though, is the same thing that I’ve run into throughout my thirteen years as an exceedingly minor corporate magnate: my silliness detracts from my ability to lay down the law. Or at least get folks to listen to me. I kept trying to convince this person that I was serious, and they kept insisting I was joking. It’s pretty clear to me that I was being fucked with (in what I believe to be nice-intentioned way), but it annoyed the shit out of me.

It’s a difficult thing, bouncing back and forth between friendly camaraderie and “hold on, I’m your boss.”

Hell, maybe it’s impossible. I’m going to think this over a bit. Especially since I have three employees now, and that should increase to five over the next year.

Love to all. Even you, the guy reading the “Nelson DeMille” book who keeps, um, adjusting himself.

The End.

I sometimes feel like I'm trying to create a Short Story Life.

Instead of a somewhat linear, start-to-finish kind of thing, I'm creating a compilation of essays. Family I. Company II. True Love I. Settling Down I. Drunken Decade II: Return of the Blackouts. True Love II. Adventures in Misguided Friendships. Etc.

I divide my life into separate phases, and once one a phase is over, I don't reconnect with it too much. With rare exception, I don't talk to any childhood friends. I don't talk to my "college buddies." I'm not in touch with my old bandmates. You see the pattern, here. The only exception seems to be ex-employees. There's two that I consider friends, and they'll get in touch with me if I don't get in touch with them.

Living a life as a coherent novel feels scary and overwhelming. It might be because I don't want to be able to trace my life back to childhood that I've created these phases. Or, I could be just like everyone else and just have a fucked up brain. I don't know.

There are a few people in my life, outside of my family, who I have come to love. I'm going to try, this time, not to cut them loose. I might not be ready to live my life as a novel, but maybe I can extend this phase to a novella.

How's that for beating a metaphor until it's dead?

Love to all. Even you, the dude in corduroy who's should really wipe his nose.

A seminal moment.

My son and I are watching The Matrix. How did he get old enough for this to happen?

Love to all. Even you, Agent Smith.

Dipshit McGoo.

Stupid, stupid competitor, trying to scope me out like he's a potential client.

DAMN.

Love to all. Even you, "Sal."

Who knew?

The Bill W. Dinner Dance is a huge, black-tie-optional affair at the New York Hilton, and it's the only major fundraising activity of the New York Intergroup of Alcoholics Anonymous. It's hilarious because thousands and thousands of the most hardcore drinkers and drug users on the planet are dressed to the nines (in whatever that means for them: tux, kilt, cross-dressing, elegant-punk, nearly nothing, etc), and...

and...

NOBODY GETS SHITFACED.

That alone is worth the price of admission. To stand up, look across this HUGE room, and see thousands of sober people having an absolute blast just kicks ass.

Maggie and I went for the second year in a row. The highight of the dinner certainly isn't the food, which defines "acceptable," but rather the speakers. There are three, and they've all been chosen from folks who were nominated.

This year's speakers weren't all that great. Nice people, but not nearly as engaging as the folks last year.

But that's not why we left early.

After 11 years of marriage, I found out last night that Maggie gets exceptionally uncomfortable in social circumstances. I don't get this, because Maggie is one of the most capable people I know. I also don't get this because I didn't KNOW this. And WHY I didn't know this is puzzling me at this very moment.

I was watching Maggie a bit during the speakers, and she looked a little pained. I asked "do you want to go?" She did. So inbetween speakers, we left.

It bugs me that I didn't know this about Maggie. How could I not?

Anyway: I'm going to lift weights and run now. A friend of mine made me a CD, so I'm going to listen through it again for deep, encoded meaning (it's like a leftover high-school instinct to do that), and to see if I've gotten so old that I can't recognize a single band on a CD compiled by someone born in the 80's.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who I truly hope to see at the Bill W. Dinner a few years from now.

Late Late Late Late Late Late.

We're supposed to have left for the Bill W. dinner dance five minutes ago.

Where, oh where, is the babysitter?

Love to all.

I agree with George W. Bush

"Whatever your opinion of the outcome, all Americans can take pride in the example our democracy sets for the world by holding elections even in a time of war," he said.

And you know what? He's right.

Love to all. Even you, the boys who walked right onto the soccer field during the final quarter of the girls' game.

Dear Republicans.

Now that my party has won the House and Senate, I think it's important that you know something.

I treasure you. And no matter how much I disagree with you... no matter how wrong I think you are, I will never, EVER, accuse you of being unpatriotic. You have every right to think how you think... and even if I think you are absolutely wrong about something, I will defend your right to express that opinion.

It's the American way.

Shout out to Ms. Britt for reminding me to write this.

