Toilet Paper and Teamwork

Due to the toilet paper shortage, we have a hodgepodge of brands and varieties. Some are very thin. Some are thick. This has wreaked havoc with our plumbing. My boys are used to ScottTM brand, which is very thin. So when they use thick toilet paper, they use way too much, and they clog the toilet. There has been a lot of plunging and ranting on my part.

So, last week, around midnight, Alex clogged the kitchen toilet. Then, in an attempt to fix it, he flushed a second time and overflowed the entire bathroom.

Now…my boys are 14 and 16. They fight a decent amount. They antagonize each other constantly. They do not voluntarily spend time together. The basement is Jack’s; the living room is Alex’s. They do not encroach on each other’s turf.

However…at that moment, Alex immediately calls for Jack. Jack comes up. The situation is dire. Shani and I are both asleep. There will be hell to pay for Alex if he wakes me up.

Without a word they snap into immediate, coordinated action.

  • Jack went to the basement and got the mop. Together they mopped up the water.
  • Then they got the SwifferTM and wet-swiffed the bathroom floor.
  • Then they took WindexTM and a roll of paper towel, got on their hands and knees, and wiped down the entire room.
  • They put everything away, and without a word Jack returned to the basement and Alex returned to watching Lost on his phone.

I only learned about this yesterday. And I find this extremely encouraging in respect to their relationship as brothers.

Celebrating 20 Years

Shani and I got married 20 years ago today.

We’d been planning to go to Hawaii to celebrate, but last September I lost my job, so we figured we should be more careful with money. We downshifted and decided that when we went to LA in April for my cousin’s wedding, that would be our anniversary celebration. And we’d go out for a romantic dinner on our actual anniversary.

Well, the wedding has since been cancelled. And now we’re not even going to get to go to dinner.

Bummer, right? I should be sad. And I can already imagine the sympathy comments on Facebook. Well…hold that sympathy. Because after 20 years, you learn some things about marriage. And here’s what I’ve learned:

Marriage is not a vacation.

Look, every marriage is great on vacation. The two of you on your own, exploring the sights, a drink at that cute little bar you stumbled on, dinner at 8:30, share desert, sleep in, make love, wander out to find breakfast at 10:15.

And that’s great — my God is it great — but it’s not marriage. Marriage is life the other 50+ weeks of the year. Marriage is negotiating who is going to do the dishes. Marriage is getting into your car and realizing your wife left your tank empty. It’s grocery shopping and budgeting and disciplining kids and watching Youtube videos and trying to get to the gym. All that day-to-day shit, that’s marriage.

And with that said, I will say this.

I love going grocery shopping with Shani.

I love cooking dinner together.

I love putting away the Christmas decorations and getting the kids where they need to go and scheduling out the week. I love having a glass of wine on a Tuesday night and watching The Americans.

I loved washing babies in the sink of our apartment in New York. I loved painting bedrooms and sleeping on an air mattress waiting for our furniture to arrive. I loved reading the same stupid board books over and over to the boys. I loved coming home from work and having the kids chase me around the yard for “first hug”. I loved cooking on a grill for 6 weeks while we redid our kitchen. I’ve loved the budgeting, the arguments, the exhaustion, the laughing, the problem-solving, and yes, I’ve loved the vacation too.

I love waking up at 5 on a Sunday, making coffee, and reading on the couch for two hours while everyone is still asleep.

I love my house and I love the life we’ve built inside it.

So tonight, I will spend my 20th anniversary eating dinner with my wife and our two sons. We are healthy, we are safe, and we are happy. So I will gladly accept your congratulations and good wishes. But expressions of sympathy are neither warranted nor welcome.

Sending my love out to everyone who has been a part of our adventure. It’s been richer and more wonderful and more fun every single year.

Please stay safe. Please stay sane. Please stay inside.


Oh, and here are some shots from the wedding.





