My 26-Hour Trip To Boston: An iPhone™ Photo & Video Gallery.

Astonishingly nice tribute by the Red Sox, who utilized their famous auxiliary scoreboard for a goodbye message. If sports ain’t your thing, the Yanks and Sox getting along is like Christina Aguilera and Kelly Osbourne finally putting an end to their fat feud.

Part of the spread in the luxury suite from which I watched the game. I had a long chat with a dude who I was later told was worth 3-4 billion. Had I known, I would have asked him to recommend a good Ponzi scheme.

Lobster-roll view of the game. Before you envy me for getting free tickets and top-shelf food, consider how much I must have paid for a round-trip flight on two days’ notice.

Derek Jeter, about to take the very last swing of his career. May we all date a bevy of fabulous babes when we get over the hill and have to retire.

  Video of Derek being taken out of the game after his finished his career with another hit and RBI. It got a little dusty up in the luxury suite at this moment.

  

A snippet of Jeter’s old teammate Bernie Williams, a classically-trained guitarist, playing a beautiful rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” in the middle of the seventh inning. Not to be a one-upper, but I had a guy play accordion at my bar mitzvah. 

From my post-game walk through the city. No jokes for this one – just some heaviness: the Boston Marathon finish line.

Here’s To My Friend.

I normally hate the Red Sox with a white-hot intensity seven times the sun, but I gotta hand it to them – they handled all of the festivities beautifully yesterday. I’ll post some pictures and video tomorrow. Nice job, ya bastards.

It was a crazy, last-minute decision to meet my friend Ted in Boston to see Derek Jeter play his last game, but when Ted asked if I wanted to join him, I didn’t hesitate. We’ve known each other since we were six, and practically grew up at Yankee Stadium. Seeing Jeter one last time – at Fenway Park – was beyond once-in-a-lifetime.

My 26-hour pilgrimage began Saturday at 10 p.m. and ended at midnight last night. Two plane flights, no luggage.

After we grew up together, Ted and I couldn’t have taken more divergent paths. He became a banker, moved to Charlotte and had four kids. Yet we always remained close. We’ve never texted each other once, because we call each other every week. It doesn’t matter if he’s a soccer dad four times over – our shared experiences supersede our disparities.

After the game ended yesterday, we had some time before our flights, so we walked through Boston. We paused at the marathon finish line, where the bomb went off last year, then made our way through Boston Gardens and Faneuil Hall to the redone waterfront. I realized the last time I’d walked these streets was actually with Ted during a high school trip, and here we were years later, still without a lull in the conversation.

Last Thursday, after Derek Jeter got the game-winning hit in his last at-bat at Yankee Stadium, the place was bedlam. When it settled a bit, Derek walked out to the shortstop area, crouched and had an unexpected, emotional moment for a guy who is usually even-keel cool. He stood up, and then behind home plate were four of his old friends/teammates, all of whom were now retired. He had no idea they were going to be there, but now they waited for him, as if to say, “Come with us. This is where your life is going now.”

I landed in Boston a couple hours before Ted, and passed some time scrolling through Facebook posts until I came across this one, from my friend Tim Murphy:

“My dearest and oldest friend, Tom Allen, passed away this morning. We met when we were about 5-6 years old and we swam together on club and school teams through college. We played hockey, baseball and, basically, we did everything together. He was the best man in my wedding and he has always been my best man in life. RIP, Tommy.”

Sorry to hear about your friend, Tim. For whatever it’s worth, reading that ensured I didn’t take anything for granted yesterday.

I Offer Marital Advice.

At the dry cleaner yesterday, a new bride, who had her wedding gown put into a preservation kit, for some reason kept asking if she’d be able to open the box if she wanted to get something out.

 “No,” said the dry cleaner, “it should stay closed.” To which I said: “Sorry, you gotta stay married to that idiot.”

Holy Shitbombs.

I don’t want to brag, but I'm really good at convincing people I don’t want to brag.

