A DJB Holiday Reflection

I wanted to take a minute to say that this holiday season I'm grateful for the wonderful communities that make me who I am.

*West Springfield, MA - I make fun but you're my roots. Sending love to my family and friends from WSHS, the Crest Room, the Majestic Theater, Collins Tavern, The White Hut and the Big E. My comedy career was born, believe it or not, in the kitchen of the Crest Room. I was probably picking chicken.

*Westfield, MA - You're literally my family. It doesn't get old playing the "Which Bein is your dad" game. It's an honor when someone recognizes me because I look like my dad (Darren) or my Uncle Joe.

*Boston College - You were my clean slate and my connection to Boston and . I became confident, proud, opinionated, passionate and me on your beautiful campus. I met some of my best friends in Chestnut Hill. I also met my future comedy community.

*ImprovBoston - You believed in me (Will). You gave me a stage and opportunity after opportunity after opportunity. (Elyse, Don, Zach, Deana, Mike, Tom) Sometimes, I walk by on my way to get coffee and I just tear up out of sheer gratitude. The way that you've built me and supported me through my ups and downs is a debt I'm afraid I can't repay. It won't stop me from trying. No matter what people say about you, I will proudly represent you until I no longer represent the world. I would take a bullet for this community. (Sometimes, I'm surprised I haven't yet.)

*The Boston Stand Up Comedy Scene- No matter what you think - some of the funniest, most bad ass, unique and intelligently wonderful people perform comedy in this broken, misanthropic, strange, tough-loving, shit-talking city. To perform here makes you better at comedy, at taking criticism, at finding your voice and at knowing why you shouldn't do improv. (Do it anyways.)

*Inman Square - You are my home. For almost 16 years, I've bounced in and out of your bars, your restaurants, your banks, and your KFC/Taco Bell. (RIP)

I don't think there's anywhere I feel more me. With a coffee from 1369, an Atomic Meatloaf Meltdown from All Star, a mug of Banner American Ale from Bukowski (#89) and a sad bank statement from East Cambridge Savings, I am me.

*Boston Pedicab - You are the freakiest, most unfit for society, hug-worthy, twisted conglomerate from all walks of life. To ride a pedicab in Boston, is to understand humanity on a level that most cannot for the better and the worse.

You saved me when I was at my lowest, you built my body, my mind and my bank and you reinvigorated my desire to try new things, to follow my passions, to find people who are nothing like me and seek out conversations with those people. That, my friends, is what life is all about. Sharing light.

*Tristan Tash - brother, you have no idea. Actually, you probably do.

At times, you've been my spine, my heart, my health and my pride. You are a rock. In the rare moments when I forget how lucky I am, I close my eyes and we're in my mind we're walking and laughing and it's better than literally anything else I can imagine doing. You should teach a master class in friendship. Everyone should be so lucky.

*Mom - You're crazy but not for the reasons you might assume. You're crazy for being strong enough to bring two children into the world as a child yourself and raise them through tumultuous wildfires. You're crazy for working multiples jobs in order to make sure your kids eat, dress, grow, stay warm, read, respect and love. You're crazy for putting up with all of the things I say on stage. And not just putting up with it. You're crazy for coming to those shows, paying a ticket price, laughing your ass off and then letting me crash at your place afterwards. You're crazy for supporting your son's absurd, impoverished lifestyle. You're crazy for thinking for even a second that you didn't do a good job as a parent because things were / are sometimes messy. You're crazy for doing your best to get to know the women I bring into my life even whether or not you think they'll be around for a while. You're crazy for being the most bad ass, partying, connected, silly and fun person while somehow still being my mom. You're crazy for having my back time after time no matter how much money I owe you or how "selfish" I am. You're crazy because you're not crazy, you're mom. I love you. Thank you.

I could write a testimonial about any one of you in my life.

I've probably already done it in my head.

My heart gets bigger every fucking day.

It's filled with joy, passion, gratitude and inspiration.

I say it almost every day. I'm never gonna stop.

I've got your backs.

If you're down, if you need a push, if you're in a creative rut, if you need a friend, if you need a drink, if you need a hug, if you need a laugh....

I will never not want to be that guy for you. Are you reading this? Yes, you.

We're a reflection of the people in our lives.

If you respect me, admire me, like me or love me, reread this post and thank the communities and people that make them up.

I'm just a reflection of these beautiful, thoughtful and ridiculous people.

I love you.

Happy holidays, friends.

Be safe. Love yourself, take care of each other and follow your fucking dreams.

#djblove

100 First Jokes V - 1/1/16 - ImprovBoston - The Scoop

100 First Jokes V: 1/1/16 - ImprovBoston - Cambridge, MA

I'm excited to hear comedians buzzing about the fifth annual installment of our stand up comedy party. 

In said party, all comedians involved will tell their first brand new joke of 2016 in front of a resolution heavy crowd at ImprovBoston. 

For comedians:
I'll be reaching out to the 200, yes, 200 comedians I've personally selected for 100 First Jokes V in the next week or so. 


I will not be taking walk-ins this year. This show is the most rewarding show to produce, but it's also the most exhausting. Ever booked or produced a showcase with 10 comics? You get it. Never have? You don't. Every year, producing this show is a wild, exciting and chaotic process and I've got it down to a science. I'm trying to make the shows as inclusive as possible without 75 comedians walking in on the night of the show hoping for stage time. 

Chances are that if you've done the show before or you want to do the show, you're already on my list. 
If you'd like to help out producing, organizing or wrangling, email me at danajaybein@gmail.com. 
If you have any questions, I guess I can answer those by email as well.

For fans of comedy:
The shows are at 7:30PM and 9:30PM. There will be roughly 100 Boston area comedians on each show. That's right, 100. They each get less than 2 minutes to show us what they've written in the last 20 hours.
It's an absolute joy to watch the birth of a joke. It's not as messy as real birth. (most of the time) Some of the jokes are wonderful; some of them - not so much. All of the comedians on the show will put their bravery and vulnerability on display to kick off the new year. If you've never been to 100 First Jokes, you've got to see it. Feel free to email me if you have questions. (danajaybein@gmail.com). 

Tickets are available here: http://www.improvboston.com/shows/100-first-jokes

Love you guys. 
- DJB 
(Dana Jay Bein)

Ask People Out. (Reblog by DJB)

Ask People Out

Single folk. 

If you're tired of being single, do yourself a favor. 

Ask people out. Just do it. 

Guys and girls alike, ask people out. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Don't overthink it. 

Stop putting people on pedestals. No one is too good for you. No one. There are no leagues.

The more you ask people out, the more you'll realize that it's not a big deal. And, you might be surprised by the results.

People like to know that people are interested in them even if the feeling isn't mutual. It's flattering.

(If you're not creepy about it.)

Just be yourself. Talk to people. Ask them out. 

If (and when) someone says no, it might have nothing to do with you. Just roll with it. It doesn't matter.

Rejection only exists if you put people on a pedestal, if you build up hope or expectations. 

If you embrace that you're OK with either yes or no for an answer, you'll undo some of the nervousness that comes with asking. 

Try it. No, do it. You'll be happy that you did.

DJB

Crippling Anxiety and DJB

"What worries you, masters you." - John Locke

I've been coming to terms with the fact that anxiety contributes as much to my life as comedy does.

From the outside, I may seem like a tough person to shake but it took a lot of work to seem that way. 

