And so it begins… 30-year-old birthday celebrations for friends that are my age.

We celebrated D’s at The Rambling House in the Bronx.  I opened a tab and was warned that I needed to put at least $20 on it.  I kind of looked at the bartender dumbfounded.  Wasn’t that a drink and a half?  But several drinks later and a round of shots for the birthday girl and my total bill was $27.  I need to hang out there more often.  Except for their weird policy…

Whatever, didn’t listen to that top rule at all.  Meanwhile, gulp, 105 days to go for yours truly.

A couple weeks ago, and a couple minutes after this post where I rejoiced over having an allergy-less weekend (keeping my readers on the edge of their seats with each post I provide, I know), my mother in law texts asking if we want to go to a Red Sox game that Sunday.  Now, I try not to assume things right away but she lives 5,000 miles away with minimal interaction with anything to do with the Red Sox.  However, she does have a very close friend who has some of the best seats at Yankee Stadium, where (a quick google search later I find out) my beloved Sox are playing.  So I spend the rest of the day squealling and trying to contain my excitement – and sure enough, it is later confirmed that they are offering us their seats once again.  So two Sunday’s ago I found myself here:

I’m providing my crappy-no zoom iphone pic above to show you just how awesome these seats are!

It didn’t seem to start out looking so great but with this three game sweep and a couple more awesome wins since then, this may just be the year that Sox will finally get her real name “Red Sox World Series Champions 2011.”

Of course no visit to Yankee Stadium is complete without photos of my favorite seventh inning stretch YMCA sing-along.

My boss is flying out to Hawaii this week so I tried to come up with important bits of advice that would help him out. I thought and thought about what to suggest. And I finally came up with the best piece of advice to say, “don’t wear speedos”.

Pretty good piece of advice if you ask me.


And, are we really supposed to believe that they would go to Nationals without even having the songs written (much less PRACTICED or choreographed)?

I mean, besides the obvious point that choral competitions don’t allow original songs and make you select from a list of eligible songs…

This. Exactly.


I pretty much love any and all rapture related jokes and cannot get enough of them. But of course, it would totally be my luck if the rapture exists and I don’t make the cut because I’ve spent the last month in fits of laughter anytime I see or hear anything slightly related to it. So with that, happy May 21st everyone, and may the odds be ever in your favor (damn, hope the end of the world doesn’t mess up the filming and release of The Hunger Games!)

[image: jnnpr / cyn-c.]


Father-Son Moment of the Day: In its latest round of housecleaning, CBS canceled its promising, yet ultimately banal sitcom $h*! My Dad Says. Justin Halpern, the comedy writer whose dad’s mercurial musings formed the basis for the novelty Twitter account upon which the show is based, broke the news to his dad over the phone.

Their conversation offers perhaps the most honest explanation for why the show was ultimately canceled: It may have been a decent show, but compared to the things Justin’s dad actually says, it was sh*t.

So yesterday the TV show based off the twitter feed, and my book, Shit My Dad Says, was cancelled.  I worked on the show for the last year.  It was a bummer, until I remembered that I got a TV show based off a twitter feed and a book and was basically the luckiest asshole who ever roamed this earth.  Anyway, I decided I should call my dad to give him the news.

Hey.  What do you need. I’m busy,” he said.

Do you have a second?” I said.

Is this Justin?” he said.

“Yeah.  Who’d you think it was?“ 

Didn’t know.  Just picked up the phone.

You didn’t know who it was and you answered the phone with ‘Hey.  What do you need?  I’m busy?,” I asked.

Let’s people know not to f*ck around with my time,” he said.

My show got cancelled,” I said.  

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and I wasn’t sure if he heard me.  I was about to say it again, when he spoke.

Well.  F*ck.  Sorry to hear that, son.

Eh, it’s okay.  It happens.  It was crazy I got a show on the air in the first place.

Well, I liked it.  It was kind of sh*tty at first, but I thought it got a lot better.  You know what show I like? Cheers.  That was a good show,” he said.

That was a good show,” I said, wondering if that was part of a larger point he was about to make.

Also I liked The Simpsons.  At first I thought, it’s just a stupid cartoon for pants-sh*tters, but I was wrong, great show.”  (Pants-sh*tters is how my dad refers to toddlers.)  

Well, I just wanted to let you know.  I know you’re busy so I’ll let you go,” I said.

“I‘m 75.  If you’re busy when you’re seventy five, you f*cked up the first seventy five years.  I want you to know that I’m proud of you.  You didn’t put a bullet through Bin Laden but I’m proud of you.  You’re a bust-ass kid.

Thanks,” I said.

And let’s not forget the big picture here.  You don’t have to live with me anymore.  One less person crawling up your ass every morning.  That’s all anyone can f*cking ask for.

[justinhalpern / above: justin and his dad, 1983 / thanks rob!]

Typical typical. Another one of my shows bites the dust. But I agree, real dad talk > tv dad talk. Although since William Shatner > everything, maybe it was a wash.