David Copperfield, Illusionist.

Last night, my father and his lady went to see David Copperfield at the Providence Performing Arts Center (or P-Pac, said with a thick NE accent). D-Cop threw frisbees out into the audience to elicit volunteers, and of course my dad caught one. So, D-Cop asks my pop to stand up, and in front of an entire theater, the magician says, "Sir, I loved you in your final season of the Sopranos."

Now I don't know if I should be insulted or proud for my father. Italian Americans are a rare breed, or at least the ones I know. They aren't like Italian-Italians. They really do embrace the otherwise unfortunate stereotypes of the big bellied mafioso from the Godfather and the Sopranos. They love it and quote lines from it compulsively (seriously my dad's speech at my wedding included a Vito Corleone impression). So, maybe it was the best night of my dad's life.

And if not... For those insulted by Mr. Copperfield's slur, our friend, Sandy, at Blog de la Revolution had this to say, "Your dad should have been like, "so i heard you like to rape women on your private island." Zing.

Couldn't make that plane disappear, could ya, Copperfield.