It still takes work. If I'm focused on something or someone, I can put all of my worries in solitary confinement, completely out of mind temporarily. If I'm feeling good, I'm flying first class and my worries are in coach. I'm in the cafe car; my worries are in the quiet car. I'm driving and my worries are in the trunk. 

Right now, as I type, I'm creating metaphors and my worries are planning sabotage. 

Those of you that know me well may have seen me in moments of panic. 

Lately, anxiety is like a shark circling my boat waiting for me to dip my feet in.

I'm still not self aware enough to see what attracts the shark. So, I ignorantly dip my feet in and get attacked.

'Attacked' is a heavy word to describe something that in retrospect can seem ridiculously petty.

Is he mad at me? 

Did I offend her? 

Am I making enough money for a 37 year old?

Would we be better friends if I had made different choices? 

Have I been clear enough about how much I love them? 

Am I a shitty person for not being there this time? 

The questions pile. My emotions spike. I run and I don't want anyone in my way.

Despite having an incredible support system, I hide. In hiding the questions continue to pile. The worry grows often insurmountable. The sabotage snowballs.

Plans canceled. Emails and phone calls avoided. Scheduling gets sloppy. Work procrastinated. 

While I know I'm not alone in these neurotic examinations, I wonder if I'm more aware of my anxiety because I'm learning more about myself or if it's getting worse as I get older. 

I have Paula (my wonderful girlfriend) to thank for helping me observe my own patterns of anxiety. I've never met a person who is so committed to reflection and self improvement. 

Watching her reflect and grow has impacted me immensely. 

She's helped me discover patterns in my own mental and emotional behavior that I'm not sure I would have ever seen on my own. I'm also not sure if anyone else could have helped me like she has. 

She has set such a high bar for emotional reflection that it's like our relationship is a master class in self discovery. 

Being anxiety riddled isn't easy and it isn't awesome. 

The silver lining is that talking about it makes me feel better.

It makes me feel better to be honest with people. It makes me feel better to know that sharing this may connect with others that deal with anxiety. 

As I explore the causes and remedies for my anxiety, I invite any of you to talk to me about your anxiety. I'll watch for sharks when you dip your feet in. 

The Identity Frog - Proof That DJB is Legally Insane

Written in 2009 by DJB (age 32)

PART ONE:

Flanagan Ricardo O'Reilly-Gunderson had an identity problem. 

"Flanagan!?!?! Where are you going?!?! Breakfast is on!!! Ribbit!!!" 

Flanagan ignored his mother and hopped off of the lily pad and away from his breakfast and away from his comfort zone. He sought himself. He had questions and insecurities and warts. He was a frog. He didn't question the warts. If he did, they wouldn’t answer because warts don't talk - not these warts anyways. If they did talk, they wouldn't have the answers that Flanagan needed. I know that is presumptuous considering I have never talked to warts and I certainly couldn't put myself in a wart's shoes. I mean, I guess a wart COULD have an identity crisis - but would it be the kind of identity crisis whose experience could help across the lines of species? Warts and frogs go hand in hand, but not in heart to heart conversations about identity. I stand firm on that, but only in lieu of proceeding with the story. 

Flanagan’s questions and insecurities were never answered at home. His mother was deaf. It is commonly known that frogs cannot speak sign language. It has something to do with their webbed feet and stubbornness. Frogs are notoriously stubborn. Toads are actually frogs that were so stubborn that they refused to acknowledge their lineage in the water. Toads are pigheaded and make for terrible life partners. Flanagan’s mom, who was born to frog parents who refused to name her, insisted that she could hear. This made for difficult communication in the O’Reilly-Gunderson lily-pad. Frogs don’t have lips so lip reading wasn’t an option. She once gave Flanagan the Heimlich Maneuver thinking that he was choking when he actually asked her to pass the aphids. Flanagan NEVER got what he wanted for Christmas even when he wrote out his list. His mom would defiantly throw the list away in anger demanding that Flanagan simply tell her what he wanted. 

Flanagan had trouble believing in Santa Claus. Surely, the real Santa Claus could work around a seemingly impossible middle woman frog. Year after year, while building the Christmas chimney, Flanagan’s hopes would soar thinking THIS was the year. This year Santa would get it right. And year after year, there would be great disappointment. Disassembling the Christmas chimney became holiday therapy with moments of melodrama. One year, Flanagan boldly inquired the reason for building Christmas chimneys. It was bold because he knew his mother would likely not hear him and bold because he knew the answer. Lily pads do not have chimneys. How else would Santa Claus get in? As earlier mentioned, frogs are stubborn. Around the holiday season, other animals often gather around the pond and laugh while watching the frogs build. 

“You oughtta build walls around that Chimney, frog!” yelled a heckling muskrat. 
“Santa doesn’t NEED a chimney, amphibi-idiots!” chuckled an obese woodchuck. 
“You are using the wrong type of mortar! Amateurs!” shouted a know it all toad who began showing pictures of his properly built land Christmas chimney. Oh, toads! 

Flanagan relived frustrating memories, holiday and otherwise, as he swam toward the shore of his enlightened future. He thought about how he would have better luck communicating with a wart than with his ox-mindedly deaf mother. He thought this despite my earlier assertion. I wrote this despite my self inflicted contradiction. 
Upon reaching the north side of the pond, a hunger fell over Flanagan. He hopped out on his breakfast. Fortunately, a swarm of gnats was buzzing about. Sizing up the swarm, Flanagan spotted the juiciest and, conveniently, slowest flying gnat and wound up his tongue. BAM! Got ‘em! Just before Flanagan began to swallow his mid morning snack, he heard a voice quote Kierkegaard. 

“Don’t forget to love yourself!” called the voice. 

It was the gnat. From inside Flanagan’s mouth, the gnat had quoted the Danish theologian and that particular quote resonated with the soul searching frog. Had Flanagan forgotten to love himself or had he ever known how to begin with? 

“I accept reality and dare not question it…” sounded the voice again. 
A Whitman quote? What a rare and sophisticated gnat! How courageous and bold to quote famous intellects and artists while a mere gulp from death! 

“I haven’t had sex in eight months. To be honest, I now prefer to go bowling.” 

“Um, is that a Lil’ Kim quote?” Flanagan asked in a surprised moment of obscure quote recognition. There was no answer. Only silence. It was then that Flanagan realized that in asking a question, he had killed the gnat, who, up until now, found the strength as an orator in the face of death and in the vicinity of uvula. It was a Lil’ Kim quote, remembered Flanagan. New questions surfaced in the cesspool of internal frog thought. (External frog thought remained without question and content being external.) Why did this gnat have such wisdom and courage? Why am I questioning my reality? What is sex and bowling? Will I ever get over the guilt I feel about killing a food-like sage by confirming I pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career? 

PART TWO:
It was the tastiest gnat Flanagan had ever eaten. Tasty with insight! That delicious gnat was brilliant! Flanagan realized that he had indeed forgotten to love himself. While, he masturbated frequently – he did so only in moments of exceptional self loathing. He realized that he questioned reality far too often and he rarely accepted it. He also realized that he did, in fact, pay too much attention to Lil’ Kim’s career. He once had a dream that his lily pad was the pasty that covered Lil’ Kim’s nipple on the MTV Video Musics Awards. 

