“So Greg, what do you do?”
“Oh, I make novelty sunglasses.”
“Fun! Like what?”
*puts on tit shades*
“…Oh”
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…I’m still recovering from yesterday’s Vampire Weekend Album Release Day!
In case you don’t celebrate it (yeah, right!) it’s basically my people’s version of Cinco de Mayo. We go BIG!
I celebrated in the traditional manner: grabbed my coolest cardigan out of its dry cleaning bag, snagged a primo Zipcar and drove around town with the new album jammin’ (at a reasonable volume—Dr. Oz recommends under 80 dB).
Next stop: the bar, to meet up with m’bros for some artisanal whiskey and almost-dancing. And whoa, we got our DRINK ON—responsibly!
Woke up this morning and while dropping my kids off at school I gave the customary ‘sup-style head nod to all the other dads still sportin’ hand stamps from the bar last night. Go handstamp dads! See you next VWARD!
My kids don’t have one of these imperialist maps that make the US and Europe seem larger and more important than they are.
On the world map at our house, the United States isn’t even pictured—ours shows just half of Australia and Shirley MacLaine’s face cut out of a magazine and taped to a custard donut.
Head to my Etsy shop if you want one of my world maps (note: still working on an odor-free version).
“Robert Pollard is a cum engine.” — Andrew W.K.
David Rees and I have a Captain and Tennille tribute band.
HANDSOME.
“They promised us life in space, flying cars, and jetpacks but all we got were pocket-sized rectangles containing all human knowledge. FAIL.” — Jason Kottke
(Source: kottke.org)
Next Friday! Fun Show / Party = Sharty!
You should come huh! (It’s a small venue; I recommend calling to reserve a space.)
Killer poster and website by Brad / Jessie / Patrick. Thanks nerds!
a nice lady adding milk to her coffee handed me a lid for my cup. It was the wrong size but I pretended that it fit fine. As soon as I got outside, I threw the lid away, looked back and saw her watching me with a totally reasonable mix of confusion + hate.
A few years ago I gave my son a million-dollar bill. I bought it from the back of a comic book sometime in the 80’s, and I thought he would get a kick out of it. To my surprise, he got way too much of a kick out of it: he believed it was a real, actual $1,000,000.
And because I’m a bad dad, I went along with it. “They made these up until about 1900, and then they stopped,” I said, “which is why you probably won’t see any others around.”
It was fun to keep up the lie—he even taught himself math to calculate the spending power of his new wealth. “Dad, I can buy 20 nice cars or 10 SUPER nice cars,” he’d say, and I would nod, unsure how to curb his Leno-like desires.
It’s been 3 years and he still thinks he’s got about $999,970 more than the rest of his second grade pals. Sometimes he mentions it to other kids, and not in the nicest way. More in a “one day I’m going to own you” way. None of his fantasies include charity.
So here’s my problem: how do I tell him the truth without breaking his heart or demonstrating that his dad is a total dick? (He’ll learn that eventually, but I still want a few more years.)
Obviously, I can’t just tell him the truth. Not my style. Another no-no: have the bill disappear one night. He would be crushed.
A better idea: find a sympathetic bank teller who would be willing act as an accomplice. I’d take the boy and his bill to the bank to open his very own account. The teller would let my son know that the bill’s not actually valid anymore, but it is still worth $100. Then we’d use the money to open a savings account for him.
That plan is OK but has a big flaw: it extends the lie. At some point in college he’ll spend hours telling a cute girl that yes, he did have a real million dollar bill and yes, a bank accepted it. Then she’ll think he’s a doofus. I don’t want to be responsible for him not getting laid.
The Solution
My comedian pal Juan figured it out:
I’ll receive a BILLION dollar bill as a gift. I’m really excited about it, and show it off to everybody. Meanwhile, our neighbor leans over to my son and, just to him, says, “Ha! Billion dollar bill. Obviously it’s fake. They never made billion dollar bills, or even million dollar bills.” My son, let in on the joke but thinking I’m the fool, will play along as if he’s always known that million dollar bills aren’t real. He’ll learn the truth, and won’t see me as a liar but just as a big dummy. Which, of course, I am.
The people who invent our favorite web things are so often the crappiest users of those things.
If you squint at dudes like this it’s possible to imagine they’re actually regular sized guys with 10-15 babies clinging onto them.
Super tan, oily babies, I guess.
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Omar cuttin’!
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