A fan’s-eye view of Howard Stern’s Birthday Bash

If you’re still suffering from the heartbreak of not scoring tickets to Howard Stern’s Birthday Bash, I am warning you with peace and love to close this browser window immediately after you read the following tweet (please ignore the hashtags) … because nothing else I’m about to say is going to make you feel any better about not being there.

You’ve been warned, my friends. Proceed at your own peril.

* * *

I had braced myself for the possibility that my Howard Stern Birthday Bash experience might fall well short of all the hype and anticipation … because that’s just the kind of neurotic killjoy I am. Turns out I had nothing to fear; from beginning to end, it was everything a hardcore Stern fan could have hoped for.

For starters, this happened less than 30 seconds after my wife and I stepped out of our car in front of the Hammerstein Ballroom:

Two seconds after that, this happened:

For those of you scratching your heads: I could explain to you who those folks are with whom I’m posing, but if you need such an explanation, learning their identities would mean nothing to you. If, however, you do know who they are, then you will likely get a kick out of hearing that some of them knew who I was. (There are few things more surreal than receiving a warm and friendly greeting upon being recognized by High Pitch Erik.)

After our Wack Pack encounter, my wife and I joined the ever-growing line forming along 34th Street … and then we waited (and waited … and waited) for the gatekeepers to let us in. Fortunately, the time was broken up by various meetings and greetings with some of the new friends I made during my appearance on the previous night’s edition of “Howard Stern’s Super Fan Roundtable” (an experience deserving of it’s own separate, soon-to-come blog entry), as well as some fellow contest winners I’d “met” on Facebook in the days leading up to the event. (Hi guys!)

The previously announced 4:30 entry time came and went. The line didn’t move. Darkness began to fall on the city. My wife’s feet began to freeze (which was for the best, really, since the shoes she was wearing were torturously painful).


Seconds after receiving my tweet, Howard dropped what he was doing, came outside, found my wife and me, and personally escorted us to a table on the floor, where we were seated next to Robert Downey Jr., who asked if I’d be willing to do a cameo in “Avengers 2.” (I told him to call my people.)


OK, not so much … but the line did eventually start moving, and we were among the first folks to enter the check-in tent, whereupon we each received our golden ticket:


We also each were given one of these:


This device was a stroke of genius, and whomever at Sirius came up with the idea of giving one to every partygoer deserves a raise, because having the ability to, for example, clearly hear Howard’s interview with David Letterman over the drunken shouts of the ignoramuses in attendance who couldn’t handle having access to an open bar was a major plus.

And speaking of the open bar: There was an open bar! Several of them, in fact … so my wife and I quickly secured our first of several margaritas made with [Steve Grillo voice] “top shelve ligor” and then struck a pose in front of this amazing backdrop:

Not long after that, the show began the only proper way it could have: With Rob Zombie and his bandmates delivering a kick-ass rendition of “American Nightmare,” the studio version of which has for years signaled the start of Howard’s morning-radio program.

For every Super Fan in attendance, the message was clear: This was “The Howard Stern Show” on steroids. If the show’s average morning edition is Bruce Banner, then the program we were about to experience was the motherfucking Hulk. (Shout out to My Geektime.)

From that point on, it was like a four-hour highlight reel. I managed to do a bit of live-tweeting, during which I captured the following random moments:

Please note that I have never been a huge Maroon 5 fan … and, while I’ve always enjoyed Adam Levine’s appearances on Howard’s radio show, I wasn’t exactly pining away for him to appear at the Birthday Bash … and I certainly wasn’t pining away for him to show up and do a cover version of Prince’s “Purple Rain” … which is why it is with no small degree of surprise that I tell you Adam Levine’s rendition of Prince’s “Purple Rain” was one of the night’s most unexpectedly amazing musical moments. Even if he hadn’t nailed the vocal (he did), it would have been unforgettable just for the way he positively shredded the guitar solo. (Adam Levine plays guitar? Who knew?)

That’s right, bitch: Heisenberg crashed the bash.