Flanagan knew that the best way to address these recent acknowledgements and inner observations was therapy. He dreaded therapy but not for the reasons that most dread therapy. In this part of town, there is only one therapist and he is a dick. Some argue he isn’t even an effective therapist but they don’t argue it with him. Oh no, they don’t. Dr. Mallard R. Userious is rarely questioned. He is also a duck. He is a dick duck. This dick duck’s word stands no matter how incorrect, nonsensical or off kilter it may seem. Toads hired Dr R. Userious. They constantly refuse to question his performance despite countless complaints. Of course he’s the right guy for the job if toads hired him. Oh toads! 

The doctor’s office is in a pile of sticks on the banks of the Golden River. The doctor is never technically ‘in’. Dr R. Userious has a sign in his office of sticks that says “Is it getting better? Or do you feel the same?” It makes patients wonder if the doctor is a U2 fan or just really lazy. Regular patients of the doctor know that the trick to actually seeing him is that you have to find him. You see, the doctor hides near his office and refuses to help you until you find him. Once, a patient tripped over him as he was hiding in a mulberry bush and the doctor denied the patient service because he wasn’t found deliberately. This, as you might imagine, was one of the many grievances filed against the doctor. (although not one of the more severe) Once, the doctor flew south for the winter in the middle of an appointment and charged his patient for the whole winter claiming that the appointment didn’t officially end until he returned. 

Flanagan knew that the way to the doctor’s good graces was twofold. No, you don’t show up folded twice. How do you fold yourself? I mean, really. Don’t think such ridiculous thoughts. There are two parts to winning him over. First, find the doctor fairly and squarely. Second, bring bread. Ducks love bread. Flanagan’s mother had visited the doctor many times. On a few occasions, she brought him along because she couldn’t find a babysitter that could promise not to eat him. These visits always proved very comical because she can’t hear anything and refuses to acknowledge it and the doctor is arrogant and irrational to begin with, let alone when one of his patients is handicapped. There would inevitably be an argument that made no sense and feathers would fly as the doctor would fly away in disgust. One day, though, they proceeded straight to the appointment from the bakery where they had picked up some pumpernickel loaf. The appointment went as planned until mid tirade Dr. R. Userious discovered the pumpernickel loaf. 

“Pumpynickel?!? Pumpynickel?!? Explain to me why you didn’t tell me you had the pumpynickel. The best of all nickels is the pumpynickel!” bellowed the doctor before tearing into the loaf with his beak and eating every last crumb. His demeanor changed immediately from insane and unreasonable to affable and relaxed. 

“Now, frogs, what brings you to the sticks? Are you swamped? Are you worry warts? 
Are you hop-less romantics?” punned Dr. R. Userious who, despite the authors assertion, was no less insane than before eating the pumpernickel. Once the parade of unbearable frog puns ended, Flanagan was able to act as duck to deaf frog translator. From that day forward, he felt more comfortable seeking the doctor’s help. (Read as, more comfortable – not completely comfortable) The doctor, as previously mentioned is a dick duck. 

Flanagan came prepared to walk in. He brought a duck call he had purchased from a goose. The goose used it to convince ducks that he was a duck. Fond of the story of the ugly duckling, the goose wanted to be known as the gorgeous duckling. Ducks and goose alike were not buying into this nickname. The duck call didn’t help. Flanagan, armed with a duck call, pumpernickel bread and possible the worst frog pun of all time approached the office of sticks. He pulled out the duck call as he neared and put it to his mouth. Dammit! No lips! What an ill advised and wasteful purchase! Some nearby toads laughed and were immediately eaten by a brown snake named Ulf who Flanagan had befriended some years ago in a reptile/amphibian diversity clinic. No toads were in attendance. Oh toads! Delicious toads! Having failed with the duck call and completely forgotten how important having lips is to blowing into things, Flanagan had to rely on his seeking ability to make this walk in appointment happen. He decided to lead with the pun. 

“Doctor! I am having an identity crisis! I think some of my origins are in eastern Europe – which means I might be a tad Pole!” 

An explosion of feathers came out of a hole in an oak tree. 

“I found you doctor! I found you! It’s me Flanagan! Come on out! I have pumpernickel, er, pumpy nickel!” 

No response. Flanagan crept slowly over to the tree. Oh no! A beak! A tail! Dr. R Userious had exploded. Literally. 
Flanagan had drastically underestimated the danger of his pun. He had murdered the doctor with foul wordplay. How could this be happening? In attempts to iron out his identity; he had acquired an identity – murderer. The frog had literally killed his audience. He could take no solace in finding the doctor. One by one, he picked up the doctor’s pieces and put them into the hole in the oak tree, the whole time praying that this was indeed the doctor’s best hiding place yet. Now, he had to hop and hop like he had never hopped before. He decided to run because running is hopping like he has never hopped before. Every few webbed steps, he would jump and try to fly. How convenient it would be to fly right now! How embarrassing it is to try every few steps and fail not learning from the last attempt! Toads stood nearby laughing and laughing so hard they didn’t hear the lawnmower start up. Oh toads! Formerly toads! 

DJB37

My 37th birthday is next Friday.

Birthdays don't mean what they used to and that's as great as it is sad.
Do I miss the childlike excitement of receiving copious, materialistic love? Of course.
What I love about being (gulp) almost 40 is that my birthdays have become a celebration of the things I love. Since, I love you - that includes you!

So, this year, on my birthday - here are some FREE ways you can celebrate with me:

*Reach out to someone you haven't talked to in a while & tell them how much they mean to you.

*Apologize to someone you've been at odds with.

*Do a favor for a stranger.

*Really consider the other side of an argument you have a strong opinion about. Empathize with difference.

*Ask a cashier how they're doing and mean it.

*Share a story of how awesome someone is.

*Write a poem or a song about something that matters to you.

*Talk to a homeless person.

*Read a book you own that you've been meaning to read but haven't made time for.

*Leave a nice note for your mail carrier.

*Walk the harbor walk in Boston. Seriously. It's a beautiful, goddamn city.

*Make a meal with your roommate, partner, sibling, parent - WITH SOMEONE YOU LOVE.

*Tweet at someone you admire with a compliment

*Write a letter to a teacher or mentor who inspired you / changed your life.

*Have a whole conversation where you focus on listening.

*Do something you really want to do but you've been afraid of it - karaoke, roller coaster, improv, ask someone out

*Tell as many people as you can how you feel about them.

*Forgive yourself for something you regret. You deserve it.

I love you guys. I really do. I feel like I'm afloat on a community of wonderful people who have shown me life, laughter and love. Thank you to my family, Paula, Tristan, ImprovBoston, the Boston comedy scene, Boston Pedicab maniacs, the Majesters, my West Springfield people, my Westfield people, my friends from BC, regulars at Bukowski Tavern, Inman and Central Square connections, and Camberville as a whole, former students, former coworkers and to people I remember fondly who left too soon (Uncle Joe, Nana, Grammy Bein, TC, Peter, Erin, Joe, Krystal, Mona, Brian, Michael, Katie). I am you. Thank you. I hope I make you feel like you make me feel.

DJBThereForYou

If you open yourself to the world, the world will open itself to you.

I truly, truly believe that. While talking with a close friend, he made me realize that this belief is underlying in almost everything that I do.

