Last evening was the first time since I started working for A Company Called Malice, Inc. that I got home before The Daughters were sleeping. I read to them for the first time in over a month. What a treat! Nobody has ever been as happy to see me walk into a room as The Daughters. You can see it in their faces. It’s sincere.

I’m sure when they’re angst-filled teens they’ll hate my guts but at this stage of the game, they still run up to me and wrap their arms around my waist (7-Year Old) and leg (3-Year Old) when they see me.

I was a reluctant father and had children very late in the game. I still believe that my life would have been just as satisfying if I hadn’t had them. I would have been one of those crusty old New Yorkers who everyone wants dead so they can have my apartment. That would have been fine with me.

But I have to admit; the attention they lavish on me is deeply satisfying. It’s a foreign sensation, as I never felt that way about my own father. As soon as I was old enough, I made damn sure I was out of the house when he got home from work. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

I just watched John Mayer on Austin City Limits. I didn’t know anything about the guy except what I read in the tabloids. I guess he likes to tramp around. He periodically dates Jennifer Aniston and dumps her. That seems to happen to Jennifer a lot. She must be a monumental pain in the ass.

But I digress. I thought he was great. The guy’s a hell of a guitar player. His style reminded me of Stevie Ray Vaughn, if you can imagine that! Did you know he could play? I didn’t! I thought he wrote songs you hear on Lite FM.

Is that okay? You know what I mean. Is it okay to like John Mayer or does that make me…I don’t know…kind of…girly. During an extended guitar solo they cut to three girls in the audience who all wore matching green t-shirts that said “John.” They looked like lonely, middle-aged Catholic girls who wanted to cuddle him. So I’m feeling a little unsure about liking John Mayer.

Five months ago I was laid off from Benevolent Dictators, Inc., aka, Morgan Stanley. My family and I gutted out four months of unemployment. At one point, 7-Year Old Daughter’s first grade teacher phoned to say that Daughter told her, “My Daddy got fired and nobody wants him.” It was rough stuff.

Four weeks ago I lucked into a consulting gig at A Company Called Malice, Inc., a global investment banking superpower. The financial services community in New York City is flat on its ass and the fact that I found a job AT ALL, much less one in investment banking, is a miracle.

I signed a three-month contract. At its expiration, they can elect to renew it, offer me a staff position or leave me to the tender mercies of the economy.

While the work I’m doing at A Company Called Malice, Inc. is satisfying, it requires 60+ hour work weeks. I’ve not seen my daughters, wife or friends since the day I started there. It’s horribly managed and the workload is heavy.

Yesterday I was pulled into a conference room by the department head. He said that everyone is so pleased with my work that they want to terminate my contract and offer me a staff position straight away. The horrible paradox is that I love what I’m doing, but am afraid I’ll never see my family again. I don’t want to overhear my daughters say, “Oh, I never really knew my dad. All he ever did was work.” I don’t want to be weekend dad. I’m not that motivated professionally. I’m just regular.

But I have to be pragmatic. I need the benefits. I could take the job right now and trade up when the economy improves but you have to be careful about stuff like that. You know what they say:

And then one day you find
10 years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun

I’m posting this from Bryant Park near 42nd Street and 6th Avenue. It’s very early in the morning and there aren’t many people about yet. It’s warm and the sun is just starting to crack between the Chrysler Building and the New Your Public Library and spill onto the freshly sodden lawn. The trees are finally full of leaves. I thank God for this dirty old town that causes me untold heartache and then helps me to get through it.

Star Trek had a strong opening this weekend. Its $76.5 million three day take was propelled by unexpectedly strong reviews. In a New York Times article this morning, Paramount Vice Chairman Rob Moore was described as being “giddy.” He said, “It’s a great relaunch to this classic property.”

He referred to the movie as a “property” and was giddy about the money. What a corporate cog. What a prototypical anti-humanity Hollywood stuffed shirt. Can you imagine going out for a pint with this guy?

ABC is making a TV series out of Robert J. Sawyer’s novel Flash Forward. The novel supposes a worldwide 2-minute 17-second period of unconsciousness in which people are able to see themselves six months into the future.

I have to be perfectly honest and say that six months from now, barring unexpected calamity, my life will almost certainly be exactly as it is this morning. Six months isn’t a long enough period of time to effect significant change unless you’re about to graduate from a University. How interesting can that program possibly be?

The following teaser paragraph appeared on the front page of the Sunday New York Times real estate section:

The Tovar family wanted to move to New York for health reasons. They found a town house in Greenwich Village with a $15,000 monthly rent. So far, it seems to be the right medicine.

Having the wherewithal to pay $15K a month for rent would be the right medicine for just about anything that ailed you, I suppose. The Tovar’s son has asthma and living in Florida exacerbated his condition. Apparently, because of New York City’s lack of botany, he is able to live a healthier life in the city.

One day Mrs. Tovar said, “Let’s leave.” So they did. The plan was to test New York City through all four seasons…

?!?!?!?!

Their real estate agent in New York said, “To them, 2,000 square feet it tiny.”

They considered a three-bedroom at 15 Central Park West, listed at $27,000 a month. “I wasn’t completely satisfied,” Mrs. Tovar said. “Everyone gets drawn into the amenities, but to me the space was a factor.”

Mrs. Tovar sounds like a big a pain in the ass to me.

This was tough for me to read. I’ve just come off of four months of unemployment and have a consulting job that doesn’t pay benefits. My gut reaction was, “Hey, fuck you, Tovar family, and your bottomless well of money and prima donna attitudes.” Then I came to my senses and realized how immature and unfair that is.

But the Times got the story all wrong. It’s not about the search for a suitable apartment in Manhattan. It’s about how some people have so much cash at their disposal that they can solve some of life’s problems by shoveling money into a furnace. I mean, who rents? Isn’t this a buyer’s market?