HFD!

My daddy-o, Ben Starr

Every day, I call my dad.  The gist of our two-minute conversations:  How are you?  Everything good?  Everything okay?  Most days, everything is fine (kina hora).  Unless he's having a computer issue.  Those are not good days.  He gets very wrapped up, very "I can't talk to you now." A few weeks ago, I solved the problem for him in under a minute, after he'd been on the phone for hours with tech people who only made it worse.  My dad was so proud of me -- all I did was tell him to click on the arrow for the full menu of options -- that he told the guys at lunch.  Every other week, the guys meet at Factor's Deli.  The numbers have dwindled.  It's down to just a few now.  On a good week, Sid Caesar, Arthur Hiller,  Monty Hall, Hal Kanter and Gary Owens show up.  A recent addition: Matty Simmons, the baby of the group, the guy who produced "Animal House."  Lately, my dad has been tweaking a new script.  He's 89 and still writing, still hilarious, after a long and wonderful career in comedy.  The other day, he let me read his new script.   It was so funny, that in between kvelling and laughing, I started casting the lead.  "I'm seeing Jack Black."  "I was thinking Owen Wilson," he said.  The eternal optimist.  Thanks for the pep-talks, the laughter, the never-ending support.  Happy Father's Day to my hero, my mentor, my inspiration.