In November 2011, my dad and I got our first iPhones. As you know, my dad is not very tech savvy. The cell phone he had before he got his iPhone was so old that the antenna had broken off of it. That isn't an exaggeration. That is a fact... that is true... about his phone... in 2011. He was so overdue on phone upgrades that he got his iPhone 4S for free.
In fact, his camera-less flip phone with half an antenna was so old, they weren't even able to transfer over his SIM card, so he had to enter his contacts manually. I was home for Thanksgiving when we got our new phones, and I texted my cousin Eddie saying that my dad had an iPhone and this was bound to inspire a great blog post (ok, I'm a year and a half late but here it is). I told Eddie that my dad had to enter his contacts one-by-one and Eddie said, "Wait, so your dad doesn't have my number in his phone?" Given that I just taught my dad a few weeks ago how to copy-paste on a COMPUTER, at the time of this iPhone tutorial I knew that it would be awhile before he'd get to the E's in his phone book.
Two minutes later, my dad informed us that he had been contacted by his iPhone texting assistant, "Stefan."
Eddie, sometimes you really are quite brilliant.
I managed to record the whole thing without my dad noticing (I apologize it's all vertical.. I was new to the iPhone as well). I've trimmed it down to one video with just the highlights. Enjoy.
I did not realize that between yesterday's blog post and the one prior to that, three months had passed. Yikes. Thanks to everyone who apparently still checks my blog and enjoyed yesterday's post - I appreciate you not giving up on me.
Since it's been forever, let's play a little catch up. I know my "dad" posts have been the fan favorites, so even though it's been a few months, I will try to relay some of the highlights of his visit at Christmas. I kept some notes on my phone and am trying to dust off my brain and remember what they mean. Let's take a look:
"Peter Dinklage"
This was great. We were at a Thai restaurant for dinner and were sitting in the window. My dad says, "Hey, you know who just walked by? That little guy.. You know, the one from Elf?" Without even saying a word, I bolted from my chair and ran out of the restaurant in pursuit of Peter Dinklage (in case you weren't aware, I have a not-so-secret, inexplicable thing for Tyrion Lannister). I ran up the block only to find, it was a child with his mother. Not Peter Dinklage with his wife. It would have been offensive had it been just another little person but the fact that it was a child was a whole new level of rude. Oops.
"Raccoon in a cage"
I am so bummed I didn't have the foresight to send myself this video from his phone. My dad is looking through his photos and then starts chuckling to himself, à la Mariel's-party-hat. "Mariel, you gotta check this out." So he shows me this video on our back deck of an angry raccoon in a cage. I asked why he took a video of it and he just said, "He was shitting on my deck. [more chuckling] I got him."
"Drawing glasses on Evita"
While waiting for the curtain to rise at the Broadway production of Evita, I noticed my dad drawing glasses on his playbill. I asked if he was going to draw a moustache too and he just said "no" with a straight face. When he was finished drawing the glasses he laughed and said, "She kind of looks like your sister right?" Don't worry, Katy, I think it was a compliment.
A striking resemblance.
"I used to have hair like Ricky Martin."
I've mentioned his receding hairline paranoia before. I don't think I need to explain this one any further.
"He has pants on."
No recollection on this one. But it sounds awesome.
"Punjab"
That's what he would call me when I was getting ready in the morning and had my wet hair wrapped up in a towel. More or less offensive than the case of mistaken Peter Dinklage identity?
"The hillbilly you marry"
I don't remember the context of this but all you need to know is that this is not the first time he has accused me of hillbilly affiliations.
"Space Cowboys"
He was partnered with my uncle Joe for our family boozeball foosball tournament on Christmas and given their seniority in the group, he referred to their team as the "Space Cowboys." God, I love a good Space Cowboys reference. Dad FTW.
"Law & Order retirement"
His dream for partial retirement is to play "the neighbor" in a few episodes of Law & Order per season. His line would always be something along the lines of "he mostly just kept to himself, never seemed to bother anybody." I'm not sure how you get away with playing that part multiple times but if elaborate disguises are involved, I will lead the crusade for NBC to greenlight 8 new Law & Order franchises in the next 10 years.
"Instagram"
We went for a nice family walk in Central Park and I snapped a couple of nice Instagram photos out of it:
Not an Instagram pic, but please note that the first 4 times I tried to take this picture,
my dad would wave his hands around like a jazz clown right before I could snap the picture.
We went to a bar after our walk, and I showed the pictures to my parents, knowing that my dad's reaction to the filters would be similar to if I hopped in a time machine and treated Buster Keaton to a screening of Avatar. Obviously this was spot on, and I explained Instagram to him. Distressed that he was just finding out about this now, here was his response: "We've wasted so much time over this trip. You could've been teaching me this." Instagram? "Apps." There is not enough time in the world.
"Walking on the moon"
After leaving aforementioned bar, his Irish coffees had caught up with him and he just said "Whoo, I feel like I'm walking on the moon!"
