Michael Ian Black takes his kids to Citi Field

We start shooting Monday next. Yes it’s exciting, but there are some looming problems. First of all, I’m supposed to wear a very small swimsuit for most of my scenes, which would be fine except that I told them I am a small, and I am anything but! So I cannot squeeze into the suit they got me, but I’m too ashamed to tell the costumer, so as a result, I will not fit into my main piece of wardrobe unless I can somehow manage to shed thirty pounds in the next week. And it’s those “around the middle” pounds that are the last to go. Hopefully most of it is water weight, so I’m optimistic that if I just spend the next week in the sauna, I’ll be okay. I saw that on “The Ultimate Fighter” once and it seemed to work fine.

Second, my incontinence has gone into hyperdrive, which has caused me tremendous distress. It’s a lot of running to the bathroom only to discover either I’ve already gone or it’s a “false alarm.” My urologist tells me the problem might be with my prostate, but I don’t think so, because I’ve given myself about thirty prostate exams over the last few days, and it feels fine to me.

Third, I’ve developed terrible camera fright. What’s weird is that it’s not that I’m afraid of performing: I’m literally afraid of cameras. When you think about them, they’re spooky. I’m not sure the indigenous people didn’t have it right when they said cameras steal your soul. So that’s a problem, as the existence of my soul is already somewhat suspect.

Finally, I’m worried that somebody on the crew is going to give me swine flu, which is a horribly ironic way for a Jewish person to die.

If you weren’t so Twitter averse, you could have gotten wind of this yesterday! Plus, his tweets are pretty amusing for the most part.

sitting next to my bed. MIB is hysterical.

How much does that guy who took that photo get? I’m expecting the Pulitzer for him

My son dug right in, but my daughter decided she didn’t like Cracker Jacks, which triggered the first “I want to go home.” This is the third inning. I explained her we couldn’t go home yet because the game had just started and because we weren’t fucking going home. She turned around and decided she wouldn’t watch the game. Which was fine with me. Then she said she wanted cotton candy. I said no. I don’t know why I said no, except that I think cotton candy is gross and because I had just bought so much crap I didn’t want to buy more. But apparently “no” was the wrong answer, because that started tears and tantrums and undoubtedly planted a seed of resentment that will eventually blossom into a tree of rage during her adolescence. Did I finally give in and get her the cotton candy? I did.

comes in with a different take than Ryin A’s “”http://www.lonestarball.com/2009/4/18/844323/baseball-is-a-special-game" target="new">Baseball is a special game….."

I knew it. I knew children + baseball didn’t = instant magic.

I don’t know why this is the funniest part. Maybe swearing? Or maybe it’s because the two reasons are actually the same.

This is the third inning. I explained her we couldn’t go home yet because the game had just started and because we weren’t fucking going home.

So I bought a bag of twenty-two dollar Cracker Jacks. (Not really. I don’t know how much they were because I’m on TV, but to a regular person they were probably a lot.)

was an awesome, awesome show

great sketch comedy of our generation

It says KDFI but my guide is just showing 30 min shit shows at 7.