Two words: Dave. Grohl. ’nuff said.

* * *

Listen, no laundry list of celebrity moments I provide here will do it justice … and god knows there are more than enough write-ups floating around the Internet already (like this particularly well done piece that Andy Greene wrote for Rolling Stone). Suffice to say that this four-plus-hour show flew by, and my wife and I spent the entire time oscillating between total enjoyment and total amazement at how lucky we were to be there.

Sure, it would have been nice to be seated on the floor with the tsunami (pronounce the “t,” please) of celebrity VIPs … but, hey, not everybody got an up-close-and-personal encounter with a seemingly annihilated Tan Mom, now, did they?


My wife also had the pleasure of running into Tan Mom in the bathroom, where she overheard this scintillating conversation:

Random Woman: “Hey, Tan Mom! How’s your daughter?”

Tan Mom: “Pale!”

No, I’m not even kidding.

Shortly thereafter, we watched Tan Mom get ushered out of the venue by some of New York’s finest … which inspired this exchange on Saturday:

So, no, we didn’t exactly rub elbows with the stars … but we did experience firsthand the greatest event in Stern Show history … and came away with some great stories to boot.

The massive “Walk This Way” jam at the end of the night — complete with Steven Tyler and Train’s Pat Monahan on vocals, Slash on guitar and Dave Grohl pounding the drums like his life depended on it — was incredible, as were dozens of other moments from throughout the star-studded program … but I can say without hesitation that the best part of attending “Howard Stern’s Birthday Bash” was watching (and listening) to Howard Stern do “The Howard Stern Show.” The man is a living legend and a broadcasting pioneer who deserves every accolade that was showered upon him during Friday night’s mind-blowingly epic show … and I will be forever thankful that I was one of the lucky few who were there to see it.

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If this shit keeps up, I’m pretty sure I’ll be sleeping at Howard Stern’s place this weekend


I received this reminder in my email yesterday … and a good thing, too, because I had forgotten all about it!

That pesky illness that forced me to call out sick on my birthday earlier this month? It seems to have returned in a more potent form. This particular strain is known as the Howard Stern Birthday Bash flu … and the only known treatment was for me to get my ass on an Amtrak to New York City.


The first sign I saw upon exiting Penn Station? “Mind Your Meds.” It’s like they knew I was coming.

Originally, I had planned to work today and then head up to New York tomorrow, but my plans changed when this little Cinderella story of mine got even better.

As if winning tickets to tomorrow night’s event wasn’t enough (and believe me: it would’ve been enough), I’ve been invited to participate in tonight’s episode of “Super Fan Roundtable,” a radio program hosted by Stern-Show Super Fan Mutt (the man behind SternFanNetwork) that airs regularly on SiriusXM’s Howard 101 channel. And so, in a few hours, I’ll be heading over to SiriusXM’s headquarters to hit the air with Mutt and a half-dozen other lucky folks who also won tickets to the Howard Stern Birthday Bash. (For those of you who have Sirius: The show airs at 7 p.m.; with any luck, I’ll actually get to say a word or two.)

And the good news just keeps on coming; as I was writing this post, an email from Mutt arrived:

Anyone at the studio by 6P can be a part of Sternthology. As you know Sternthology are classic Stern Show moments that relate to that mornings Stern Show. When they need something more, they’ll use fan requests. We’ll be making those requests.

You need to think of favorite stern show moments ahead of time and we’ll record short intro when you say who you are & what your favorite moment is. It will be used to intro that segment. You can come up with several of them. Your into is about 1 minute so you need a couple sentences to say.

Seriously? I’m starting to think I’m getting Punk’d.

So, yes, I seem to be riding a fat-ass wave of good fortune right now. In fact, the only bummer in sight is that I’m flying solo today because Wonder Woman can’t join me until tomorrow. However, when she does arrive, she’ll be treated to some sweet accommodations, because the boutique hotel at which we’re staying emailed me earlier today to say that we’d received a complimentary upgrade to an Executive Room with a king-sized bed … and seeing as how most hotel rooms this close to Times Square are too small to even think about housing a king-sized bed, I’m feeling like we’ve made out quite nicely.