What Leadership Should Be

My close friend, Hal, is the mayor of a small village in Upstate, NY called Homer. And he just sent the attached letter out to the village. But I’ll call out this section up front:

We are all going through this together. There is no playbook for riding out a global pandemic, but we don’t need one, as long as we keep our focus on one thing and one thing only: Keeping people safe and healthy.

We are committed to being here for you. If you have problems or needs that are not being addressed, I ask that you call the Village of Homer office at XXX-XXXX and tell us your situation and what you need, and we will try and find a solution including assigning a volunteer to help. Residents who are unable to get out to shop for food, need a critical repair made to their home, need an essential errand run, or need your children’s school lunches delivered, please call, and we will do what we can to help.”

And to me, this is perfect. It’s exactly what people need. Call the village — for food, for crisis, for anything you need — and we will try and help you. True to form, I got choked up reading Hal’s message. And felt deep, deep pride.

This shit is getting real. New York State is predicting the peak will hit May 1st. So we may realistically be looking at being locked down in our homes for 2-3 months. That means people are going to lose jobs, run out of food, and face serious peril.

But I read Hal’s letter and it seems clear to me that if we help each other out, we’ll get through this.

So leaders…read Hal’s letter and learn. People are scared, uncertain, and have no idea what source to believe. Hal gives them the real facts. He gives them the detailed information they need for daily life. And he makes it clear that their Village Government is there for them.

VoH Covid Memo








Best Birthday Presents

My birthday was last week; I just got the most amazing presents and I wanted to share.

First, Alex. It needs a little backstory.

Alex often awards me with a “bad daddy” or a “good daddy”. For example, let’s say I don’t let him order desert: “Bad daddy!” If I beat him in a game, refuse to give him money, tell him to go to bed…”Bad daddy.” I get them all the time. One time in the backyard I pegged a rabbit with a nerf football and received a string of about 30 of them.

A “good daddy” is much harder to come by.

So check out this letter.



Pretty amazing right?

Then yesterday, a package arrived in the mail. And to our surprise, Jack had ordered it.

“Happy birthday!” he said and tossed me the package.


He bought me Gerritt Cole Yankees shirt (he’s the Yankee’s new $324 million dollar pitcher). But that’s not what’s so special.

See, Jack has a job. He’s doing dishes three nights a week at a local restaurant. He got the job himself and he’s been steadily putting real money into a bank account we opened. He used his bank card to go online and buy the shirt.

And the pride he felt being able to do that all on his own. To be able to buy his father a gift.

Seeing that was pretty stunning.

That’s the real present.





Stumping for Warren (How Alex won my vote)

First, some exposition

In 2016…

I did a lot of volunteering for the Hillary campaign. I knocked on doors, made calls, gave money. But in reality, I wasn’t doing it because I was excited about Hillary (I liked her all right). My primary motivation was fear.

So when Trump won, it hit me with a solid sense of despair. And upon reflection, if Hillary had won, I don’t think I would been like “Hell yeah! I’m pumped for the next 4 years!” I think my main emotion would have been relief, and probably some joy at watching Trump crawl back into his golden cave.

All said and done, it was a pretty rotten experience.

But 2018…

Was totally different. In 2018, I followed my mighty activist-maven wife into the service of the Andy Kim congressional campaign in a district near ours. And that was a blast. I don’t think I even knew who he was running against, but I liked Andy Kim, and I loved getting out there trying to take back the House of Congress. And he won.

So here we are, approaching the 2020 election.

First off, I’m doing stuff. No way I’m sitting this out. My feeling – you’re only allowed to have an opinion about politics if you participate in the process. Watching MSNBC and Fox News is not participating in your democracy. Sharing a meme does not make you an activist. If you’re not out there putting in real time and real money, then you deserve whatever elected official you get. In fact, my New Year’s Resolution for 2020 is really get at it for this election.

However, for my own well-being, I didn’t want to go out there with the primary motivation of getting rid of Trump. I wanted to be for someone. I wanted to be excited about the potential of someone being President.