And finally.. a short video I captured when he was trying to insist that since he's gotten an iPhone, all of a sudden everyone started to text him all the time and he doesn't know how they know he has an iPhone now.. Yeah I know.. If you think that explanation rattled your brain, just wait until you see what it does to him (note: Mary Manning is a nursing home on the Upper East Side):
Cannot stop laughing at that meltdown. Incredible.
While I was growing up, my family never put up our Christmas tree until December. My mom hated rushing the holiday after Thanksgiving. But given that I am the only person in my family who enjoys helping my mom decorate the tree, we became "those people" once I went to college because if I didn't put up the tree with her over Thanksgiving, she'd have to go it alone sometime in the weeks following. Now that I'm living out in New York, though, this has become an especially important part of my Thanksgiving break at home. My family comes to New York for Christmas, so Thanksgiving weekend, when I decorate the tree with my mom, is the only time I actually get to see our Christmas tree in person. I have always loved Christmas (if Nat King Cole's "Christmas Song" makes an appearance in the old iTunes shuffle, at any time of year, I will not skip the song - out of respect), and since we have had the same artificial tree for the last 15 years (we could never have a real Christmas tree since we always traveled during the holidays and apparently that would be a fire hazard - one of those facts your parents tell you when you're 8 years old and you just accept as the truth of God, like how eating carrots gives you strong teeth), seeing this tree is a fond reminder of Christmas memories and a welcome constant as life has transitioned rapidly from high school to college to moving across the country and trying to be an adult (I'll get there one day).
Maybe it's because I'd just entered my 24th year on God's green earth just a couple of days before, but as we were decorating the tree this year, I contemplated how many years, how many Christmases and vacations and birthdays and presidential elections (yes, we commemorate each presidential election with a Christmas ornament, you mean your family doesn't do that?), had resulted in the endless number of ornaments my parents have collected.
So then of course, I started thinking, geez Mariel, you're already 24 and you have about 3 ornaments in your wheelhouse and you don't even have a Christmas tree to put them on, and next year you're going to be 25 and then you start the countdown from 30 and it's like, ok you've got 5 years to get your shit together and have a respectable Christmas tree.. STEP UP, WOMAN.
Ok, nearly-quarter-life-crisis aside, my mom and I started laughing about how funny some of these ornaments are so without further ado, here is a glimpse into the Christmas tree at the Synan house:
It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags.
This year, Christmas came straight up with a twist.
This ornament was one of my sister Katy's creations. I think she made it in first grade. You know, back when she was going through her Chinese throwing star phase. I swear to God, one of these years, this thing is going to pierce one of our hands while we're rustling through the ornament box. This has weathered a lot of packing and unpacking over the years so believe it or not, it has actually LOST a few toothpicks but this could absolutely still double as a weapon. Kevin McCallister would be proud.
I can't give Katy too hard of a time without calling to attention one of my signature pieces. That's right. This is a Turd original. Gold bangs on snowmen were definitely on trend that year. #MostLikelyToHaveTheBestHair. The "y" on "Melly" was spelled backwards on the back of this. Shocking.
I started to rip on my brother Nicholas when I saw this one. I mean, talk about an egocentric Christmas ornament. Forget baby Jesus, Christmas is ALL. ABOUT. NICK. But then my mom reminded me of the homemade Christmas ornament we have from my dad's childhood...
Note that this is the only ornament I am not showing with a close-up, because I needed to give perspective on how large this thing is. There is no appropriate place to hang it on the tree. But I have to hand it to my dad, talk about a power play. There was no amount of macaroni or glitter his brother or sister could use that would upstage this behemoth. As a fellow middle child, I respect the strategy. Naughty or nice? Walk that line, Dad. This one is for Santa to decide.
Wait, your family doesn't have a dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornament?
Wait, your family doesn't have two dentist/oral surgeon Christmas ornaments?
Nothing weird going on here.. Nope, just ask these furtive pigs clutching a candle.
This has always been one of my favorite ornaments. I don't know what it is, maybe the side eye. Bringing a little bit of bitchiness to the holidays? Absolutely.
I can't even take credit for finding the humor in this one. Way to go, Mom, for pointing out the pantless, pre-pubescent basketball player. Why is he giggling about covering his privates with a basketball? Why did he curl his eyelashes? WHERE ARE HIS PANTS? Attention readers: if you stumble across an "Unintentionally Inappropriate Christmas Ornaments" tumblr, please, for the love of baby Jesus and the Magi, submit this.
And last but not least.. what's that lurking in the shadows?
Oh don't worry, it's just the velvet-armed gnome-acorn centaur. Trust me, it's more afraid of you than you are of it.
This ornament is everything. I feel like my mom got this in Austria? Or maybe she made it when she was a kid? Regardless, it is one of those ornaments that doesn't have a string or ribbon or hook or anything, so instead of hanging it up, it nestles on the branches.
Nestles on the branches. This creeped me out as a child. I was convinced it was alive and didn't want to be restrained hanging mid-air by fishing wire so instead it sat on the branches so that it could move about freely during the night. I don't know why it scared me. It's not like it has velvet arms or a cane or is half-gnome, half-acorn or anything.