Oh, and the hotel representative who emailed me the good news? Her name is “Margarita.” No, I’m not even kidding.

And, hey! Speaking of “Margarita” … it’s time for me to go have one … or two. Maybe three.

I’ll let you know what Howard’s crib looks like. Clearly, the sleepover invitation is coming any moment now.

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The Week in Review: January 24, 2014 … a collection of bitching and moaning misleadingly presented as though it were part of an ongoing weekly feature that doesn’t really exist


I call this one “Winter.”
(Actually, I call this one “Random picture that I just took out the side door of my office building for the sole purpose of having a photo to stick at the beginning of this post.”)

As previously reported, I had a lovely birthday last Friday … and I am both glad and thankful for the memory of that day, because I’ve not had a particularly good one since.

Over the weekend, I … Christ, I don’t even remember. I know it largely involved trying (and, ultimately, failing in epic fashion) to not lose my shit all over my eight-and-a-half-year-old daughter, who for the past two weeks has slipped into a horrifically disconcerting, anxiety-induced regression back to age three … complete with nonstop, inconsolable crying and “No!”-ing and grunting and, most disturbingly, endless amounts of high-pitched, prolonged, banshee-like shrieking and screaming that has caused the rupturing of eardrums in both dogs and people alike in lands as far off as Reykjavik, Iceland. (And I would take the time to articulate for you just how sad and scared and upset and concerned for her this behavior has made me, but doing so will just accelerate my arrival at Camp Depression, so I will instead continue in my customary, flippant, asshole-like tone.)

Her continuous shrieking and screaming pierced my skull and skewered my brain with what felt like an electrified ice pick, and after repeated stabbings, I erupted last Sunday by non-ironically screaming


in a positively thunderous tone at a positively frightful volume. I sounded monstrous and terrifying and altogether inhuman … which, as you might imagine, was the perfect balm with which to soothe not only my already distraught daughter, but also my wife and son, both of whose nerves — much like my own — had long ago been stripped raw by Jayna’s incessant meltdowns.

In related news: Scaring the ever-loving fuck out of your entire nuclear family by turning into Godzilla is an excellent solution for those of you puzzling over how to make yourself feel like The Biggest Douche of All Time. Also? A spectacular aphrodisiac with which to arouse your spouse. No, wait: the opposite of that.

I’ve since apologized to all of them … and, to their credit, none of them have yet poisoned me or bludgeoned me to death in my sleep, which I think is a good sign.

In the wake of all that fun, Mother Nature dumped about a foot of snow on us Tuesday and, as noted in my previous entry, the blizzard transformed my usual 25-minute commute into a two-and-a-half-hour episode of “Man vs. Wild” … which sucked enough in its own right, but the magnitude of the day’s Suck Factor ballooned exponentially when, moments after returning home, I learned that my one close friend at work — the dude whom I credit with making bearable the 9-to-5 drudgery of the bleak, three-and-a-half-year detour my career has taken — is leaving next week for a new and better job.

To give you some idea as to how crucial he has been in helping me hold on to the few remaining shreds of my fluorescent-tinged, cubicle-shaped sanity: Zan, Jayna and Wonder Woman all responded to the news by hugging and consoling me.

I am, of course, happy for him … but his imminent departure is forcing me to look with renewed scrutiny and an increased sense of panic upon the massive disparity between what I’m doing for a living and what I want to be doing for a living. Still, I’m inclined to believe that his leaving ultimately is in my best interest; the less comfortable I am here, the more motivated I’ll be to finally make my escape. I hope.

Meanwhile, on a more positive note, this just arrived in my email:


Is it next Friday yet?

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Posted in Cubicle, Howard Stern, Life, Winter | 8 Responses

Fuck you, snow.

If you can read this, please send help. I'm being held captive in a place where it SNOWS.

