I Netflixed “The Hotel New Hampshire.” Two minutes in, I can tell its crap. Great book, shit movie. I can’t believe I wasted a Netflix on this.

My dad turned sixty-one this week. Enroute to my parents’ house for a celebratory dinner, I stopped at Home Depot. They’ve been doing a lot of work on the townhouse they bought five years ago, and my Dad isn’t entirely joking when he calls it “the toy store.” Selecting a gift card with a birthday cake on it, I took it to the register where a guy with a rather thick accent was jockying the register. Appropriately, I asked for sixty-one dollars to be put on the card.

“That is odd number,” the man told me.

I don’t think he was referring to the one after the six, either. I mean, really, how many people put amounts on gift cards that don’t end in zero or five? Not, I’d think, many.

I explained that it was my dad’s sixty-first birthday. The clerk laughed, rang me up, I paid, and he called after me as I left, “Happy Father’s Day!”

He was probably thinking “Man, that guy looks great for being sixty-one!”