And I liked my options. I liked Harris, Buttigieg, Klobuchar, Bullock, Castro…lots of really smart people who I felt like I could get behind. I think of an election as a job opening where I’m the hiring manager. This felt like a lot of highly qualified candidates.

But I hadn’t really made a pick. I guess I was hanging back, ready to really go at it when it became clear who the winner was going to be.

But then I went for a walk with Alex.

Alex is in “Model U.N.” where kids represent different countries and debate political issues. This year their issue is climate change, and quite reasonably, it’s scaring the shit out of the boy as he learns more about it. So we were talking about that.


ALEX, a 14-year old boy, walks with his father, MIKE.

(using his “patronizing dad” voice)

Well, you’re not powerless, Alex. In fact, a big way that you can affect the issue of climate change is to participate in who the next President is.



Oh, I like Warren.



I’m glad you are aware of the candidates. Elizabeth Warren is a strong option for sure.



She has a plan to try and get to 100% renewable energy and reduce carbon emissions by 70%.



She does?



I also like her Green Apollo plan where she wants to invest $400 billion dollars over the next ten years into clean energy research – so that will help the economy at the same time.




(As he talks, the tone Mike’s voice slowly changes. And as Alex talks, one would swear that his voice takes on a tone that sounds just the slightest bit…patronizing.)



Plus the Blue New Deal she has for cleaning up the ocean is good too. Not to mention that offshore wind power can make 4 times the amount of energy that our whole grid uses today. Most people don’t know that.

OK, so as Alex went on explaining the finer points of Warren’s policies, a lightbulb went off.

  • How cool would it be to do all this election stuff with Alex?

It was followed by a series of supporting light bulbs.

  • Doing this with Alex would motivate me to do it even more. Like a gym buddy.
  • Alex would be an animal on the phone
  • Bringing in Alex would get me a TON of brownie points with my hyper-activist wife

And that’s how I landed on Warren. Alex.

So the next week, we went to a campaign event in town to make calls to Iowa voters, and I was right: Alex was awesome at it.

Phonebanking is basically getting hung up on 19 out of 20 times. But when people hear a kid on the phone, that’s quite a hook. Hearing Alex read the Warren script in his cute mid-puberty voice – people stayed on the line with him…I guess to be patronizing…but, whatever. He was a force.

We’re in for Warren. We’re actually planning to host an event in the next couple of weeks, so I’ll keep you posted.

Final note: I’m gonna be a little bit of a dick about comments on these posts. Not really into hosting a political snipe fest. However, comments about what a great father I am are always welcome.

It breaks your heart

“It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart.”

That’s the opening of Bart Giamatti’s “The Green Fields of the Mind.” It’s an essay about the end of the season that talks about how baseball promises to suspend time, and how every year you believe it can, only to have it betray you.

“You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.”

God, it’s beautiful. Each night this season there was a game on, and I’d watch a few innings. Each morning I could see the standings and watch the highlights. Each day’s drive was the Baseball Tonight podcast and Talkin’ Yanks. And through it all was Jack. The texts between us were so magic.

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My favorite came in the summer. I was camping in Utah and out of cell range. When I came back to civilization, I got this:


Going to ballparks started early this season and never slowed down. We started with a trip to Spring Training where Jack and the lady behind the counter badgered me into upgrading to a corvette.


“I’m sorry. And you’re welcome,” Jack said when I finally caved.

In April we shot down to Baltimore to see the Yankees pummel the Orioles. Jack got Aaron Judge’s autograph before the game, and then for the length of all 9 innings, everything in the world was perfect. The usher let us go down into the field-level seats. Everyone sitting near us was friendly and in a great mood. I could feel the baseball smiling down on me like sunshine.

In July we had our sights set on an overnight flight to finally make it to Wrigley. Shani and Alex were at a dive meet in California, so the timing was perfect. But flights to Chicago were crazy expensive. So we drove instead, orchestrating a 3-day/3-ballpark road trip.

