Yesterday, I drove to Sandy and Bill Baker's and bought their 2008 Infiniti. Their son, Billy, and I sat at their kitchen table and all four of us had a cup of coffee. We laughed about things that happened 50 years ago.

I left the Infiniti at the Bakers' and drove to the station to make sure there was enough in the account to cover the car. Dan McNeil and Vandy were getting ready for their show. We talked for a while in the parking lot.

Then I went to the BMV and registered the Infiniti and got a temporary plate. I ran into Mark Kozy. He runs Olympia Lanes in Hammond. He asked why we didn't televise the Times bowling tournament, which just ended. I didn't have an answer for that. We should have.

Then I drove to downtown Gary to give Alexis her phone. She had forgotten it on the counter.

Then I drove to Staples in Munster, where I bought printer ink. I've been printing out old journal entries from the 1980s and it takes a lot of ink. I stopped at Same Day Cleaners to pick up 14 long sleeve dress shirts, which take medium starch.

I had to stop at Peoples Bank in Munster at Fran-Lin and Columbia. Then I went to Lansing Cleaners to pick up my suit. When I got home, I started thinking about the Infiniti sitting all alone at the Bakers', so I walked there and picked it up. It took over an hour. Nice sunny day, not too humid. I may have gotten a suntan. 

When I got home, it was already 3:45 pm. Time to meet Alexis, who was on her way home from work, at Ray Elbaor's wake at White Funeral Home in Griffith. It was sad. There was Ray laying in the coffin. And there was Sue, his wife, and their two children - Derek and Brittney. In the corner, a dozen of Ray's co-workers from BP told Ray stories. They laughed a few times and got dampening eyes. Like the men and women of BP, I can't believe our friend is dead. I'll have to stop writing to you soon so I can go to his funeral. 

After the wake, Alexis and I skidaddled home and put our Sunday bests on for the Beaux Arts Ball, a black tie affair at the South Shore Arts Center. For dinner, I sat next to attorney general Todd Rokita. Like me, he went to St. Thom's and Munster High. Unlike me, he moved away to Indy a long time ago. 

"So am I still a Region Rat?" the attorney general asked.

"Hell no. You're an Indy guy now. You're probably even a Colts fan."

Which brings us back to Ray. He was a huge Colts fan. He grew up on the East Side of Chicago. His dad was a cop. As Dave Kusiak said yesterday on WJOB - "You didn't have to listen to Ray more than 10 seconds to tell he was from the East side." Ray has several brothers. They were all at the wake shaking their heads. 

"We grew up a year apart from each other." brother Kenny said. "His friends were my friends." Kenny motioned with his hands... like all East siders do. 

Ray coached football at Griffith while Russ Radtke was there and won state in 1997. Ray coached at Andrean in 2004 when they won state. He reffed basketball (adequately) and football (really well). He was a weightlifter concerned with keeping your legs strong.

"Squats," he would yell at anyone who would listen. "You need to do squats."

I hate doing squats. Ray lived a couple houses away in Griffith and we would sometimes go on a run. He'd stop halfway and make us both do dips - step, dip, straighten up, repeat. 

"I effing hate these, Ray."

"Squats. You gotta do squats," he would say then turn us around for another set of dips.

That should do it for this morning. I'm gonna put my suit on - the same one I wore last night to the Beaux Arts Ball - and before we go to Ray's funeral, I'm gonna go in the back yard and do a few squats. I might split my pants... or fall over. But no matter. Ray would like that. As long as you're doing squats, it's all gonna work out.  

Dear Seth,

We tried like hell, but we did not get to see your show today. We're back at our hotel. Miley Cyrus is your featured guest. You're talking to her right now.

We picked up standby tickets in the NBC gift shop, as directed, at 10am. Then we walked around Rockefeller Center like the tourists from Indiana that we are. We saw Mario Lopez and Kit Hoover do Access Hollywood from the same outdoor loop where Al Roker high fives farmers from Kansas. We watched Scott Evans do a live look-in from the skating rink. 

I was gonna go up to Scott and tell him - "Hey, my wife thinks you're hot. Can she take a photo with you?" But my wife didn't think that would be appropriate for a divorce court magistrate from Indiana. She gave me "el ojo," which translates loosely as "you better not dare effing do that." 

We had lunch at Bill's Burgers on the first floor of 30 Rock. They have gluten-free sandwich bread, which is good since I don't eat gluten. It's a real thing, you know. 

We got in line for your show at 1:30 pm. After a couple hours, a very polite page informed us that we were the last two people to make the cut. Whoopee. They ushered us through security and had us wait in the stairwell. I hadn't been that excited since filing into The Hollywood Bowl to see Dead & Company.

I informed the head of security that I have a little trouble with elevators. For 18 years, I smashed into elevators at the Chicago Board of Trade with dozens of other sweaty men. One day, I retired. The only thing left from those days is a fear of crowded elevators. It's a thing, just like gluten. 

An NYC cop said "no problem" and took me to a special bank of elevators. It might even be where you go up. The cop and I went up in our own car, although I had in my fingers on a healthy dose of Xanax in case there was a problem with the cabling. There wasn't. In a flash I was standing outside of your theater. The warm-up comedian was kind of funny, but not nearly as funny as you. I would never have waited all day to see him. Nor would my wife.

I met an NYC cop, who suggested that I treat my wife to a dinner at Bobby Van's across from 30 Rock. I texted that to myself. It said - "Bobby Van's. New York cop. Order shrimp scampi." 

I kept looking at the elevator for my wife to come up. She's pretty easy to spot, a hot Mexican-American woman who looks like she's been married to a dumpy white guy for 30 years. I kept looking. The NYC cop kept looking. But no wife of 30 years. 

Right before you were set to come on, a young woman in an NBC mask appeared. "I'm sorry. I know that you and your wife waited all day, but you will not be able to see Seth today." I could look in and see the stage. I was that close, Seth. So was my wife, who stood at the elevator downstairs. She had even turned her cellphone off, as directed.

Oh well, Seth. we tried. Once or twice a month when we can stay up that late, we watch you at the end of our bed. You make us laugh. You have improved immensely since you first started. You're relaxed and confident. I can make that judgment, Seth, because, like you, I host a show every day. But unlike you, I do it in relative anonymity. I can go to a restaurant, even in Indiana, and no one asks for my autograph.

The woman who told us that we were the last two out asked for my email. She expressed remorse and offered tickets for tomorrow. I told her not to worry about it. We have to get back to Indiana. My wife has a court to run, and I have a show to host.

There is a silver lining - that NYC cop who suggested Bobby Van's. We walked out of 30 Rock and into the restaurant. I explained that we had just been bounced from Seth's show and could we please, please, please have a reservation for 7:30 pm.

"We're a bit booked... but since you've been through so much, let me see what we can do." Gabby squeezed us in, warning, with a wry smile, that we might be surrounded by revelers who just got out of the Seth Meyers show.