Carolyn says she's going to boycott my blog until I post the stories about my dad from our trip to Kauai. Given the infrequency with which I've been blogging, this would not be a very impressive protest on her part. But all the same, I know how much the world my 7 loyal readers love stories about my dad, so I shall oblige.
Hawaii Five-No
1. If any of you have ever been to the Hawaiian islands, you'll know that there are chickens and roosters running around all over the place. When you first notice them, it's sort of a novel thing and you want to take lots of pictures. And then after a couple of days, they're sort of just squirrels with feathers. Anyway, my family had been in Oahu for a week before I got there so the novelty really should have worn off for Bill. But the first morning I was in Kauai, I went for a walk with my parents, and in the middle of a conversation with my mother and me, he just darted off into some tall grass after some chickens. And he was meowing. Meowing. At some feral chickens. My previous understanding of the bird-cat relationship - which is mostly based on the Looney Tunes - would indicate that he was trying to scare them away with his meows, but the excited grin on his face suggested it was a misguided attempt at befriending them. Moving on.
2. He bought the above t-shirt and told me that it's "as seen on Hawaii Five-O.. the new series." I laughed and he said, "No, it really is!" Oh ok.. I thought that was a joke. I liked it better when it was a joke.
3. While getting ready for dinner one night, he walked into my siblings' and my room, looked at my brother, and said, "Look at this kid! What are those.. he's got linen shorts? Ann, this kid has linen shorts. Why didn't I think of that? God, I can't keep up with these three." I'm a really big fan of overreactions, just in general, and when they're sparked by something like linen shorts, that's just icing on the cake. When he visits in October, I may have to just walk him around H&M with a tape recorder and see what happens.
4. Ok, this was so long ago at this point and I'm just looking at the notes I took on my iPhone as reminders for blog material.. so now I don't remember where I was going with this conversation but here we go. I think it's still funny:
Me: "Ok, don't take this as an insult--"
Dad: "I already am."
Me: "--but did you bring..."
Dad: "Rogaine?"
Both of my parents have aged really well, but since I can remember my dad has been convinced that his hairline is receding. I can't remember what I was trying to ask my dad in this instance but I can assure you, it had nothing to do with his hair. But he managed to go there. Yet again. He is also very concerned about having man boobs. I think this is because he learned the word "moobs" in the last year or so. But yeah, you can imagine how often that question came up on a beach vacation. At one point, he said that I get my boobs from him, managing to insult himself, myself, and my mother in one fell swoop. Irish charm. That's why we love him.
5. Here's another great conversation that went down that week:
Dad: "The man behind the counter looked like a sushi man maker. A man sushi maker. A sushi maker man?"
Nick: "He looked Japanese."
It's not often that Nick gets to be the voice of reason. Way to step up.
6. I gave him my phone and asked him to take a picture of my mom and sister with me. He stands there making us shift a little bit left, a little bit right, etc. to supposedly get the perfect shot...
"Mariel's party hat."
... when in reality, he was trying to get us to line up so that the tiki torch behind me would look like "Mariel's party hat." I can't tell you how long he laughed about that one. Just picture a grown man who needs glasses, holding an iPhone as far away from his face as he can, chuckling "Mariel's party hat" to himself. Incredible.
7. As I've mentioned previously, my dad is not the savviest when it comes to technology. He's really into taking photos with his iPhone now, though, and it's rather endearing when he tries to take artsy photos of ducks in Central Park. His one complaint, though, is the dual camera. I got to witness this frustration first hand and it sounds something like this: "Ughsdfhh, I hate when the camera flips around on you like that. I look like the biggest loser." Classic overreaction. Classic Synan.
8. This is him zip-lining into a pond:
Look at that form.
9. We were in Hawaii during the Olympics, and every time Mary Carillo would show up on screen, he'd say, "Who's this guy?"
10. While one male gymnast gracefully made his way across the balance beam, he expressed his admiration by noting that he can't stand on one leg and take off his sandal at the same time. #Respect. Then when it came to one of the Irish gymnasts doing his floor routine, every time he'd do the splits, my dad would make a fart noise. #NotSoMuchRespect
11. And last but not least, his reaction to the Olympic sport of track cycling. As soon as I saw those helmets, I knew he was going to lose his mind. First to line up, the Australian team. "What the hell is this? What the hell? These guys look like a bunch of lemon pops!" Well, to be fair, they kind of do. Then the race begins and he is not impressed, directing most of his anger at the pace bicyclist, who he referred to as "the mailman." Well, to be fair:
Sometimes he really is spot on.
My favorite comment of the evening, was, "You know what would be really cool? If they were really tiny people and they cut up your pizza pie." When it was all over, and I was wiping tears of laughter from my face, trying to catch my breath, he just said "There are literally millions of texts being sent around the world that just say 'WTF.'" Which, ironically, was my reaction to his 7 minute long commentary.
Well, that's all for now, friends. Bill comes to visit in a little over a week so if you have any suggestions for a Dad-inspired blog post, please send them to me! mariel.synan@gmail.com
The mouse is dead. Before I could even post my "help us name the mouse" poll. Name candidates included The Earl of Snackington, Herman Muenster (spelling intentional), William Jennings Bryan (three-time candidate for President and opponent of the gold standard.. how fun would it be to say things like "William Jennings Bryan chewed a hole in the Triscuit box" or "I just saw William Jennings Bryan behind the fridge"), and Heisenberg. I'm post-humously naming him Heisenberg. Respect.