So trust me when I say I have the best friends, including my friend Ted, one of my actual best friends since we were six. Ted called me yesterday morning with a simple question: he has an extra ticket to Derek Jeter’s last game ever, at Fenway Park on Sunday. Do I want to go?

And just like that, my weekend plans kinda changed. I’m flying out tomorrow night, to the greatest man that ever played baseball, captain of my favorite team, have his last at-bat. And I’ll be watching it in a luxury suite with catered food and getting a tour of Fenway pre-game.

Derek Jeter likes drama. If you missed his last game in Yankee Stadium last night, take a look:

I’ll bring you all back something nice.

Once Again, Out-Of-Context Thank-You Notes I’ve Recently Written To Casting Directors.

• When I die, I want my remains scattered in Yankee Stadium, Vegas, and Manhattan Beach. Also, I don’t want to be cremated.

• Me, as an Ivy League-educated lawyer? You just helped my Jewish mom achieve a lifelong dream.

• All you need is a British accent, and you could convince me to donate a kidney.

• Poor people sure do a good job finding money for tattoos.

• I wonder what women do with all the tons of time they save by typing “lol” instead of “laugh out loud”.

• I will cause a 12-car pileup before I let you cut in before an onramp.

Does He Make You Laugh? Does He Amuse You?

For the record: I honked at the funeral procession out of SUPPORT.

I’m a giver. So I went with friends to see our friend Gary do standup comedy. He just started doing standup this year, and has already progressed to playing the Jon Lovitz Comedy Club at Universal Studios Citiwalk on Saturday night.

Gary is smart and poised and really takes charge onstage. He was destined to do this. All it took was a horrendously short marriage to give him the impetus. (And inspire his best material. She’ll rue the day she went kablooie.)

By the way, headlining the night was Brandon T. Jackson, who you might remember from Tropic Thunder, and he was great as well. (All it took was a baby mama to inspire Brandon’s material. He rues the day he had unprotected vaginal sex.)

Hey, Guy Smoking A Cigar While Riding His Hog:

Your penis might be small, but it has a really big heart.

Like Answering A Flat Screen.

I had my first encounter with the iPhone 6 Plus, as my friend Bru is The Earliest Adopter. How big is it? Bru had me call the phone, and when my face popped up on his screen, is was pretty much life-size… Seriously, this phone is so big, that in order to have a conversation on it, you can’t talk and listen at the same time. You just constantly move it up and down to your ear, then your mouth. Not good, unless you have a Tony Robbins-size noggin... Truth in advertising: anyone see the commercial in which frat guys whoop it up at a party as they pound their favorite beverage: Coke Zero... According to “Boardwalk Empire,” 1920s Atlantic City was a tough town. And a fairly active lesbian scene.

If You Must Text And Drive…

…at least be good at it. My neighbor woke up to this magnificence this week.

Making Us Whole.

My friend John was super appreciative our senior year of college, when I let him copy a term paper I’d written the previous semester. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have graduated. Last night, John came into town and expensed me a turkey pot pie at Yard House. Now I feel like I owe him.

Eight Guys Eat Their Way Through Wisconsin: An iPhone™ Photo Gallery.

Any fan at Miller Park in Milwaukee who orders the Smothered and Covered – fresh-cut potato chips, creamy cheddar cheese, sour cream and crumbled bacon – should have their children taken away.

Yep, I found the mashed potato and pulled pork parfait. Transporting two of these (one for my big brother) from the upper-deck barbecue stand down to our seats, with every person in my path either gawking, taunting, or bumping into me, was my own personal Tailhook scandal.

I warned my friend Jeff before he ordered the horsecollar kielbasa at Lambeau Field, featuring beer cheese and fried sauerkraut, that he’d break four Jewish commandments with just one bite.

The Pac N Cheese, also at Lambeau. Brat on a bun smothered in mac ‘n cheese. Trust me when I say it was worth sprouting a pair of bitch tits.

We loved the jumbo pretzels at Old German Beer Hall so much, we came back for seconds (fifths, really) the next night. Even though the kitchen was closed, the bartender was super cool and heated up a few for us. And no, we didn’t miss the irony of Germans fattening up Jews.