We’ve long ago established how much I detest winter, yes? Then you can imagine the joy that filled me near to bursting as I drove home from work in today’s blizzard.

It took me almost two-and-a-half hours to cover 13 miles. Most of that time was spent sitting at a dead stop … but the rare moments during which I was moving were made all the more lively by the exciting manner in which my tiny, little, 15-year-old, far-too-light, front-wheel-drive sled — er, car — spun its tires in place and made repeated overtures toward sliding off the roadway. (Granted, it would have had plenty of company.)

Fortunately, I grew up in Boston, where my friends and I spent every snowstorm of our teenage years perfecting our arctic stunt-driving skills … which is why, during today’s commute, I was able to narrowly maneuver my way out of some ugly moments that would have had most gamblers betting the farm on yours truly becoming one with a snowdrift.

As if the treacherous, unplowed roadways weren’t enough to deal with, this was one of those shitty, unyielding storms that makes everyone’s windshield wipers keep icing up. After reaching out the window several times to quickly bang the ice off the driver’s-side blade as it reached its apex (because I sure as shit wasn’t getting out of the car to do it), I employed my tried-and-true method of turning the heat all the way up with the fan maxed out on the “defrost” setting. Sure, it felt like I was sitting in a dry sauna for two hours and I was sweating my ass off by the time I got home … but every motherfucking snowflake that came within six inches of my windshield was vaporized before it could even think about clinging to my wiper blades. So there.

Sitting in this blizzard-related traffic is giving me lots of time to ponder the stupidity of living here.

A photo posted by Daddy Scratches (@daddyscratches) on

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This is what 44 looks like, people.
(Funky photo effect added to help diminish the glaringly obvious signs of my advanced age.)

On my 43rd birthday, I went to work like it was just another day. During my lunch break, I decided to really live it up … by going to my doctor’s office for my annual physical … because nothing says “Happy Birthday” quite like immunization shots and bloodletting, am I right?

They say that with age comes wisdom … and they must be right, because, one year after the aforementioned birthday blowout, I decided to wise the fuck up.

I called out sick today. *cough cough* See? I’m dyin’ over here. (Actually, “called out sick” is a misnomer. Thanks to the Internet, I didn’t have to call anybody; I simply emailed my boss to inform him that I was burning a sick day. No need for the whole fake-cough-on-the-phone performance. Thank you, Al Gore.)

Yes, I actually gave myself permission to really enjoy my birthday for a change. I stayed up late last night to watch a movie. Wonder Woman made me blueberry pancakes for breakfast. I took a long, hot shower (until all the hot water ran out). And, right now, instead of wasting away in a fluorescent-lit cubicle, I’m sitting at my dining room table, bright daylight streaming in through the windows as I write this blog post while listening to Van Halen. (Coincidentally, the song playing right now is titled “Beats Workin’.” And, yes, they’re goddamn right it does.)

As we all know by now, my BIG birthday celebration will be taking place in New York City two weeks from tonight, when Wonder Woman and I attend Howard Stern’s Birthday Bash (I still can’t believe we’re going!). Meanwhile, I’m having a great day, and I still have plenty to look forward to. Zan will be home soon, and I predict that he and I will be rocking some “Guitar Hero: Van Halen” in short order. (It’s kind of a birthday tradition.) After that, the family and I are off to dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant, where I’ll be ordering the chicken parmesan for the 9-bazillionth time, because it’s JUST. THAT. GOOD.

No complaining about my age this birthday. I’m cool with with 44. In fact, I’m planning on having a kick-ass year. For starters, I’m gearing up to get back in shape … and by “gearing up,” I mean “I bought a case of Sam Adams Light today instead of the usual heavy stuff.” An impressive start, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Also? Writing, writing and more writing. So you have that to look forward to.

Now, if you’ll pardon me, Zan’s home … and there’s a toy guitar calling my name. It’s time to ROCK OUT … in an extremely nerdy, geeky way.

Happy Birthday to me!

Peace out.

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Posted in My Birthday, Private | 13 Responses