A couple of years ago (and well before this realization), I created a DJBThereForYou Twitter handle and Facebook page. I wanted to put myself out there for people on a more accessible level. I love to help people. All people. Not just the people I know and love but also the people who are out there alone. The people who are dealing with the things I have been through. Depression. Bullying. Failure. Lost love. Anxiety. Illness. Financial Despair. Addiction. Death. Abuse. I've seen all of those things in my life and they're not fun. I know from experience that these conditions can lead to hopelessness, fear and loneliness. You can feel trapped for days, weeks, months, sometimes years. There isn't a light at the end of the tunnel. So, I hoped that DJBThereForYou would put more light out there.

For myself, I've been the boat and I've been the anchor. I'll explain because that's a weird thing to say otherwise.There are times when I'm cruising and the water is at my mercy. Killing it. Feeling good. There are times when I'm literally holding myself in the same spot motionless, without progress, seemingly without hope. Stuck in the bottom. Feeling like the bottom is where you belong.

We all want to be the captain of our ship but, sometimes, it's hard to captain your own ship. If you're reading this, you're probably aware that the last month hasn't been easy for me. Because I was the anchor, I couldn't be the captain. Without a first mate or a crew, my boat was barely floating. But when you're underwater, you can't see what's above the surface.

We need a crew on our boat. Life is an ocean not a lazy river.

If you open yourself to the world, the world will show you your crew.
Sometimes it's hard to know who was willing to join you all along. I've been really lucky. My boat is never going to sink because I have the best crew. In my darker days, I forget that. Then, my crew pulls me in, talks me up and reminds me who I am. Knowing how it feels to have a crew is motivation enough for me to volunteer to be on your ship. Knowing what you can accomplish with a crew is inspiration enough to put myself out there in everything that I do.

So many of you have helped me sail. So many more of you have offered to. When you're the anchor, I want to pull you back into the boat. I want you to see the crew who is happy to work hard so your boat sails. They're there. They're there for you.

I'm there for you, captain. You've got this.

@DJBThereForYou

Realizations About My Sister On Her 35th Birthday

I have not been the best older brother I can be.

I'm often distant, I'm often selfish and I spent a lot of my life resenting how different we were.

Here are some of the things that took me a long time to realize:

*You taught me how to be tough. Goddamn, if not for you I'd be the most coddled, pansy, momma's boy. I'm eternally grateful for having to compete with you growing up. You kept me on my game.

Your competitive spirit and natural athleticism forced me to work harder and run faster. 

*You are unapologetically you. I wish I could be like that as often as you are. It's incredible. You don't give a fuck and it's why people respect, love and admire you. If you could bottle and sell that attitude, that way of living, you'd be a trillionaire. It's gold. Never change that. Send me some of that. 

*You are one of the most loyal people I have ever met. Like "Where is he? I'm going to kick his ass!" loyal. You love hard and you fight harder. I learned how to do those things watching you. 

I feel completely untouchable when I'm around you. It's not that I don't feel like I can't stand up for myself, it's more I don't have to. My sister is an assassin. Good luck not getting your arms broken.

*Some of my best stories are about you. Some of them are flattering and some of them, not so much. (We were kids, right?) Regardless, you're the main character and my friends love to hear about you. 

*In many ways, you are better than me. My 17 year old self would murder me if he heard me say that. At least I'd be dying telling the truth. Even in your struggles, you get after it. I know a lot of people who couldn't deal with the things you've dealt with. You shrug off the impossible like it's no big deal.

*You are hilarious. I watch a lot of comedy. Arguably, way too much. You are one of the few people that just gets me. You hit on what I think is funny so quickly. I envy that. You're a natural performer and storyteller and when you speak, people listen. I'm thankful you don't pursue comedy because you'd be better than me at that, too. 

*I admire the hell out of you. You're independent. You're strong. You speak your mind. You're really a beautiful person and I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you that. 

*20 years ago this would be a list of grievances that would seem endless. Today, I could go on and on about how happy I am that we're family. Happy birthday, Erin. Thank you for never killing me in my sleep. I love you.

I Hate Myself For Writing This

...I overshare.

DJB = TMI. 

It's a blessing and a curse.

When I'm doing well, it's a blessing. When I'm not doing well, it's a curse.

People assume I'm not doing as well as I say I am when I say I am.

So, when I'm telling people I'm not doing well, it feels like they assume I'm doing much worse than that too.

Here's the deal: I'm not doing well. 

I am shoulder deep in the darkest depression of my life.

It's a strange depression because this one has shown up as rage. I feel an inner rage that I've never felt in my life. I can't trace it to one event so I can't justify it. 

Sometimes it makes sense to me. Sometimes it doesn't.

What doesn't make sense:

I have the best girlfriend I could ask for. She's selfless and unconditionally supportive. 

I'm doing more comedy than I've ever done. Writing more. Performing more. Teaching more.
I'm exploring avenues of teaching wellness & confidence through comedy. I'm making new connections. I'm taking some great personal steps toward my own goals on my terms.

My friends are incredible. They're the fucking best. I'm spoiled rotten with some of the best people on earth. 

What makes sense:

First off, money is, well money isn't.

I constantly struggle with money. Constantly. I owe the government money, I owe friends money, I owe my girlfriend money, I owe my mom money. People, please stop lending me money. 

I'm an insomniac. I don't get enough sleep, let alone consistent sleep at consistent times.

I don't eat healthy. It's one of many ways I don't take very good care of myself. Some days I'll realize I've gone all day without eating a full meal. It's not that I can't eat or don't want to. It's the lack of a regular routine.

My sinuses get worse every year. I have wanted to tear the front of my face off every day since the end of March. If I had a normal routine or any sort of day to day discipline, I'd be neti potting more often and taking decongestants on the reg.

I don't have a routine. I'm at the same time the most precisely motivated person I know and the laziest, most self indulgent piece of absolute dog shit. 

I want to stay the path that I'm on. But I'd love to be able to travel and buy a house or even maybe just save money instead of living paycheck to paycheck. I keep feeling like I need to sell out and use the resume I don't care about to make sure I can make real people money to support the career that I do care about. Comedy & entertainment & wellness. That's what I'm good at. That's where I can make the most difference in the world. I care about people.

Here's why I hate myself for writing this:

I feel like a giant hypocrite. How can this advocate for wellness and confidence be so down on himself? Well, I wish I had that answer. The only thing I can say is; I'm human. Very human.

It's so much easier to help others than it is to help yourself. Take my own advice? YAY! Problems solved! (falls down stairs, loses wallet, pisses off girlfriend, eats a dick during an audition)

Sometimes, I don't want advice. I don't want help. I don't want feedback. I just want to be alone.

I want to scream. I feel dead inside. While I know that this is all temporary, I want to find answers myself. 

I would love to be the confident muppet that shows up 85% of the time ALL OF THE TIME.

I'm just not. I share because I'm real. Maybe it's because I lack healthy boundaries. Maybe it's because I hope that you see how weak I can be sometimes and it inspires you to be comfortable with your own weaknesses. 

People keep telling me that Mercury is in retrograde. I'd love to take more accountability than that. I'm not going to scapegoat a sad excuse for a planet. What's wrong, Mercury? Worried you'll have the same fate as Pluto? 

Will I be OK?

In time, yes. Allow me my sullen time to process my garbage thoughts and get my pathetic act together. Do I love you? Yes, always. Do I want your help? In time, maybe. 

Do you think this is funny? 