Eight Guys Go To Wisconsin: An iPhone™ Photo Gallery.

In the sixth inning of games at Miller Park in Milwaukee, the Brewers’ staff pulls fans out of the stands, dresses them as bratwurst, Polish sausage, Italian sausage and chorizo, and has them race around the warning track. I yelled to the contestants, “You gotta want this!”

At the Old German Beer Hall in Milwaukee, this is considered a “tall.”

For once and for all, we found Waldo.

Packers quarterback Aaron Rodgers goes by the nickname Mr. Rodgers. I thought this fan’s cardigan was truly inspired.

Click on this panoramic view of Lambeau Field and you’ll get a feel for how cozy it is and how much it embraces tradition. The stadium’s only flaw is that the majority of the seats are backless, metal bleachers, so when you sit down, you gotta crowbar yourself between two heavyset Wisconsinites.

Any Room Under There?

If you’re like me, you pack two hours before leaving for a trip, and unpack three months after coming home.

Actually, that ain’t me at all. After the plane landed late and sat on the runway for an hour, I went to the gym, picked up Ricky, did laundry, cleaned, vacuumed, mopped, bathed Ricky and then hit the wall so hard I can’t will myself to conjure up a smarmy finish to this sentence. Ricky, by the way, was so tired from his kennel stay he passed out standing up on the ledge outside our place.

So forgive me as I delay recapping the trip to Wisconsin – which was amazing – one more day. In the meantime, enjoy my new favorite New York Post headline:

Game Day.

Dogs are some of the coolest people I’ve ever met.

So when the Jets signed convicted Pit Bull killer Michael Vick, I immediately stopped rooting for the team I’ve loved my entire life. And when my friends decided to go to Wisconsin to see the Jets play in the most historic stadium in the NFL – Lambeau Field – the trip was too much fun to pass up, so I came with them, and kept on not rooting for the Jets.

At Lambeau, I wore the same t-shirt MMA fighter Gordon “Shotgun” Shell, a huge Pit Bull lover, wears into the ring every time he fights. I must say: my friends and all the Jet fans were respectful of it, and Packer fans took pictures of it. The stadium was beautiful. The weather was warm. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day.

More about the whole weekend in the next few days. For now, I’m on my way back to LA, unscathed.

Proof That No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

I hustled like hell to make the end of my nephew’s birthday party, and when I got there and checked in on Facebook, a friend responded:

There Are Worse Views To Have…

…while picking up dog poop. From my front door, last night.

So, This Is How I Die.

Wisconsin, prepare yourselves. Eight guys are about to enter you.

I’m going to Wisconsin this weekend with my brother and six friends, where we’ll catch a baseball game in Milwaukee and a football game in Green Bay. A top-shelf extravaganza.

But sports are only half the mission. All of us want the real Milwaukee experience, which means brats, cheese curds, and frozen custard – and that’s just breakfast. I volunteered to scout the restaurants and stadium food that are must-haves, and what I’ve learned thus far is: the closest Wisconsinites have ever come to eating better is eating butter.

Exhibit A, above is a mashed potato and pulled-pork parfait. It’s served at Brewer games, and I’ve already packed a fistful of blood thinners in anticipation.

Leaving Saturday. Coming back Monday. Funeral, I wanna say Thursday-ish.

My Personal Sophie’s Choice.

If you need me, I'll always be stuck behind the person driving a Prius.

Peaks and valleys. I had a really good audition for a pilot on Monday.
Then yesterday, I found out the role was being recast for a woman. And just as I found that out, I saw a casting call for a commercial:

So, in order to book a role this week, I need to either chop off my penis, or my arm.

Can I sleep on it?

Early Nominee For Best Performance In A Casting Workshop:

This chair, which did its best to keep it together under the intense pressure of some dude’s back-fat.

One Of My Favorite New Restaurants In Los Angeles.