I walked home tonight after getting dinner with my cousin Katie. I called my parents to chat as I made my way home. I was still on the phone with my mom when I walked into my apartment, and immediately saw the trap that had made its way a foot and a half out from under the kitchen counter. Stuck to it was Heisenberg himself.
Not. Dead. Yet.
Heisenberg, ya dead? No, man.
After some incoherent squealing coupled with the poor cell reception in my apartment, my mom insisted I slow down and tell her what was happening. I told her the mouse was caught in one of the sticky traps but wasn't dead. The lower half of his body was caught in the trap but he was using his face and/or hands to scoot his way forward. He was sporadically flailing his head about as I talked my way through this which only led me to question how long it had taken him to move a foot and a half. How long had I been torturing this furry little creature? Suddenly, I was no longer out for blood, determined to eliminate this pest that had settled in my apartment without an invitation. Maybe it was because I had a long conversation with my co-workers today about the death of our family pets. Maybe it was because he seemed a lot smaller and cartoonish up close. Maybe it was because he didn't even get to eat any of the peanut butter out of the trap. But suddenly I felt very sorry for the mouse. And suddenly I was crying. Like really really crying.
I shall remember you as the adorable mouse that you never were.
My mom put me on the phone with my dad who proceeded to talk me through the rest of this situation. (Sidenote: Carolyn, hope you're having fun at Bonaroo. This weekend has been eventful. We'll catch up over some Seamless web in a few days.) Dad was not really having any of this crying business, so he told me my best option was to.. wait for it.. drown the mouse in the toilet.
Hang on a second..
Yes, I heard that right. Drown the mouse. In the toilet. That seems like it would calm my nerves, right? How am I supposed to get the trap out of the toilet then? What if the mouse comes out of the sticky trap in the toilet and then I have to pick up the DEAD, TOILET-WATER-SOAKED MOUSE out of the toilet WITH MY BARE HANDS?
Dad: Ok, do you have any other traps? Yes, obviously I have 9 of them. Ok, take one of those and put it on top of the mouse and then put the whole thing in a bag and take it out to the trash.
Somehow this mouse trap sandwich idea seemed a little undignified. Can't explain it, but it wasn't sitting right with me. I asked my dad if maybe I could put some of the mouse poison pellets in front of Heisenberg so that he could inch his way toward them, eat them, and then die in his sleep. That idea was.. well.. we'll say it was "scoffed at." Back to the drowning plan...
I took a tall piece of Tupperware (sorry, Carolyn. I'll replace it before you get home) and filled it with water. Bear in mind, my dad was on the phone with me for this whole process. Bear in mind, the mouse was still squirming around during this whole process. Simply horrifying. Nevermind the fact that as I was narrating this, my dad said, "Of course he's moving around, he's fighting for his life." Oh my GOD, not helping. Now I had to work up the nerve to pick up the trap, with the live mouse still wriggling around on it, and stick it in the Tupperware container.
It was one thing to set a shitload of traps in the hopes of "catching" the mouse. I knew catching the mouse meant killing it but, you know, out of sight, out of mind. Now I wasn't just catching the apartment mouse anymore. I was putting Heisenberg to death. There's an episode of The West Wing that deals with the morality of capital punishment. I don't remember the exact crime committed but there is a man who is on death row who is about to be executed and there is a chance the President might spare his life. Whatever the crime was, it is clear that is was something really horrible but even as basically everyone is agreeing that he should be put to death, C.J. Cregg, the Press Secretary, says, "I just wish I didn't know his mother's name, that's all." Well, I wish I hadn't looked Heisenberg in the eyes or known he likes peanut butter or mentally associated him with those dogs with wheels instead of hind legs.
BRB, just have to go drown this adorable, handicapped puppy in my toilet.
I was very upset at this point and told my dad how small Heisenberg was. "Yeah, of course he's small. There's millions of them. You want them to give you diseases?" This was said in the you-know-who-else-cut-corners?-Janis-Joplin Mr. Weir tone. Amazing.
His best line, however, was when he was trying to convince me that the most humane thing to do would be to drown Heisenberg:
"Remember how the people died on the Titanic? It's a peaceful way to go."
I could hear my mom laughing from the other room.
Anyway, shaking and wincing and crying my way through it, I picked up the mouse trap and quickly lowered Heisenberg, head first, into the water-filled Tupperware container. It all went so fast. My parents simultaneously launched into rapid-fire questioning:
Do you have the lid on it?
Do you have a plastic bag to put it in?
Is the lid on yet?
Do you have your keys?
Are you headed downstairs to the garbage?
Do you have your keys?
Is he dead?
Ugh, yes, I just looked him in the eyes.
Why did you look him in the eyes??
I KILLED HIM. I HAVE TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYES.
Is he dead?
Yes. His eyes were definitely dead.