Detroit…The sunset lit the entire sky into an electric yellow glow and Jack stared out at the park the way that only Jack can stare out at a ballpark.

Chicago…Finally we made it to Wrigley and it not only lived up to the hype, it shattered expectations. That park and those people and that game all nestled into the hot, dense streets of the city.

Cleveland…Chomping mustard-smeared bratwurst while we watched the game under the shade of the right field wall.

In Detroit, a 4-time survivor of breast cancer sang the National Anthem. In Chicago, a shrunken WWII vet blared the anthem out on a trumpet. Then in Cleveland, a 12-year-old girl sang the anthem in that pure and clear voice that only 12-year-olds have. And at some point in there, I felt a stir of pride that I haven’t felt in 2+ years.

But the coup de grace came at the end of the season. It was late September, and I figured we were done. Then I got this text…

Screen Shot 2019-11-09 at 8.59.22 AM.png


From minute one I knew what he wanted, and I knew I’d say yes. Playoff tickets to Yankee Stadium.

I watched ticket prices climb and dip until one morning the exact seats I wanted were $130 each. I hesitated, running late for a meeting with my boss, and decided to buy them as soon as my meeting was over.

I got laid off at that meeting.

Dazed, I staggered back to my office, sat down at my desk, took out my phone, and bought the tickets – full on planning to tell my wife I’d bought them before I got laid off.

The playoff game was a full-throated, red-in-the-face, 4-hour roar – as if we believed we could make the Yankees win with our voices. Every pitch, every swing, every out, every everything we howled with all our might until the struggling Did Gregorious came up with the bases loaded and slapped a home run over the right field wall to put the game out of reach.

From there the Yanks moved on to the unbeatable Astros who we beat in game 1. Then lost the next three in a row. All hope was lost, but the Yanks still won Game 5. Then they spent Game 6 behind by two runs until the 9th inning…the 9th inning…DJ LeMahieu hit a two-run homer to tie the game and Jack and I went ballistic! We woke up the entire house and I got a fat lip against his chin as we jump-hugged.

But just like that, Jose Altuve responded with a walk off home run and just like that it was over. This Yankee team I’d loved more than any team ever before. This team that battled through injuries and picked each other up and were such epic wonderful fun all season…this team that felt magic and charmed and 200% inevitable…

It broke my heart.

I didn’t watch any of the World Series until it went to Game 7, which is holy. Jack and I watched in the basement, often on our phones and not talking much. I think both of us couldn’t help but wondering what it would have been like if the Yankees had been in the game.

Then yesterday the Baseball Tonight podcast ended their season the way they always do, by playing “The Green Fields of the Mind.” And I did what I always do, I listened in the car and cried. Another season was over.

Some concluding thoughts…

  • The job search is going well. I’ve got a freelance assignment through the rest of the year and I have some promising leads that I think will soon turn into actual job offers.
  • Next season will be the last one that Jack and I will experience together. 2020 will be his senior year. 2020 is it.
  • We are plotting games for next season already. Boston with my Aunt Joan. Seattle as part of a family vacation to the Northwest. And I’m sure some Yankees games will get in there.
  • And finally, let there be no mistake about it, if the Yankees win the World Series next year, I am streaking. Immediately. Prepare yourselves now.

So here’s to an amazing season – possibly my favorite ever. And even still, it broke my heart.

Here is the “Green Field of the Mind;” You should listen.

Big plans

Here are the salient facts:

  1. The AAU National Diving Championships are in California from July 18-22
  2. Shani is taking Alex
  3. This leaves me and Jack on our own
  4. The Chicago Cubs are home that weekend

The conclusion was obvious. Or so it seemed. But then I started looking at making it happen. Flights were super expensive and I couldn’t get there using frequent flyer miles. Hotels were expensive too. I even started looking for an alternative. Houston? Minnesota?