Yeah, I laugh at my own pain. Join me. 

On Giving Up

I can't tell you how often I approach giving up.

Well, I can. Or, I'll try. It's pretty often.

I think about quitting comedy often. 

It's not about whether or not I'm good enough. At times, I'm confident. 

In the past, I'd consider giving up because of the judgmental onslaught from comedians who treated me like a lesser than or an unwanted outsider. Or because I couldn't understand why a comedian I admired so much could be so mercilessly cruel. Or because even though I felt so good about comedy, I'd often leave shows feeling not so good. 

In the now (and maybe I'm paranoid) I'm worried about being taken out of context, misunderstood or about people laughing for the wrong reasons. I'm worried about saying something onstage that corruptively defines me offstage. I'm worried about the outrage culture and that I'll be the next comedian in the oversensitive crosshairs who is publicly shamed for making a joke that has been taken out of its appropriate context. I'm worried that because of THAT worry that I'll never be able to be truly creative, loose onstage or innovative. I'm worried that even though I stand strong behind the first amendment, I betray my fellow comedians when I say that I believe we should be held accountable for what we say onstage. (to a degree) I'm worried that I don't know what that degree is.

I'm worried things are becoming less and less funny as a result.

I'm not going to give up comedy. I know that because I'm so aware of these worries, that I'm likely doing more than my due diligence to be a thoughtful writer who seeks to connect with his audiences. 

I know that I think too much about these things which is likely better than too little. 

I think about giving up on people. 

Some of the closest people in my life have a tendency to make me feel worse about myself. Or just feel worse in general. 

This isn't an indictment of those people. More, the opposite. I want to manage how I feel about myself independent of outside influence. It's extremely difficult. Somehow, my initial reaction to almost everything is to take it personally. To make it about me. More often than not, it has nothing to do with me or less to do with me than my emotions might imply. 

One of the most challenging things about this is the assumption that I'm a confident and strong person. I play that guy really well. I'm pretty good at it. The reality is, it's way more complicated than that. I'm sensitive. I'm not a very good listener. I want people to like me. I'm way more introverted than I can possibly explain. While, it might seem like I'm fishing for compliments, I'm actually exposing myself. (not like that; what a twist that would be) I want to be there for people because, deep down, I want people to be there for me. It feels good. I don't need people to be there for me but it's nice. I think about it. I don't give to get, in fact, people who do that drive me crazy. No one owes me anything. I'm trying to find a balance between providing service to as many people as I can and drawing healthy boundaries so I can effectively understand where the world starts and I end. 

I'm not going to give up on people. Helping people is an infinite joy. When I feel frustrated, I double down on helping people. It makes me feel good, it makes people feel good. It's win-finity.

I think about giving up on sharing these things.

I worry it's whiny. I worry that it's self indulgent. I worry that it comes off more egotistical and less helpful. I expose my process hoping that others go through the same.

I'm not going to give up sharing these things. If one person is inspired by this or can relate, it's worth it every time.

I know how painful it is to give up and how painful it is when a job, or a team or a person gives up on you. In the past year, I've had all of those things give up on me. The hardest part is not giving in to the giving up. It's hard to motivate after you work really hard for something and you fail.

It's shameful (but brutally honest) to admit that when I'm telling you not to give up, I'm telling me too. I love you guys. Don't give up.

On Fear and Understanding

I'm afraid to write this.

My biggest fear is losing someone before they know how I feel about them. I want to effectively and consistently communicate love to the people in my life. I'm afraid I don't do that enough.

I'm afraid of being misunderstood. I'm afraid of being judged. I'm afraid of my words being taken out of context and used against me. I'm afraid of being seen as righteous when I really, genuinely want to connect with people. I'm afraid the people I want to connect with will be gone before I have the opportunity to tell them how I feel about them.

Fear locks me up more often than I'd like to admit. That terrifies me because many people see me as someone who is not afraid. As such, I suspect fear locks everyone up. It's a trap. A prison. It's an extension of our inner critic enabled by outside factors. Strengthened by outside factors. It limits our ability to think clearly, let alone for ourselves.

To admit you're afraid is one of the hardest things to do. Yet, we're all afraid. It's one of the very few things we all have in common. Fear manifests itself in anger, sadness, controlling behavior, judgment, ignorance and bullying. Whenever I feel rage or hate, I eventually realize it's because I don't understand something. More often than not, my emotions get in the way of that realization.
In most cases, hatred is the easiest way to cement our refusal of understanding. It's erosive.
It's an ignorance crutch.

For me, understanding fear takes time. It's often a while before I even realize I'm afraid of something.

Over the past ten years, I've watched hundreds of people approach fear and conquer it in my stand up comedy classes. These people have represented different ages, races, abilities, religions and parts of the world. In the first class of each session, the students discuss their fears. At the student showcase at the end of the session, they experience jubilation, the result of a fear conquered. Watching my students grow is possibly the most inspiring thing that I do. Watching people grow comfortable with their fear, step into it, then defeat it, never gets old. It's an inspiration machine. We all have access to that machine. We can all unlock it.

Our inner critic is an asshole. He makes us fear choices that have almost zero consequence. Ride the roller coaster? No! Ask her out? Terrified! Tell a story on stage? Fuck that. Barring potential medical excuses, your inner critic is manipulating you to have less fun. Your inner critic stockpiles reasons to believe you can't do things. Those reasons are all rooted in fear. When we believe those reasons, fear becomes an end.

We just need to believe that fear isn't an end. Fear is a beginning.

Fear is the beginning to understanding. It's the beginning to new relationships and the repair to old ones. Fear is the beginning of new opportunities and the release of opportunities that have passed us by. Fear is the beginning of saying you're sorry and the onset of forgiveness. Fear is the beginning of changing your mind and the openness to being OK with that. Fear is the beginning to loving yourself and the acceptance that everyone else may not. Fear is not going away. It's the bouncer at this bar called life. When fear asks for your ID, look it in the eye, show your ID, smile and walk into the bar. Fear is part of the system. When I accept fear, I sink deeper into my own humanity. Fear is as much a part of me as my skin. I can't shake it. I'm learning to live with it. I'm learning to work with it.

I enjoy being in the bar. Let me buy you a beer.

I'm afraid I have a drinking problem.

I love you guys.

Keep Your Faith

We all want to be happy. We all want to be loved. We all want to make sense of this existence.

When I was a kid, I was constantly shamed for not going to catechism.
You see, I was never baptized. So, according to my christian friends, I wasn't born in the eyes of god. That's a heavy thing to throw at a child. But to kids, that's different and it's near impossible to understand.

My mom's family is Irish Catholic. My grandfather is devout. He proudly attends mass as much as he can. He's also one of the smartest and most empathetic people I've ever known. Even so, he's done a lot of external recruiting for Jesus since I can remember. Whether it was the Jesus coloring books or the "You're gonna need something to lean on someday" lecture, it was very clear to me that he wanted me to buy in to what he bought into.

With no disrespect to one of the most important male influences in my life, I don't buy it.
I never will.

Here's why:

In my studies of spirituality, religion and life, I've learned that religion is a way that people apply meaning to their existence. It builds hope, understanding and meaning that may otherwise not exist in a person's life.

There are a lot of things I don't know and I probably never will.
Is there a god? What is this life all about? Why am I here? What's the deal with airline peanuts?

