Got an image you'd like to see in here first thing in the morning? Send it to firstname.lastname@example.org. Subject: Morning crap
So my father, God bless him, has been a "senior intern" at 610 WIP in Philadelphia for a little more than a year now. He pops in once or twice a month in the studio and every time he's there it makes his month, He'll give me a full report about how he did, who popped in the studio, who bought him breakfast, who shook his hand, who remembered his name, which local semi-celebrity is "kind of a jerk-off" in person and any and all specific details about what it's like to "work at WIP." It's adorable. Last summer when I lived in Philly I'd listen to the show, oblivious that it was his day to be on there, and catch the tail-end of my father discussing gas prices with Mitch Williams or reading aloud the New York Post after a brutal Mets loss. They love him, I thought. Good for him.
But then, yesterday, it appears he was the victim of a practical joke for most of the morning. One of the other (non-senior) interns took a photo of it and posted it on Twitter. It was, supposedly, all in good fun. Although there's a small part of me that feels like the doting parent who goes to pick up their kid from Little League practice early only to find out the rest of the team has de-pantsed him in right field and thrown his glove in a tree.
But it would be wrong of me to get too worked up over a funny photo of someone I care about being posted on the internet now wouldn't it?
Good morning. It's Friday. This is what you get.