Who's Your Daddy?

I'd like to quote my favorite blogger (besides myself) and say that this blog has been a tall glass of disappointing lately. Sorry, folks. Life has been busy over here at the Brown Cotton Mansion lately. I'm sure you understand.

So, of course, I have missed the boat on all of the current events that are no longer current. Lots of celebrity deaths this month, including Princess Diana. Oh, shit- maybe it was that other white lady that the whole world obsessively moaned and cried over. Whatever. I think my local news station has become "all Michael all the time" which would be great if they were talking about Michael Jordan instead of Michael Jackson. (more on that later...) But they are not.

Oh yeah- I also have the best idea for fantasy football season, which you can feel free to use. I am going to use my last round bench player pick on Steve McNair, and then name my team, "Sahel Kazemi Killed My Season." What? Too soon?

Give me a break, of course I would never do that because not even retired players and their homicidal mistresses could stop my team. Aww yeah.

In completely unrelated to fantasy football news, Nikki and I had our baby yesterday! That's right. Lock up your daughters (in the not-yet-born to recently-born age range), because there is another Karp man in Boston. So I'm sure you can understand why I haven't been on the ole' interwebs lately.

So, my newest son is named Caleb Jordan, and he is currently weighing in at about 6 and a half pounds, and he is adorable and perfect and overall pretty freakin awesome. I am not going to get into much more detail just yet, I haven't decided how much (if any) of his personal details will be on this blog. But just know that he is healthy and happy, as is Nikki, and we are all three tired and excited.

And the hospital where he was born (and where I've been for the last few days) has provided me with TONS of material for this here blogspace. Like the alarming trend of "text-walking" that every single doctor, nurse, patient, visitor, and janitor seems to be doing as I walk down the hallways of an already crowded hospital. I swear I want to send these people a text of my own, that says, "put the phone down, you pretentious Jackass, before I kick your meandering ass." But, of course, that would just be adding to the problem. Not to mention I get no reception in the hospital. Stupid jackass doctors and their fancy Blackberry Iphones. The guy at the store assured me that rotary cell phones were going to be the next big thing. Oh well.

I did meet a pretty cool homeless guy outside. (I know, right? Who would have thunk it, that he would be outside?!) I was sitting on a bench, eating lunch, and I watched him find his spot on the sidewalk, pull out a cup, and beg for change. What made him cool was that before he sat down, he walked all around the whole area and picked up all the trash. He even came up to me and asked me if I wanted him to dispose of my paper plate when I was done. I was pretty impressed. So I gave him $5. That's the smallest bill I had. My wallet is like the opera (nothing but high notes.)

I know he was just probably keeping his small slice of the American Dream neat and clean, but I was duly impressed. I mean, this was right in downtown Boston. There was a ton of trash everywhere. I don't even care if he spent it on a bottle of NightTrain. In fact, I hope he did. I mean, yesterday was a celebratin' kind of day...