Dad: This is a big step for you. I'm proud.
Post-humous texts from my parents include the following:
Texts from Mom:
Text 1: Glad the mouse hunt is over. Good job!
Text 2: Mariel caught the mouse and got rid of him... She's somewhat traumatized.
Text 3: I meant to send to Nick and sent to you ;)
Text 4: Hope you got a glass of wine! I did!
Texts from Dad:
In conclusion, here is my dedication to Heisenberg. Hope you're eating peanut butter in a better place now.
"Hi, I'm so glad I've reached Mariel [referring to my voicemail greeting]. Thanks for wishing me happy birthday. I'm so glad you remembered all on your own."
Here is the first minute of the conversation that occurred when I called him back.
Dad: Hello, Bluebird Diner.
Me: Oh sorry are you at breakfast?
Dad: Yes, we serve breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Me: Do you serve turds?
Dad: [no reaction to the previous statement] Are you on a train?
I asked Andrea to request a topic for a post. She sent me the following video:
This is fantastic. Andrea suggested I use it to write about bad special effects or maybe about how my favorite TV shows could hypothetically jump the shark but let's take a moment to appreciate the video itself. That guy at 0:15 clearly never saw Titanic because you are most definitely not supposed to steal life preservers from women and children. Chivalry is dead and in five seconds, so are you. Blonde lady, that jerk just stole your life preserver so why are you upset that he dove directly into the Megalodon's mouth? That seems like karma. I'm pretty happy about it and I'm not even the one who got her flotation device poached. Get mad. Megalodon can swallow a raft of 6 adults without even chewing. Megalodon is to humans/rafts/jet skis as my brother is to deviled eggs.
That being said.. Here are a few of my favorite TV shows and some suggestions as to how they might jump the shark:
Parks and Rec
The obvious: Leslie and Ben have a baby. April and Andy have a baby. Ann and [name a male character on the show] have a baby. I hate child actors. I rarely appreciate their addition to one of my beloved TV shows. Word of advice to show runners: feed these shark-jumper babies to Megalodon before they end your careers.
The not-so-obvious: Adam Scott takes a hiatus from the show to film Party Down: The Movie. Leslie and Ben break up. Leslie and Ron have sex. I'm sure there are creepy fan fiction writers out there that have already played this scenario out in one of Ron's hand-carved canoes. Gross. Can you imagine if Mary Tyler Moore boned Ed Asner? Gross. FYI, fan fiction writers, your ideas are the worst.
30 Rock
The obvious: Liz and Jack sleep together and/or Liz has a baby.
The not-so-obvious: Jack Donaghy announces that NBC is dissolving as a network. The next day, it happens in real life. There are worse things.
Community
The obvious: Well, they fired Dan Harmon this week so imagine Fonzie on a Big Wheels clearing two Megalodons stacked on top of each other and that's pretty much the level of shark-jumping going on here. You know how after Aaron Sorkin left The West Wing, we kept watching because it was still really good, but now when we re-watch the series every three to four months, we only re-watch the first four seasons because those were the ones that were actually really really good? Well, kind of like the way we want to remember the fictional White House as Sorkin's fictional White House, we want to remember Greendale Community College as Harmon's Greendale Community College.
If you aren't a West Wing fan/don't re-watch the first four seasons every three to four months/don't have a girl crush on Allison Janney, here's another analogy: Paula Deen has been baking cookies for you every Thursday for the last three years. You try to share with your friends but most of them have heard that her cooking doesn't meet widely accepted health standards so they aren't interested. A few of you indulge and after three years, you're obsessed with these cookies. Every week you've gotten a different flavor, and never have your taste buds been disappointed. Friday mornings you find yourself scouring the internet for other people talking about these cookies, analyzing them, praising them. There are more of your kind out there, and you want six seasons and a movie three more years and a storefront. This week, though, Dr. Greenblatt told you that you have to cut Paula Deen out of your life. "Eating healthy will make you more popular, and friend ratings are important," Dr. Greenblatt tells you. "You can still eat cookies but they're going to have to be sugar-free. We want your friends to eat cookies with you and they'll agree to eat cookies as long as they're diet-friendly." Oh my god, fuck those people. I don't want friends. Dr. Greenblatt continues, "And instead of baking cookies for you on Thursdays, we're going to deliver them to your apartment on Friday nights while you're out a bar with your friends. It's part of the diet. This way, we'll eventually wean you off cookies forever." OH MY GOD, I don't want friends, I don't want sugar-free cookies, I don't want to watch NBC's new fall line-up my weight. I want Community Diabetes.
The not-so-obvious: Chevy Chase quits the show out of loyalty to his dear friend Dan Harmon.
Glee
The obvious: Hmm... this one is going to be tough but I'll take a stab at it. Finn and Rachel get engaged? Sue Sylvester gets pregnant? They give Kurt the greatest American-flag-bandana-ensemble of all time and then give it an inexplicably insignificant amount of screen time? Oh wait... I'm a little behind on Glee - I've only seen up to the Whitney Houston tribute episode which I actually thought was pretty fantastic. But other than that, you've sort of shit the bed this season, Glee. Thanks for that shower scene featuring Darren Criss and Darren Criss's back, though. We needed that.