Then I opened Google maps.

A new set of salient facts became apparent.

  1. Chicago is a 12-hour drive from New Jersey
  2. Detroit is on the way to Chicago
  3. The Detroit Tigers are home that weekend
  4. Cleveland is on the way home from Chicago
  5. We have good friends in Cleveland
  6. The Cleveland Indians are home that weekend

Again…obvious conclusion. Here’s the route:

Screen Shot 2019-07-08 at 2.31.23 PM.png

We’ve got Tigers on Friday at 7:05 PM, Cubs on Saturday at 1:05, Indians on Sunday at 1:05. Over the course of a 72-hour period, it breaks down to:

  • 26 hours of driving
  • 15 hours of baseball
  • 24 hours of sleep (we hope)
  • 7 hours for other crap

If all goes according to plan, by July 21st, Jack and I will have visited 17 of the 30 MLB parks together. There is a term for this.

Good parenting.





The Bizarre Reality of Parenting Teenagers on a Saturday Night

Let me paint you a portrait of our evening this past weekend.

  • Friday: Jack and Alex both home and without plans.
  • Saturday: I went out and met two friends for a drink. Returned at 9 PM. Jack and Alex both home without plans.

They’re both just there. Sitting in our living room. And I find it weird.

They both have good sets of friends, but for some reason that doesn’t turn into weekend plans. They’re too old for sleepovers. They’re not going to parties (I think that may be because they don’t drink, but maybe they’re just not invited to parties).

Jack goes to the basement to play X-box and drop f-bombs. Alex watches Netflix. Or they both just lay there on the couches like seals and scroll scroll scroll through Instagram. It makes me want to smack the crap out them.

So Shani and I go to bed and the boys stay up late doing nothing even remotely worth doing. They usually eat cereal at some point during the night because I find the dishes (and sometimes the milk).

And my question: Is this OK? I guess I should want them around, but shouldn’t they be out doing stuff? I could suggest a movie or a game or bowling — but it’s not my job to entertain them anymore. And honestly, I want to go to bed so I can get up early the next morning and do stuff.

I’m baffled.







Speaking Of…



Alex and I went for a hike this past weekend to Sadsbury Woods in Pennsylvania. We had a great time. Heavy snowmelt left entire sections of the trail muddy, so we so we had to navigate through twigs and fields of prickers yelling ouch!and laughing. We crossed an overflowing stream using sticks for balance, clinging to branches, and engineering an unnecessarily complex system to keep the camera dry. We jabbered about which countries we’d like to visit most, strategies to drum up babysitting business, and dancing to Beyoncé.

At the end of the hike, we had a debate on who could run faster, which led us to race the last 100 feet to the parking lot (Alex won). That left us laughing hysterically and gasping for breath at the same time. The whole thing was just idyllic.

On the way home, we hit Wawa for meatball parm subs, and then took turns picking out songs to play. About halfway through the drive, I turned down the music.

“You wanna know something?” I asked, and I was a little choked up.

“What?” Alex responded.

“I genuinely cannot imagine a better life.”

Speaking of music and crying…

This February, the local classic rock station, WMGK, counted down the Top 20 Frontmen and Frontwomen of Classic Rock. Each day they released a new name, counting down from #20 to #1 (Mick Jagger, bitches!).

I got ridiculously invested in the countdown, and I wasn’t alone. I put the list up on Facebook and updated it daily. It turned into a non-stop debate. Friends from periods across my life dove in and debated Jim Morrison vs Steven Tyler, Stevie Nicks vs Ann Wilson – and we delved heavily into the very definition of classic rock and frontman. The conversations strings got so unwieldy that I had to start new posts 4 separate times. One friend told me he missed his train stop because he was thick into the debate. When they announced Roger Daltry at #6, I swerved to the side of the Turnpike and immediately updated the group. It was wonderful and all-encompassing and had me re-connecting with dozens of friends.