Love to all. Even you, Dick.

Aim low.

When using a urinal in an elementary school, it is important to remember that they are designed for tiny people. Else, you might accidentally pee on the wall.

Love to all. Even you, the Fox News spin machine.

Too much, too late, two years.

So, the evening is shaping up to be a good one for American Democrats.

I don't know, though. I worry that the Democrats will take the house, maybe even the senate, and spend two years fighting Bush to a draw... only to lose the House again. I'm worried that the next two years will be just what the Republicans need to regroup. Their President can stalemate the legislative branch just long enough to make the Dems look ineffective... and the Republicans will use that time to position themselves as the more moderate alternative to Bush and the more effective alternative ot the Dems.

After six years of Bush shitting on the environment, the Constitution, human rights, and our own troops... after Bush losing every ounce of goodwill the world felt towards us after 9/11... I just worry that two years of legislative/executive stalemate is exacty what the Republicans want...

...and exactly what this nation doesn't need.

Love to all. Even you, Senator Santorum.

I get no respect.

An IM conversation between me and my assistant/Office Manager. "Omnidazzle" is a computer utility that lets your cursor sprinkle pixie dust. It looks better on a MacBook Pro than on a MacBook. But it looks cool on both. I have a MacBook Pro. She has a MacBook.

I am the person on the right.


I love this kid. And I don't feel guilty about saying "kid" because: 1) she's exactly in between my daughter and me, age-wise, and 2) she constantly tells me I'm old.

Love to all. Even you, the Mom who's letting her kid hang from the luggage racks.

Dear USA: Vote.

Or it's your own damn fault.

Love to all.

Toot.

You know, it occurred to me that maybe I can give up a little of the self doubt.

I mean, I run a pleasant little company that's about to merge with a bigger one. I just ran the NYC marathon. I'm an alcoholic, but I don't drink. My wife likes me. My kids don't think I completely suck. Shit, man. Even if things tank, I've done a fairly decent job.

It might be the post-mararthon endorphines, but I'm feeling pretty good.

So why do I feel guilty saying that?

Anyway.

There's a LOT more I want to write about tonight, but my son is waiting for me.

Love to all. Even you, the dude who drank two Foster's on the train, then drove home.

I'm not dead.

Phew.

Finished the marathon in 3:45.

I'm really happy with the fact that I had negative splits every 5k from start to finish... I ended the race at a pace over a minute-per-mile faster than I started. And I finished at a full-on sprint. Sometimes, I doubt my own sanity.

Rock. Fucking. On.

Going to sleep now. My calves are *killing* me.

Love to all. Even you, the people who STOPPED on the finish mats.

As it is written...

Leaving for NYC in 2 hours. Just wrote out my shirt.

Then, magic hippie lady, bath, nap, pasta.

Have I said "YIKES!" yet?

Love to all.

THIS is new.

My oldest just yelled "Dad, help!"

I went upstairs, and he said: "I just stepped in an enormous puddle of glue."

And so he did. An large, full bottle of Elmer's glue somehow emptied itself under Maggie's desk. And Maggie is asleep.

Cleanup time.

Bleah.

Love to all.

p.s. Maggie and I made up. Phew

Nerves, and the worst play EVER.

Maggie took me to see a play last night. Her friend was in it.

Her friend was okay. He would be pretty good if parts were written for him. The play sucked. I mean SUCKED. I mean: was really bad. Terrible writing, terrible acting, terrible blocking, lighting, sound... the audience was groaning.

...then, on the way home, Maggie and I got into a huge argument.

It was one of those stupid, stupid things involving details about soccer this weekend, and the marathon. I get really annoyed when things are left to the last minute, and when I'm asked to provide information that 1) I've already provided repeatedly or 2) That could easily be discovered in the time it takes to ask me to go and find out.

Clearly, though, the level of my reaction was fear-based. I'm pretty terrified about the marathon tomorrow. I'm scared I won't finish, that I'll miss the bus, etc.

I'm just scared about the whole thing.

Anyway: my back hurts, my chest hurts, and I feel like I'm bordering on the onset of a patent-pending Bronchial Event.

That must mean I'm totally ready to run.

I leave in about 4 hours for Manhattan, then no computer until Sunday afternoon *after* the race. I'll try to say bye before I go.

Love to all. Even you, playwright.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have an agreement.

It's in the lawyer's hands now. Almost.

Today, I decided to fold my company into a larger firm. We agreed to basic numbers, percentages, etc. Our tentative launch date is January 1. We want to have an agreement in writing within two weeks.

Yikes.

But you know what? I don't care right now. I'm more excited about the marathon. Less than two days until I'm a-runnin'!

I'm totally, completely stoked.