The obvious: I really don't think it's possible for Matthew Weiner/Mad Men to jump the shark. It's just too good. Even the crazy stuff (the British guy's foot getting cut off by the lawn mower, Don's secret identity, Roger's LSD trip, etc) is brilliant. I guess the only way for the show to bring on an untimely demise would be to fulfill the Don-falling-from-the-23rd-floor-of-SCDP prophecy because the show would obviously spill its guts all over Madison Avenue alongside Jon Hamm. But that will not happen (until the series finale) so I'm not concerned.
The not-so-obvious: I'm a big fan of Mark Lisanti's theory that Sally Draper is a serial killer in the making so... Sally enlists Pete Campbell to help her push Don out the window of the 23rd floor of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. Then she stabs Pete in the stomach with Grandpa Gene's war helmet. Glenn plants a lock of Betty's hair and a couple of Bugles at the scene of the crime.
[ed. note: I received the following text from my brother tonight... "Response from dad after i called him a turd... T.U.R.D. The Utmost Righteous Dad"]
Before I begin, let me just start by congratulating my brother Nicholas for being a monster on the track, finishing the 10K with a personal record of 32:01. After he finished, we were talking and I told him he had a poppy seed stuck in his teeth. He picked it out, looked at his finger, said "that's a bug," and just carried on like a boss. When you end up with bugs stuck between your teeth, you know you're running fast.
Just awful.
Alright, so about the Greyhound bus. I know I throw around the term "the worst" often, but when I use it to describe Greyhound, please know that I do not use this expression lightly. First of all, it departs from the Port Authority, which is one third of the worst-places-in-New-York trifecta (accompanied by Penn Station and Times Square). I drank all of the whiskey gingers one night at a bar in the Port Authority with a few of my co-workers and as far as I was concerned, it blew up the next day and I would never see its hideous, Jack-and-shame stained face again. But alas, Springfield-bound, I begrudgingly returned to this hell hole an hour before my bus was scheduled to depart per the directions on my online order confirmation. This was unnecessary. Never get to your Greyhound bus more than 20 minutes ahead of time. Save yourself. Protect your sanity.. and your general health.
At our gate, the waiting area was divided into four lines by boarding number (1-10, 11-20, etc). There were 12 people in the 1-10 line. Not surprised. Already mad. When a Greyhound employee showed up to herd us onto the bus he asked if anyone in line spoke English (??) and then repeatedly asked everyone to check their tickets for their boarding number. I grew increasingly angry at whichever two idiots in line 1-10 were not getting this. Oh wait, Greyhound man says, sometimes in order to keep things efficient and affordable our online system ends up assigning repeat boarding numbers. Uhhhh... how is your shitty ticketing software keeping things efficient and affordable for us? Ok sure, I didn't think it was possible but I officially hate you more than line 1-10. Oh wait, two bossy black ladies are on my side and are now telling this jag-off that Greyhound is NOT affordable. This is true. This round trip ticket cost me $66. To go to SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS. They don't even have a Chili's there. Ladies, you're my favorites. If you sit in front of me and recline your seat, I won't be mad.
There is an art to avoiding other human beings while riding public transportation. My cousin Eddie told me he likes to put his headphones on and turn some abrasive music up super loud so people won't want to sit next to him. Some people spread their bags across the seat next to them. Some people bust out food (there is nothing more offensive than a tuna salad sandwich). But when a bus is sold out, you've just got to hope for the best and plead with your eyes when you see a normal person creeping their way down the aisle, scanning for you, their normal-person soulmate, to sit next to.
I am not a normal person, though, so I usually end up with the crazies. This time I got a fat lady who sounded like Uncle Frank from Mrs. Doubtfire. I think she sneezed out a carton of cigarettes. At one point, given her girth, she didn't have room in her seat for her giant Pepsi, so she shoved it in my seat next to me, thinking I was asleep? Nope, not happening. I picked it up, handed it to her, gave her my best grimace, then went back to fake sleeping.
Here are some more terrible things about Greyhound. If you need to change your ticket, you can't do so over the phone or online (hang on a second.. ok, yeah, just wanted to make sure this was 2012). You have to physically go to a Greyhound station to change it. After paying $66 for a service 50x worse than Megabus, I now had to spend 45 minutes navigating the worst automated phone system of all time before pressing "4" for an "emergency" just to speak with a human being the devil's minion who told me that I would have to haul my irritable ass to the Greyhound station in Springfield to pay $15 to change my ticket to a bus three hours later so that I could attend the meet on Sunday with my dad. For $81, I could have ridden Amtrak with the rest of civilization. Total bullshit. Also, when my dad dropped me off at the station on Sunday, I walked inside and asked the dispatcher which gate the bus to New York was going to depart from, to which he replied, "Gate 1. And another thing, if you're ever going to ride this bus again, you will not enter from the back door here. Cars are only allowed in the front of the building to drop off." I said, "Don't worry. I'm never riding this bus again."