Here's one thing I've concluded: religion is not for sale. Stop trying to sell it to people.
If it works for you, be happy with that. Let people solve their own riddles.
We all have different riddles and different answers.
The world's problems stem from people trying to impose their will on other types of people.
Look at history. Fuck, look at CNN. It's still happening and it's ugly.

I argue if you need to recruit for your god, he's not doing his job.
You shouldn't be sending evites (Je-vites?) to people. It's not a party. It's for you.
Find your own meaning. Allow people to find their own meaning.

We live in a world where we need CONSTANT validation. If your god is real to you, shouldn't that be enough validation spiritually?

I am not anti-religion. I think to understand religion is an important part of understanding people.

We should have not only a separation of church and state but also a separation of your faith and mine.
I support your religion as long as it doesn't bleed into other peoples' lives, rights or livelihood.
I don't care how you keep the faith, just keep it.

#djblove

My Girlfriend Is Better Than Me and I'm OK With That

If you're reading this, you probably know that I try to be an open and honest guy.
TMI in many cases but it's how I roll.

I've had a topsy turvy battle with love so far in my life.
I've gone all in with people when I wasn't ready, when they weren't ready or when the timing wasn't right.

No one has to explain to me why they're skeptical when I find myself in a new relationship.
I get it.

I've learned many lessons. I've put my hand on the same hot burner several times thinking that the temperature and / or the pain would be different.

With anything, so far, I've found that experience is the best teacher.
Nothing has a simple answer when it comes to life goals, career goals, love goals, etc..

Experience is the best teacher until you meet the best teacher.
Many of you have been lucky enough to meet Paula.
I say 'lucky enough' because it's how I feel whenever I have the privilege of being in her company.
Whenever I get the opportunity to eat a meal across the table from her.
Whenever I have the honor to walk by her side in public.
Whenever I'm blessed with the beauty of her story as she tells it from her heart.

I wasn't looking for a teacher. I thought I knew it all.
I thought I knew what I wanted.
I thought it was a person whose essence and being and experience would be equal or somehow maybe lesser than my experience. I was almost arrogant about knowing how relationships should go even never having had a successful one. (No marriages, no kids, etc...)
Despite my failures, the 'right girl' will come along and I'll manage to somehow know her immediately based in my own life experience.  COME ON, DJB.

Then, my teacher arrived.

Man, she's a beauty. The killer thing about her is that she has so many facets of beauty that I forget to tell her how good she actually looks. The girl is stunning. But what makes her untouchable and leaps and bounds better than me is her mind. Her mind is brilliant and her actions are selfless.

Paula has been through so much.
Instead of blaming the world or pouting or pointing the finger or giving up, she turns her experiences inside out through pursuing social work, teaching yoga, teaching fitness and now, through blogging.

Before she started blogging, my mind and my heart had opened up 100 times wider than I thought possible due to the level of thoughtful, articulate patience that she's put into telling me her story.
It's not all easy to hear. It's definitely not simple to understand. And THAT'S why it's important to listen.

In her new blog Flirting With Crazy, Paula shares her experiences to engage people who have been through the same struggles. She wants to be an ally to people who struggle with painful vulnerabilities. She wants to help people tell their stories so that they can feel empowered and feel rightfully a part of this cutthroat world. She wants people to know that there are people who understand and more importantly there are people who are willing to try to understand.

In 7 months, I've learned more from my teacher than I've learned in the past 10 relationships.
That isn't a dig at those relationships, it's a tribute to this one. I'm dumbfounded by how much I thought I knew that I absolutely didn't. For starters, I never thought I'd want a partner who was hands down better than me. Now that I have one, I don't want anything else. I don't even need anything else.

#djblove

Protect Each Other Before You Protect The Stage

Bullying happens everywhere. Still.

It doesn't end in high school. 

Bullying occurs regularly on Facebook, in politics, over religious views, because of racial differences.

Bullying is the worst.

Moreover, trying to protect your right to bully is the worst. It's the shittiest thing we as people do and we do it often.

I'm not going to go into all of the niches where bullying happens because I'm not qualified to speak to all of them. However, I WILL speak to bullying in comedy. 

It happens ALL OF THE TIME in the comedy world.

It has happened to me. It has happened to people around me. It has happened to people close to me and people I've never met. 

Recently and most shockingly, I saw a woman bullied in a Comedy Central special.
This woman's name is Damienne Merlina. I don't claim to know her as a person or as a comedian, just that she is both of those things. A relatively well known comedian calls her out by name in his NATIONALLY TELEVISED SPECIAL. He then goes on a tirade about how big she is and how she's missing one of her arms after admitting he doesn't know her well. Here's the punchline. THERE FUCKING ISN'T ONE. HILARIOUS. 

Rather than name this comedian, I'll let Damienne's beautiful response video do the talking.

This infuriates me. This "comedian" will probably fight tooth and nail to protect his freedom of speech on stage. THIS IS NOT WHAT THAT FIGHT IS FOR. If you're fighting for your right to punch down, to bully, I'm going to fight you. (Not physically. I know my limitations, folks.) 

Now, I don't know the context of their relationship but I don't have to. I will never, ever use someone's name onstage in a means of punching down. Nor should you. It's tasteless. It's mean. And yes, it's bullying. The worst kind of bullying. 

I'm sure there's a litany of mouth breathing, open mikers who think this "bit" is hilarious. 

That's a different fight all together. HAHAHAHAHA! Someone is really hurt by this. HAHAHAHA! She's gonna watch this and feel bad for a really long time. HAHAHAHAHA! Fuck that entirely. 

Being offensive or bullying without jokes just isn't comedy. You're breaking an unwritten code you have with your audience who paid to laugh. If you make fun of Damienne by name ANYONE could be next. Way to build a safe bridge to your audience! An audience wants to connect with you through laughter. If you're getting laughs by bullying someone, you're literally asking people to gang up on this woman. And some of them go for the ride with you. You're using your power to hurt people and that sucks. It's cruel and uncreative.

Why protect the stage if you're not going to look out for all of the people that use it? 

Damienne is a comedian. Am I next? Are you next? 

This guy (notice I'm no longer calling him a comedian) has made a career of just calling people out. 

He was involved in calling Carlos Mencia out publicly with Joe Rogan.
While, I hate joke thieves. I hate bullying even more. He called Howard Stern old and got notoriety for that. I guess that's what you do when you don't feel good about your comedy. You piss people off and you make a career out of it. 

If you protect your right to tell jokes because you want to be racist, homophobic, sexist or you want to flat out bully people, fuck you. Comedy isn't going to be enough therapy for you. You need the real thing stat. 

To Damienne Merlina: you are an inspiration to me. Your response video is beautiful, brave, important and spot on. I have your back and I know thousands of comedians who do too. 

Stay the course, my friend. 

#djblove 

Accepting Mistakes and Differences is Accepting Love

"A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new." - Albert Einstein

I'm headed into some uncharted waters. I want to share my process with you in hopes that it will help you in yours. No matter how you know me, I hope you know that I'm OK sharing my process, my logic, my successes and, most importantly, my failures with you all. As a comedian and complete douche, I accept the cynicism that may come from reading posts like these. My hope is that if you listen to my jokes, you'll listen to my heart. I own that vulnerability.

