Dear Journal,

This week I attended my nephew Henry’s baptism. Henry is my brother Joe’s son, and Joe was so taken aback when Henry was delivered, his first words to Henry were, “Hey, it’s me your Uncle Joe!” At that point, Joe’s wife and I exchanged a glance and it was never spoken of again.

Joe asked me to be Henry’s godfather, which was nice. Although secretly, Journal, I think Joe is kind of an annoying dad. He’s become one of those parents who think their baby is cuter than other people’s babies. He’s like, “It’s really hard for us to go for walks because we get stopped by so many people. Henry’s pretty much the most adorable baby in America.” I’m always annoyed when people talk up their baby’s looks, because usually the babies just look like smaller versions of the parents. It’s like they’re saying, “Miniature versions of me are adorable! Joe Birbigs is now available in bite size!”

I’m not sure why I got chosen as the godfather. I think it’s because I have no dependents and a lot of disposable income. I don’t think it’s because of my baby skills because whenever I’m at their house they say stuff like, “Don’t let Mike touch the baby!” and “where’s Mike’s credit card?”

So I went to the church and the truth is, Journal, I didn’t even know what being a godfather entailed. I was standing on the stage- or the “altar”- or whatever they call it… And the priest was like, “Do you accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” and I was thinking, “Whoa! I just thought this meant I have to give really good birthday presents.” But I didn’t say that because I thought it would have thrown off the flow. So I said, “I do” or whatever.

While I definitely respect Jesus Christ, having spent 11 years in Catholic school, I thought Jesus and I would take some time off. I think Jesus is kind of like the popular guy at school. Everyone says they’re his friend, but I’m not sure if he’d list you as one of his top 8 friends on MySpace. He’d be like, “My best friends are Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Matt Damon…” I’d be like “What about Mike Birbiglia?” he’d be like, “I feel like I’d know him if I saw him, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

There’s this guy at my pharmacy who’s always really rude. But he always wears a tie that says “Jesus loves me.” I’m like, “I don’t know if Jesus wants you wearing his tie.” I feel like one day Jesus is going to return to earth and people will be like, “Are you here to judge the living and the dead?” and he’ll be like, “No! I’m here for the bumper stickers and the neckties. Good day, sirs!” Whenever someone says they’re tight with Jesus, I’m always a little suspicious because those people always get their facts wrong. They’re like, “Jesus hates gay people.” I’m like, “Really? I think you’re thinking of Tim Hardaway.”

You know, Journal, as godfather, I’m going to try and help Henry Birbigs be the best person he can be and maybe even the most adorable baby in America—and to teach him not to hate anyone. Not even Tim Hardaway. Maybe then Jesus will put me in his top 8.

And that concludes this week’s entry in my secret public journal.