Before I get to the Bill highlights of the weekend, you should know that there was a ladies' barbershop quartet competition happening in Springfield, and our hotel room (#1115) was next door to the party room.
And finally.. #MyWeekendWithBill:
- My dad picks me up at the bus station and there's a whole pineapple wrapped in a newspaper in the front passenger seat of the car. "Who needs an air freshener?" Totally normal.
- I asked him if he'd been following The Voice, which he claims is not as good as American Idol (LIES), and then asked him what he thought of TheRealXtina cutting Jesse Campbell. For those of you unfamiliar with #TheVoice, Jesse had what should have been a winning combination of a killer voice and unbeatable sob story - his wife left them because he wasn't making enough money and he and his daughter were homeless and had to sleep in his car... Are you crying yet? No? How about now? After singing crushing Beyonce's "Halo" while pictures of his daughter were projected on the stage (obviously I wept), Xtina rudely eliminated him because she wanted a team that had the most potential for growth. YOU DON'T NEED TO GROW WHEN YOU'RE ALREADY THE BEST. I can't talk about this anymore, I'm getting angry. Anyway, I told my dad I thought Ms. Aguilera was high on prescription drugs. My dad just matter-of-factly responds, "I'm telling you.. Christina Aguilera is a lesbian."
- While my brother was warming up for his race, my dad yelled "I've got my money on the kid in red" and then followed that with "I like it a lot" in his best Lloyd Christmas impersonation:
- He asked me if I remembered seeing the space shuttle launch when I was in high school (we happened to be in Florida at the time).
Yes..?
Do you ever feel bad that you were video-taping it when it blasted off?
No... why?
I don't know, I worry that it distracted from the overall experience for you. That was so cool seeing the space shuttle lift off. Do you feel like you missed it because you were holding the camera?
No. Where did this come from?
Just something I think about sometimes.
- He referred to this guy as "Captain Amherst"
Tell me, what's the catch of the day?
- I was wearing an elephant pendant necklace that Kelly gave me for my birthday and my dad asked me if it was a Brooks Brothers emblem. Sure, because what 23-year-old female isn't a Brooks Brothers label whore?
- After Nick ran, my dad kept asking him if he was going to celebrate that night. He then kept reiterating that he should only be drinking a light beer to stay in shape for summer training. We went to dinner that night and my dad - a notorious lightweight - had a beer called Rye on Rye which was 11% alcohol. He apparently decided light beer was no longer an option for young Nicholas and texted him that he hoped he was drinking the "sweet nectar of the agave plant." Bear in mind it was Cinco de Mayo. Then he said, "I wish Devin was here," referring to Nick's bff who went on vacation with our family last summer. I asked where that came from and he said something to the effect of "Devin gets me" or "Devin would get it" and then just left it at that.
- I had forgotten to bring toothpaste and asked my dad if I could borrow his.
Dad, can I use some toothpaste?
You didn't bring your own?
No.
Turd.
... Ok, I'm taking your toothpaste.
Don't use all of it.
(Later on)
Dad, where's the toothpaste?
Oh my GOD, seriously?
Oh my GOD, SERIOUSLY? How much toothpaste do you think I'm going to use?!
I don't know. You could use the whole tube on one of your hillbilly teeth.
[ed. note: flabbergasted]
[ed. note: my dad is a dentist. He has a box with a hundred travel-size toothpastes under his sink at home]
Here is a little preview of what my next post is going to be about.. You'll have to wait until Sunday night but just prep your brain for this one:
I have always imagined Greyhound buses as being frequented by meth addicts. And I can only
imagine how much meth addicts love Slurpees. So actually, this makes a lot of sense. #BizznassSmarts
After making sure my tetanus shot is up-to-date, I'm boarding the Greyhound to go see my brother run the 10K at the Atlantic 10 Conference Meet in Amherst, Mass. this weekend. With my dad. That's right.. I'm taking a Greyhound. And spending 36 hours with my dad. See you on the other side.
1) Apparently Hair (whose real name is Harry... I am so happy about this) has four nipples.
2) I made my first gif and this feeling of technological domination is invigorating. For those of you who did not follow my instructions and immediately watch 2:20-2:23 of the "One Thing" music video, I have it on permanent loop below. You're welcome.
My brother is at home for the summer, and, knowing I'd appreciate the story, he told me about how he'd worked on a powerpoint for my dad the other day and how my dad was fascinated by everything he did. "Now can you put a picture in next to the text and.. Wait! How did you do that?!" After I graduated from college, I spent the summer at home before moving to New York. After watching 3 seasons of 30 Rock in a span of 4 days, my dad offered to pay me to make powerpoints for his oral surgery lectures because 1) I clearly needed something productive to do and 2) he still types with 2 fingers and buys a new laptop every time the internet freezes. My dad is one of the smartest people I know, but everyone has their weak spot, and for my dad, it's the computer. All the project required was some typing and google image searching but when I clicked from slide to slide and he saw the dissolves and fades, he reacted like what I imagine Benjamin Franklin looked like with the whole lightning/kite debacle. This is one of the reasons I love my dad. No matter how simple the task, he takes such pride in his kids when we succeed. So, in honor of Father's Day, I am going to share a few of the reasons why my dad has succeeded ... at being awesome.