I don't like to make mistakes. They hurt to make. I feel ashamed. I beat myself up about them sometimes incessantly. Until...I learn. And every time I make a mistake, I seek to learn from that mistake. It doesn't always happen and sometimes it takes a long time for me to find that knowledge. (see also my relationship history, OOOF!) What I've found most important (for me) is to acknowledge that inevitable education as soon as possible after I make a mistake.

Accepting my mistakes as soon as I make them is a process that I'm improving. It's really hard.
Somehow, as a comedian and a guy trying to create a career from nothing, I'm still a perfectionist.
Perfection CAN'T exist in my reality. If I expect perfection then my expectations are too high and completely unrealistic. If I expect perfection, I have not factored in enough room for myself to make mistakes. And mistakes are going to happen. I was a mistake. (Hi mom! Love you!) I'm a walking example of mistakes. Do I not want me to exist? Of course not. I'm happy I'm here most of the time.
Hopefully, you are too. If not, we'll talk about it later, OK? Cool.

As I attempt to improve my process of accepting mistakes and imperfection, I'm growing more and more comfortable with trying new things. And to me, that's terrifying. I've already done naked stand up, run a Tough Mudder, been an adult, male flower girl, entered a bachelor auction - I've set the bar WAY too high for myself. Wait! While that might seem true from the outside, my mind is still not as open as it could be. There are still situations and scenarios where I have a hard time opening my mind. I'm certain I'm not alone in this and I'm certain that it's OK.

I believe that as people, we are one. We are different but we are one.
To me, life is a process of denying and accepting that we are one in the every day, in the short term and in the long term. We're trying to figure things out individually when we could be trying to figure things out united. Together. We push differences away because of fear, doubt and insecurity.
When we do that, we cut away our own opportunities to learn, to grow and to unify so to follow our dreams while supporting the dreams of others.

My wonderful girlfriend Paula is a part of a community of wonderful yogis who study and practice Kundalini Yoga. (The Yoga of Awareness) From what I've learned, Yogi Bhajan brought Kundalini to the US in the late 60s. It's a style of yoga that is based in Sikh principles and its practices help your mind experience god. Paula is studying with like minded yogis to become a teacher of Kundalini Yoga. As such, she approached me months ago to ask me to be her partner in a day long, White Tantric Yoga session, a required portion of her training. I was terrified.

I wanted to be there for my girlfriend more than anything but that want hit the wall of distrust.
That wall of distrust was built in thoughts of cults, brainwashing, stereotypes and ultimately some serious ignorance on my part. I pushed back and voiced my strong minded concerns about what she was doing and asked questions about why I needed to be involved. She explained that she needed a male partner for this ritual and it's fairly intimate (8-10 hours of staring into each others eyes / chanting / touching for 31 / 62 minute intervals). She didn't want to experience that spiritual intimacy with anyone other than me. WHY DIDN'T THAT BLOW ME OVER? WHY DIDN'T I PROPOSE TO HER RIGHT THERE? As I wrote that sentence (the one before the all caps), I got teary eyed because I can't believe I STILL resisted her requests because of my doubt, insecurity and some strange sense of self preservation. This woman loves me. She invited me to be a part of something deeply intimate and I pushed back because of my lack of knowledge. Because of my ignorance.

Fast forward a month or so from that push back, I agreed to go. I'll admit I was still pretty skeptical.
What was I getting into? I mean, I know this group changed Paula's life but can I trust that? Why would I buckle to this weird, cult-like practice? I feel like a hypocrite. I'm smarter than this.
Wow. Wow. Wow. I'm not that smart, friends. There are times where I feel like I've got it all figured out and the times when I acknowledge that I don't are the times where I'm more in touch with myself and with reality.

Fast forward to yesterday. I traveled with what seemed like hundreds of yogis from all over the region to experience Yogi Bhajan's White Tantric Yoga. Most importantly, I traveled with Paula with an open mind and an open heart to a place she wanted me to be: sitting across from her for a full day. Uninterrupted.

So there I was, dressed in all white, chanting, holding poses, looking deeply into Paula's eyes learning more about her than I have in 6-7 months. There I was surrounded by kind and beautiful people trying to find themselves and their connection to meaning and god. There I was sitting next to some of Paula's mentors who have had her back for longer than I have and who genuinely love and support the woman I love. There I was surrounded by love, understanding and beauty. There I was, wondering what the hell my problem was. How can I claim to be open minded when I pushed back on love, my relationship and a new experience? I'll tell you how.

I am open minded. What happened to me is a process we all go through. We question difference. We take careful steps to protect ourselves and the ones we love. We're constantly surrounded by fear and anxiety. I could easily succumb to those fears. I think the only reason I don't is because I listen to my heart. I listen to people. I listen to the people who I love and who love me. I want to connect to people. I want to connect to love. I believe if I connect to people, I will connect with a higher love. This experience reinforced that belief. I do my best to let my mind and heart collaborate.

We're all trying to find something. Some of us are trying to find love. Some of us are trying to find meaning. Some of us are trying to find god. We spend so much time judging the process of how others take that journey that we handicap our own journey. In our day to day, we often reject the actions of others because they're so different than our own.

We often judge, reject or straight up attack differences. I can understand that. I've been on both sides of those attacks. I'm human. You are too. But what would happen if we all really tried to listen to those differences? What would happen if instead of judging, rejecting or attacking those differences, we became optimistically curious about those differences? I believe that we'd learn more about each other and we'd learn more about ourselves. We'd learn to love each other more and we'd learn to love ourselves more.

I'm certain, if we truly made the effort to embrace differences, (religious, racial, sexual, career, national) we would grow more comfortable making mistakes and trying new things. We would succeed more often individually and we would succeed more often as a whole.

Because of my experience with Kundalini Yoga, I feel more connected to Paula and our relationship. I feel more comfortable trying new things. I feel more self reflective. I feel more powerful. I feel more love. Because I was open to trying new things and making the inevitable mistakes with that choice, I learned more than I can explain in a blog post.

I want this for all of you. Try new things. Love and listen to differences.

I love you all.

Thank you for reading this.

DJB

An Open Heart to My Father

That's one of the first pictures ever taken of me. I'm on the left. My dad's on the right.

I think he's wearing boxers AND briefs. It might be time for us to bring that look back.
I bet you thought my hair sticks up because of hair products.
Nope, it's because of the shape of my head.

Monday is my father's birthday. 

If you know me, you know that my biggest fear is that I'll lose someone before that person knows how much he or she means to me. In my recent years, I've made it my goal to communicate more effectively, to write more and to cherish more the people who have contributed to my life. It hasn't been easy. It's vulnerable to put yourself out there but it's always a win despite that initial difficulty.

This writing is a tribute to the original DJB, my father, Darren Jay Bein.

If my years have taught me anything, life can be complicated and, as such, empathy is crucial to navigate it with any sort of connection to people. My parents divorced before my earliest memory.

They were children. There was a short period of time after I was born where they were considering putting me up for adoption. As fate would have it, they kept me and instead of giving me away they gave marriage a shot so that I could be promoted from my position of bastard son. 

Roughly two years later, another child arrived (my sister Erin) and they were divorced. They were still teens. If I had children at the age my parents did, I'd be responsible for a high school senior and a sophomore in college. That's a hell of a perspective to take on. Given the time I've been doing comedy, it represents my high school senior. When I write that I get teary eyed because as a comedian I do a lot of joking but the fact that I'm here and doing great is a testament to my parents not killing me or giving me up during their fiery late teens and early twenties. Not only did they not give me up but I'm here to tell you, they did a great job with what they had. If I had kids right now, even RIGHT NOW at 36, they'd be missing, starving or dead. 

