Hanging out in Fenway with Jen, killing time before the McCartney show. Crossword puzzle giving me trouble, and now that I know I can post from my phone you cannot escape me. I've also ingested way too much coffee for one day, unless you believe all the medical studies that state I'm actually fighting Alzheimer's.

Probably mentioned this before (or not, I have no way of checking), but with this ticket I correct a grave error committed circa 20 years ago. McCartney was on that bigass world tour and my mom, being the responsible adult she is, bought tickets. Concert happened to land on Easter Sunday, which did not please grandma (or so the legend goes), and she convinced me to not go. This part gets murky, because if I were in my mom's shoes I'd go all unilateral action on this bullshit and take me anyway. So it goes.

Anyway, my parents went without me—I think they took my godmother in my stead—and I was rewarded with no memories of that Easter.

Maybe this is why I no longer celebrate it. Either way, one wrong will be righted today.

Now all that's left to do is murder the Easter Bunny.

Seriously, I'm coming for you and your box of Trix, asshole.

Henry's phone