1) His old school approach to technology. We've already covered this but just one more anecdote.. When we got him a laptop for his birthday a few years ago in order to encourage him to start testing the waters with technology, we figured we'd make it a win-win for everyone and get wireless for the house. So we wrapped up a wireless router with the laptop. When he opened the router, he asked what the hell it was and I explained that now we would be able to pick up internet anywhere in the house from multiple computers. He looked around at everyone, then turned back to me (his tech guru) and said, "You know, we should invest in this. People are going to want to buy this." Just a few years behind the curve, Dad, but I like where your head's at. Let me tell you about a little stock called Google...
Also, he doesn't know how to text. Once his friend texted him lamenting about a Hawkeye loss and he asked me to text back "Ugh." I said, "Dad are you sure you don't want to say anything else.. take advantage of having a texting surrogate here?" "No, just 'ugh,'" he said. His friend's response: "YOU CAN TEXT??" Shocking, I know.
About a month ago, he was coming to New York to visit me. I was at work and didn't want to call so I thought I would see if he'd learned to text in the year since I'd moved. I don't know, maybe I hoped the empty nester syndrome would encourage him to take up a hobby. I simply texted "Do you know how to text yet?" The response? Missed call: Dad. Missed call: Dad. Missed call: Dad.
2) He can't just answer the phone with a simple "Hello?" Yes, thanks to a little thing called Caller ID (I'm sure you can imagine his shock when that one rolled out) whenever my dad sees his brother, his bestie Charlie, or me calling, he answers the phone with something like "Yeah, Sal's Pizza. What can I do for ya?" with a ridiculous accent. If he's caught off guard and hasn't come up with anything he just answers with "We don't want any." Never just "hello." If I call the house phone and I'm talking to my mom, sometimes he thinks of something he wants to tell me and just picks up another phone in the house and starts talking. Like this memorable conversation:
Dad: Hello? Hello?
Me: Yes?
Dad: Hey, did you know Tracy Morgan had a kidney transplant?
Me: ...
Dad: I think it was like a year ago.
Me: I don't think I knew that.
Dad: Ok, well I'll put your mother back on the phone.
3) When my brother wears his hood up, my dad tells him he looks like Eminem.
4) Sometimes he is totally Mr. Weir from Freaks & Geeks. Last summer, all my friends came to Iowa City for a Hall & Oates concert and a few of the guys were stretched out on the couches in the ninth inning stretch of a group hangover. My dad came home from work and without missing a beat, said "What've these guys been doing? Smokin' pot all day?" Sooooooo Mr. Weir.
5) He has no filter. I flew home for Memorial Day weekend as a surprise for my dad's birthday. My mom picked me up at the airport and the plan was for my sister to take my dad to breakfast as a birthday treat, and my mom and I would surprise him there. My sister called while we were on the way back from the airport and said he knew something was up. Apparently he thought it was strange that she just wanted the 2 of them to go to breakfast so he asked if she needed to talk to him about something she couldn't talk to my mom about. She said yes and then when he went to shower and change, she called us for a suggestion as to what she should "talk to him about." I told my sister she should tell him she was a lesbian but she responded, "I can't. He already asked me. In front of all my friends. Over dinner." In his defense, he only asked so that he could tell her that he and my mom were totally fine with it if she was.
On this same topic, his concept of where to draw the line can probably be found alongside his discarded filter. Apparently in the car one time, my dad was teasing my mom, and my mom said something along the lines of "You know, I'm going to smack you in the head if you say that again." My dad's response? "Well, I'm going to rip out your small intestine, wrap it around your neck, and choke you with it." Umm... yeah.. "too far" was when her digestive tract got involved.
Sometimes this lack of filter gets him into trouble. My parents were having friends over for dinner and my dad asked my mom to pick up some wine and nice beer. After some of the people had arrived, my dad went to the fridge to get one of them a beer. Upon opening the fridge, he turns to my mom and says, "You know, no matter what I ask, why do you always have to buy such shit beer?" Umm.. the beer my mom bought was outside in a cooler. The beer in the fridge was what one of the couples - who was standing there witnessing this - had brought over. Oops.
He also taught his children to abandon our filters at a young age. My dad was always interested in the performance arts and thought I had natural theatrical talent. When As Good As It Gets was released in 1997, he got me to memorize the scene where Jack Nicholson tells Greg Kinnear "Don't knock.. not on this door" and perform it at family dinners over the Christmas holidays. I was 9 years old and definitely had no idea what a fudge packer was but I totally nailed it.
6) This text from my sister: "You know dad has been drinking when he says that he could hang with John Tesh and that they could bounce shit off each other."
7) He lovesthis commercial and says it makes him want to cry:
Well, these are just a few of the reasons my dad has succeeded at being awesome, but the most important is that despite the fact that I rip on him and his receding hairline all the time, he loves and supports me unconditionally, and if I allowed him to know I was writing a blog, I'm sure he would be my third - and most loyal - follower. Love you, Dad!