The hardest part about talking about my Dad is that I get the sense that he doesn't hear or believe how much I love him, how much he has positively impacted my life or how proud I am to be his son. All of those statements are indelibly true. Our history, our relationship and our communication has been so complicated by emotions. Whether it be his relationship with my mom, his relationship with my other siblings or the ever present judgment of what our relationship might look like to the rest of our family. People say actions speak louder than words, but I think with my Dad words speak louder than actions especially when they're on paper and they're out in the open to be read over and over and over again. I want my feelings to echo in my Dad's heart and in his head. I want them to echo so loudly and frequently that they eventually knock down that wall that was created by contractors who missed the intended vision laid out by the architects. That metaphor came out of nowhere. My point is I want my love, my pride and his positive impact on me to to be the echo and the chamber rather than get lost in an echo chamber. 

For those who wonder if you've met my Dad, you have. 

Every time I make you laugh, that's my Dad.

Man, my Dad's silliness is contagious. I always felt important when I made him laugh because it's how he communicated effectively. He is so quick witted, it's like he's got a joke gun that doesn't run out of ammo. (Where do they sell those?) I'd argue that he's the reason I want to make everyone laugh. One of my favorite comedy memories of all time is when I opened for Bob Nelson at Tekoa Country Club in Westfield, MA. Bob Nelson's football routine is one of Dad's all time favorites and here I was not only opening for one of my Dad's favorite comedians but also giving him a chance to meet him. 

My Dad, Bob Nelson, Me

Every time I do something athletic, that's my Dad. My Dad's natural athleticism still holds a record or two at Westfield High School. His name shares a book with the likes of John Elway and Jim Kelly. My late Uncle Joe, another major influence on my life and my Dad's rival for who I look like the most, used to tell passionate stories about how athletic and competitive my father was. On the weekends at Dad's house, we'd play football, basketball, soccer or baseball and goddammit I'm convinced that if I practiced more when I was a kid I would have been an incredible athlete. My natural athleticism bit me in the ass. I thought I was too good but the reality was that I was too small and too lazy. Practice? But Mr Wizard is on!!! When I was conceived my Dad was getting heat from minor league baseball affiliates and I may very well be the reason my Dad didn't go pro. That said, I'm a result of him hitting a home run and the reason he didn't hit another one. HIGH FIVE! He spent time with me trying to teach me to bat lefty and he hit balls to me in left field to help me improve my defense. In the driveway, he schooled me in games of Horse with trick shots. 

Every time I watch sports with you, that's my Dad. 

My Dad is a passionate sports fan. 

He loves the Celtics, Yankees, Bruins and the Texas Longhorns. We bonded over Larry Bird. Somewhere out there is a #33 customized Celtics home jersey with Bein on the back and it's one of the best gifts I've ever received. (and for so many reasons...it was my Dad's first, it was Larry's #, it said Bein on it and that represented me and my Dad) 

Dad is one of the rare 'good' Yankees fans. He helped me appreciate the greatness and necessity of sports rivalries. I'll never forget my one and only trip to the old Yankees Stadium was on a bus trip with Dad. We sat in the right field upper deck and the Sox won. Come to think of it, that may have been my first trip to NYC. Thurman Munson was a catcher for, and the heart of, the Yankees. He was also my Dad's favorite player. If you're an old school baseball fan, you know that Munson's life ended way too soon when he died after he crash landed his plane in Ohio at 32 years old. When Reggie Lewis died, I was able to connect with my Dad over losing a sports hero. 

Dad taught me to respect the players who gave it their all even if they were on rival teams. He built my respect for Kareem, Mattingly, Dr J., Gretzky, Marino, Magic, Jeter, Elway, Jordan, etc., etc., etc. He taught me the rules to football and the angles in baseball. For much of my childhood, my bedroom was lined with the college pennants he had acquired growing up. 

Whenever you say Dana Jay Bein, that's my Dad. Yup, I proudly brandish our shared middle name. 

Yeah, I guess it makes me sound a little more Hollywood too but it's unoriginal because Dad had it first.

Someday when I'm a good father, that's my Dad. 

When you're outside of a situation, it's really easy to simplify it. Growing up in a broken home (so to speak), you have to manage a lot of emotions that aren't your own when you're too young and immature to do so effectively. I had so many of my own emotions triggered by hanging out with, talk of and relating to my Dad. Fear, sadness, anger, joy, excitement, confusion, vulnerability and shame were always nearby when it came to my Dad. That said, those emotions were not his fault. Many of them were situational and an aggregate of all of the difficulties of raising children in separate households with separate lives. While he may not have been perceived as a consistent presence in my life, let me assure you that my love, admiration and pride for that man is and has always been as consistent as the days of the week. My pride as a son grows every single day. In the past 30 years, I watched my Dad rebuild his life after the divorce and raise 3 incredible people. Shannon, Adam and Michael are intelligent, responsible, independent and passionate human beings and I see my Dad and Sally in every step they take. It's magical. 

My siblings Adam, Erin, Mike and Shannon

I have infinite stories and joyous memories of my Dad that light me up when I'm down and remind me of where I came from. I'm extremely proud to be part of the Bein family. (Have I told you that means leg in German - my full name translates to A Danish Man's leg; a forever ZING!) 

From the getaway in the Adirondacks with the Van Voorhis family to summers in Plum Island to fishing the Little River and learning that pickerel have really really REALLY sharp teeth to Jen Coat company parties at High Meadows to hearing him talk about being there when his first granddaughter Grace was born while tearing up about the miracle of life and being a Grandfather.

If you wonder how I find such empathy for people, I think it's because as a child of divorce, I was lucky enough to begin to observe and process several perspectives for everything that happens early on. My Mom has a perspective. My Dad has a different perspective. My Mom's parents had a different perspective. My Dad's parents had a different perspective. My Mom's friends had perspectives. My Dad's friends had perspectives. More often than not, these perspectives were at odds with each other. I knew then and I can articulate it now that just because perspectives are different doesn't mean there can't be love. In fact, it means that if the love is consistent - the perspectives will make more sense more often. 

Writing this, I feel like I'm writing the SNL40 special. How the hell can I get everything into one piece? I just can't do every awesome thing about my Dad justice. 

Here's what I can do (with your help):

Dad isn't on social media. He doesn't email. He uses a landline almost exclusively. Sometimes, he drives without his shirt on. (That last bit is irrelevant.) For my Dad's birthday - show him this piece, remind him of this writing, tell him I love him. I'm not asking you to do my emoting for me. I just know that for my Dad, sometimes it's easier with a middleman, or several.  Also, I'm gonna make sure it gets in front of him by snail mail, via my siblings, via my wonderful step mom Sally and via my family's Facebook group. I want everyone to see this because I want to make indisputably clear who my father is, how I feel about him and that I am proud to be his oldest son. 

Dad. I love you. I miss you. You are my Dad. I wouldn't change that for anything. 

On your birthday and whenever you else you might need to, take some time to live in that truth. Thank you for everything. Happy Birthday. I hope I make you proud. 

Your son,

Dana Jay Bein (DJB Jr)

DJB and DJB