Rock ON.

Love to all. Even you, the "Bid D" cashier with crazy stare.

Another anti-gay crusader is... gay.

How many examples of this do we need to see?

So often, it seems that the most virulently anti-gay people are, well, gay. But they have been trained to think that being gay is bad, so they turn anti-gay to hide the fact that they are gay.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Gay is neutral. It's not good, or bad, or right, or wrong. It's just a way of being.

Damn, folks? Don't we have bigger issues to worry about than which kind of love is the right kind of love? Among consenting adults, love is love is love is love is love.

Sheesh.

Love to all.

New York Marathon: Fully equipped, baby.

I went to the Jacob Javitz center today to get my number. I met my friend Lisa, who is not the Lisa I miss, and is not my blog friend Lisa, but who IS a super-nice person, my former neighbor in Brooklyn, my Marathon companion for the Philadelphia Marathon in 2004, and the person who has run more marathons than anyone else I know. Lisa's awesome because she knows everything there is to know about marathons. From immodium to epsom salts to permanent markers to disposable clothing to the worlds longest urinal... she knows everything, and she's fun to chit-chat with, too.

Weirdly, we only hang out at marathons.

Anyway: the Javitz center was overwhelming. So much stuff. I bought stuff I needed: Gu, disposable gloves and jacket... and stuff I didn't: three different commemerative shirts.

I'm getting REALLY excited.

Oh. And I think I'm going through with the merge. I'll know by 10am tomorrow morning.

Love to all. Even you, the bulldog with the control issues.

Four minutes.

From this post, some well meaning folks gave me advice about my Father. It was very sweet of people to suggest I "just call" my Dad, but I don't think the folks who gave me that advice understand the picture.

My father is a sociopath.

I don't say this lightly. I love the guy. I believe that he's got a good heart, and if he isn't focused on you as the Evil One, then he's nice to be around. But if he turns on you, it's total, overwhelming, and can last for decades. And he never let's up. Shut him out (like we did, after we called the police on him)... but he's still out there seething. He anger does not subside.

An example.

A couple of years after we stopped talking, a relative of mine sent an email to a group of people saying that they'd arrived in their new home safely. My parents were one of the folks on the email list.

Knowing my father's psychology, I decided to take a chance and "accidentally" reply-to-all, with a little note to my relative saying how happy I was they arrived safely, and giving a little update on how the kids were. That way, if my father received the note and wanted to reply, he could. But if he didn't, he could just delete it, since it was clearly an "accident."

I sent the email.

Four minutes later I had an email back, threatening my wife and father-in-law with criminal prosecution (too crazy to explain in this post) if I ever emailed him again. Keep in mind, we hadn't spoken in years at this point.

Four minutes.

Four. Fucking. Minutes.

Love to all.

Work, stress, running, stress.

Three hours with the magic hippie lady. I can't believe she spent that much time trying to fix me up. Then again, she charged me.

I'm riding the 8:22 train back to Westchester, and my mind is reeling.

The deal to merge my company with Bigger Company is at a very weird point. In an offhanded way, the other person (Ms. X) who'd be joining the merged firm mentioned that she would work for me directly, if things didn't work out with the Bigger Company.

Casually, then, she blew my mind.

Here's the order of events.

1. Bigger Company tries to hire Ms. X directly. Fails. She's not interested.
2. After they couldn't hire her, Bigger Company suggests I try to hire Ms. X. I fail. We're a little small, and she doesn't knows us well enough to make the leap.
3. Bigger Company wants to open a new division consisting of my firm and Ms. X. She'll joing the division if I go. I'll join if she goes.
4. During the negotiation process, Ms. X gets to know me, and my kick-ass little staff. She becomes willing to join us directly.

So what the fuck am I supposed to do? There's plusses to both sides, but I don't see the point of joining Bigger Company at a minority ownership level if I can create something bigger, better, stronger, etc., at my own little firm.

So I'm thinking about it. And so is she. I told her that she really had to think over whether she'd come to my company or not, and give me an honest answer, so I can go to Bigger Company and tell them that the deal's off.

And Bigger Company wants to sew this up this week. Ag.

Also, the marathon is in four days. Nerves.

Also, the guy next to me is using a black MacBook, and I thought it was a PC with a sticker. I swear.

Also, I miss my friend Lisa a lot.

Also, I find the group of dudes at this downtown meeting I go to a tad intimidating.


Love to all. Even you, the guy in front of me who was super nice when I sat down, but apparently has some form of Tourette's.

p.s. The house in Vermont fell through because there was serious degradation of the support sills. As in, rot. Gross. Sorry I forgot to mention that, Anonymous Commenter!