Somewhere in the midst of this craziness, I was driving home, listening to WMGK when they announced that a new song by Tom Petty had been released. After Petty’s death last year, they had been sorting through his recordings and found an unreleased song.

Now, I love me some classic rock (obviously), but Petty is my favorite. He’s my guy. He’s the one closest to my soul.

The song was called “For Real” and the chorus was this:


I did it for real.

Would a done it for free.

I did it for me.

Cause it was all that rang true.

I did it for real.


And it I did it for you.


It was Tuesday at 5:40 PM and I was driving on Route 295. And I was absolutely bawling.

Speaking of Tom Petty and friends and crying…

Last year, the day after Tom Petty died, I was in San Francisco for work. I met up with my friend, Reef, who lives there – and as luck would have it, our close friend, Wade, was also there for work.

The three of us were friends in our early 20s when we lived in LA together. There’s an intensity to that time of life, a glorious arrogance and self-centeredness where you feel like there couldn’t possibly be better, more powerful people in the universe and together you are the force that will drive tectonic shifts in the culture.

Reef, Wade, and I shared that time together, and 20+ years later we still love each other deeply because of it. We also listened to a crapload of Tom Petty on a crapload of crazy roadtrips.

So back to that night in San Francisco. We met up at a bar that night with plans to drink a shot in honor of Tom Petty. But it got complicated. The bar only served beer, so Wade went to the bodega next door and returned with a bottle of rank vodka (It was all they had!) – and a big bottle at that (It was all they had!)So we plunked that bottle down on the bar in front of us and did a shot with glasses the bartender gave us.

From there, things got more complicated:

  • We spent the next few hours scrawling our favorite Tom Petty lyrics onto cocktail napkins with plans to mail them to my brother
  • We finished the entire bottle (you saw that coming, right?)
  • I have no idea what happened to the napkins
  • Wade crashed on the couch at my Air Bnb
  • I puked my guts out the next morning

A few months later, right before Christmas, I got a package from Wade. Reef did too. Each package was labelled “do not open until X-mas”.

Christmas morning, I cut open the package and the smell of new T-shirt lifted out of the plastic envelope.

“What is it?” Shani asked.

I couldn’t even answer her, because I was crying. There were two shirts, one for me and one for Shani:


For those of you who don’t know, those are lyrics from “You Wreck Me” by Tom Petty. Reef got a lyric T-shirt too.

The gift of 20+ years of friendship.

And speaking of Christmas and friendship and crying…

Every year I write a letter to Shani and Jack and Alex. I put it in their stocking.

This past year I wrote to Jack about how much our trip to Spring Training in Florida had meant to me. I talked about sitting on the grass berm wrapped in a wool blanket and watching the Yankees. I talked about the emergency stop in Baltimore where I nearly crapped my pants. The grubby hotel in Georgia. Sitting in the sun watching the Pirates play while Jack collected autographs. Blasting John Fogerty’s “Centerfield” over and over.

Then as I reached the end of the letter, I wrote something to him that I didn’t expect to say at all. But as it came out, I realized it was really the point of the entire letter.

In a lot of ways, you’re my best friend. I know parents aren’t supposed to be that, but it’s happened anyway.

Our family routine on Christmas is to make coffee, open our gifts, and then I make a big breakfast pizza for everyone. I was in the middle of chopping onions when Jack slid into the kitchen. He came right for me. He draped a lopey arm around my neck and mushed our two heads together. His voice was murky and hoarse.

“You’re my best friend too.”

Then he slid out as fast as he’d slid in. And he left me there, stunned, glowing, and wondering if it was really even happened.

And finally, speaking of gratitude…

I want to end by saying thank you to literally everyone who reads this silly blog (or at least tells me they do). From Facebook friends to lifelong friends to old friends to best friends…thank you for being my friends.

Because in all sincerity, I will come back to thought I started with:

I genuinely couldn’t imagine a better life.

And I have you to thank for that.