My friends and I tried a Mexican restaurant, newly opened, located on the west side, and where is the diarrhea? I was promised there would be diarrhea.

Actually, it was awesome. It’s called Petty Cash, and it specializes in street food served high end. Grilled octopus tacos. Beef brisket quesadillas. A really nice place, only strangely way too affordable. Here’s what I mean:

Dorados. Crispy, rolled potato tacos with tomatillo sauce and cortijo cheese. The only thing this hefty serving seemed to be missing was a digit on the price. It was $4.50.

Negra Modelo beer-battered mahi-mahi taco – six bucks. Yeah, that just happened.

Great energy. It really felt like LA on a Saturday night, so imagine the aneurism I had.

Incandescent bulbs, which I believe are outlawed in California. (Counter-balancing that: a rooftop garden, in which many of the menu’s ingredients are grown.) Also, hand-painted murals by local street artist RETNA.

Besides the inexplicably low-priced dishes (I’d pay triple what they charge), is the restaurant’s peculiar location – about 50 feet from El Coyote, a landmark Mexican joint since 1931. Seeing it as we entered Petty Cash reminded me of what I wrote a few years ago, after attending my first game at new Yankee Stadium, while the old stadium had yet to be razed: “Seeing the old stadium across the street made me feel like I was at my new, hot young girlfriend’s place, peeking through the curtains at my ex-wife’s house. Sure, the missus and I had a lot of good times, but she’s old and smelly now.”

Sorry, ISIS.

Dunkin’ Donuts opened in LA for the first time this week, with non-stop news coverage and lines around the corner. I managed to get my hands on a box of Munchkins, and they were downright sacrilicious.

She’ll Be Extra Missed.

A few years back, I met Joan Rivers’ assistant, and really wanted to know what Joan was like.

“Amazing,” she said. “She treats me like a daughter.”

Considering how well Joan treated Melissa, yesterday was all the more shitty.

What I Think Every Dude Should Know.

I’m gonna take up smoking and drinking, so that my hands are always full and no one can ask me to help them move.

But I always have time to offer advice. After the utterly clueless job my dad did raising my brothers and I, I very much enjoy helping someone shortcut the traps of adulthood. On his bar mitzvah two years ago, I wrote ten things I thought my friend Jeff’s son Jake should know as he became a man. On Saturday, I wrote ten more for Jeff’s younger son, Sam:

1. Every man innately wants to fix his woman’s problems, but what she really wants is for you to just listen. Memorize this phrase: “I understand.”
2. There’s no law that says you have to get married or own a home.
3. On job interviews, always maintain the attitude that they’d be really lucky to have you.
4. Be so friendly to people that if someone were to say you were a bad guy, no one would believe him.
5. No matter what problem you have, deep down you know how to fix it.
6. Everything worthwhile is going to be unbelievably difficult to achieve. But you’ll enjoy it that much more when you get it.
7. Make discipline a habit. Make practicing your guitar for hours every day a normal thing. That’s what successful people do.
8. People just want to feel appreciated. Tip well. Write thank-you notes. Never show up empty-handed.
9. Never go more than nine miles-per-hour over the speed limit and you will never get pulled over.
10. If you text a woman twice, and get no reply, game over. Persistence only works in movies; in reality it just says “stalker.”

My Friend Jeff’s Son’s Bar Mitzvah: An iPhone™ Photo Gallery.

His son chose a basketball theme, which harkened back to the freakiest period in American history – the 1940s – when Jewish NBA players were the norm.

The after-party featured inflatable pop-a-shots and yummy food carts. Jeff said the entire shebang cost more than his wedding.

Though it looks like they were left with a limited sports pennant budget.

As has become tradition: Pit Bull wearing a yarmulke.

Weekend All-Stars.

Forget about getting knocked up – if you want to trap me into marriage, just tell me this will be on our wedding registry. Best chocolate ice cream I’ve ever had.

As much as we punish the folks who drink and drive, how about honoring this guy for sleeping it off?

I can finally cross “black man on a jumbo unicycle” off my bucket list.