Dear Philip,

We regret to inform you that your submission is so fucking dope. Let’s put it this way, our submission review committee comprises four men and four women. We have four massive boners on our hands right now — and we read your submission two days ago. Even John has one and he has never had a boner in his entire pathetic life.

Malcolm Gladwell called. He said “fuck that guy Phil because he is too awesome at writing better than me”. We totally agree with Mr. …


Image Courtesy of Leonardo Da Vinci and Philip Kean

Inventor, artist, philosopher, Italian; Leonardo Da Vinci was the Renaissance’s Renaissance man. We are extremely pleased to tell you that through the miracle of modern-day science we have been able to talk to the man himself.

Signore Da Vinci, thank you for joining me here today. It is the honor of a lifetime. I could ask you questions about the Renaissance all day but I think we should just dive in and discuss some of your work.

THE MONA LISA


Hey neighbor, since I moved in, I’ve been watching you. The way you toss the ol’ pigskin; the cold, hard confidence in how you got rid of that wasp nest over your garage; your awesome beard. You are clearly a man. Like a real man. I need some advice from someone who knows the drill (and who knows how to drill… lol).

The boiler makes strange noises for the better part of the day. Also, what exactly is a boiler?

We have trees. I’m 90% sure they are real. What do I need to know about that?

You seem like…


Illustration by Philip Kean

After hours of analysis I believe I have an appropriate diagnosis for you. You suffer from dissociative identity disorder with bouts of agoraphobia and an elevated Oedipal complex. In all fairness though, in terms of your feelings for your mom, I kind of get it.

Sure, it would be both inappropriate and unethical for me to pursue your mother. But it’s not like I’m her son. In my professional opinion, that would be kind of crossing the line. Plus, you haven’t cut your fingernails in six months, you hardly leave the attic, and you ate your cat. …


Don’t forget your looking glass.

Illustration by the (multitalented) author

My wife carried the children, but I carry the bod. For the benefit of humanity, I have chosen to avail myself to gentle, thoughtful inspection. Prepare to be wowed by its wonders, its intricacies, its adorable little peculiarities. You’ll soon see that this dad bod is a rad bod.

My Neck, My Back

Let’s begin at the hairline and head south along the dimples where my vertebrae once protruded. Welcome to backcountry, baby. You’d be forgiven for thinking you are gliding along a cashmere slip and slide. In fact, that is the fine felt surface of my upper back. It lies nestled betwixt my…


Yes, that Harvard.

Illustration by the author

That is great. It reminds me of that time when I was in Cambridge; not the Cambridge in England, the Cambridge in Massachusetts. You know, where Harvard is. I went to Harvard.

Great story about how you broke your nose in third-grade gymnastics. One time — when I was at Harvard, of course — I went to a party where everyone was reciting Chaucer as part of some really intellectual drinking game. I think it was called Canterbury Ales? Anyway, after the party, we went to a bar in Harvard Square, which is right near Harvard College (my alma mater)…

Philip Kean

Father, husband, golden retriever

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