While spending a few days at my parent’s house this week, I had a bout of insominia and decided to do some “digging”. I use the word in the way that DJ’s will go to stores that still sell vinyl and “dig” through the stacks to find break beats and hooks to use during their sessions. Every time I go digging at my parent’s house I find old pictures, books, drawings, etc. that bring back memories that have been long stored somewhere in the “you are not going to remember this stuff without some help because you have killed so many cells of mine of ther the years” part of the brain. They have shelves full of albums and slides chronicling every year of my youth. I usually spend the next couple of hours smiling and laughing at the stuff I find. This particular session I found some news clippings of my old summer baseball team’s championship season. The articles had pictures of all of the players and our old coaches. One particular face on that page suddenly made my blood run a bit cold.
It was a picture of my friend Johnny M. We went to different schools, but the league we played in overlapped school districts and we had played together for several years leading up to that summer . Johnny’s parents had been killed in a car crash when he was 3 or 4 and his grandparent’s had brought him up. He was a very talented player and my best friend on the team. Always flashing a toothy grin and sporting big glasses, his blonde hair and bucky teeth just seemed to liven up the dugout, even when we were losing. He was one of those kids who played shortstop because he had absolutely no fear of the ball hitting a rock and, subsequently, his face which balls often did on the park diamonds we played on. He was a great hitter too. His constant chatter in the infield could easily be heard from my position in center.
We didn’t see each other much during the school year, but we would invite one another to our respective birthday parties and every summer I would be excited to play baseball again with my good friend. I remembered one particular night after practice when just about everybody else had gone and we were sitting on the bench waiting for our parent’s to pick us up (Johhny called his grandparents mom and dad) when I heard a big sigh come out of his lungs and he kind of kicked the dirt underneath the bench and he asked me if I thought he was any good at baseball. I told him I thought he was the best player on the team. He said “really? I don’t think I’m very good at anything.” Being 13, I simply said “John don’t be stupid”. We both laughed like boys do at the end of a too-short summer and ran over to the concession stand to get a couple of Cokes. We sat there in the humid night air with the moths buzzing around the bright lights that lit up the field and wondered aloud how big our trophies would be if we won the championship. We won that game 15-1.
My parents moved right after that glorius championship season to a town far enough away that John and I lost touch with each other. We did not have facebook, email, or cell phones in those days, so communication over long distances was expensive. A long-distance call was the only way to stay in touch, other than writing a letter, which high school boys are only prone to write to girls, and then, only in secret. I remember seeing his name in the paper once (my parents still took delivery of our old town’s paper for a few years after we moved) because he had a great game in high school against a main rival where he hit two homers and stole 3 bases. I thought to myself “you’re still the best player on the team aren’t you buddy?” I put the paper down and hoped that our teams might play each other sometime in Legion ball the next year.
The summer before my senior year in high school I came home from an American Legion game and my father was in the kitchen having a beer with a rather grim look on his face. He offered me a sip and told me he had some bad news. Johnny had been killed in a car crash on his way home from baseball practice.
I didn’t really feel anything for a few minutes and headed oustide to our yard, still in my uniform. We had a bench outside under this massive pin oak tree that dominated that side of the house and I just sat down and stared for a while in silence. I looked down, sighed deeply, and kicked the dirt under the bench, just like John had done that summer night after practice. I sat there and sobbed for quite some time.
I hadn’t thought about that day for almost 20 years until I saw that picture. He was staring out from the paper with those big glasses and exposing all those huge teeth in the kind of smile only a boy can flash when he is getting his picture in the paper for doing something special. You died too damn young my friend. I’ll be thinking of you.
I’ve been missing the USSR lately. What a great enemy they made. So uncomplicated. So easy. Big Russians, big factories, big bombs, big tanks. Easy.
In grade school we had Ocean Pacific cord shorts, Vans, Voltron, and hatred of The USSR. The war on terror is all fine and good. Crazy, ak-47 toting, head-chopping, Muslims are plenty scary and make a great enemy but they are no CCCP. The USSR invented the AK! Show some respect. I spent my grade school years with president Ray-Gun, Red Dawn, Iron Eagle, Delta Force, War Games, and The Day After. There was national debate on how old your children should be in order to watch Kansas get nuked by the Russians and Jason Robards succumb to radiation poisoning. A network TV movie caused a national controversy/debate. We had a school-wide assembly to discuss the show. The show made the cover of Time Magazine. Today, John and Kate plus 8 make magazine covers…..this is progress?
It was easy to hate and be afraid of the Soviets. Our parents hated them in the 50’s and 60’s. We didn’t know anything about them. All we knew is that we could blow up the world 30 times and they could blow it up 120. No Internet. ABC, NBC, CBS, PBS, TBS, WGN, MTV, HBO, USA, ESPN (tractor pull era) and that is pretty much it….with cable. We only knew what we were told by the networks and the AP. We had 2 computers…..for the entire school. Apple IIe. Lemonade stand was a state-of-the-art video game.
I grew up thinking one day we were sure to get nuked by the big, bad, Russian Bear. USA=Good USSR=Bad. Simple as that. There was no debate. Granted, this was not the Cuban Missile Crisis when we came within hours of nuclear war (see Errol Morris’ amazing documentary The Fog of War to see how close we really came) but it was scary to a kid none the less. Watching the citizens of Kansas City get turned into skeletons in The Day After gave me more than one nightmare as a kid.
The nuclear question/issue was on the cover of Time and Newsweek every other week (back when they were real news magazines). It was minute-man this, and ICBM that. Spy vs. Spy. The hammer and sickle vs. Rock Flag and Eagle. We never fired an official shot in anger at the Soviets. I think that is what made it so scary. Hitchcock had it right. The anticipation of something awful happening is much worse than it actually happening. Pictures of all the military hardware parading past reviewing stands in Moscow and stories aboutthe KGB were very effective propaganda for us and them. Those rockets looked like they could really put damper on the 4th grade tether-ball tournament.
The enemies in today’s world seem so abstract. We have a million sources of information at our fingertips about our enemies, the countries they reside it, their beliefs, and even why they hate us. They don’t wear uniforms. They don’t have a central committee. They don’t have 200 tank divisions and thousands of nuclear warheads pointed at every major city in the United States and Europe on 15 minute alert. They are just out there somewhere. In general, the web seems to follow newton’s third law of motion, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. One can find 20 websites citing facts that 20 others can disprove. The world is too damn grey and that makes me miss the USSR.
Look at what fear of the Russians gave us: Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, The Internet, The Eisenhower Interstate System (freeways), Stealth Technology, GPS Satellites, The entire US Space Program and it’s by-product Tang, The Miracle on Ice and C. Thomas Howell’s career.
Without the Russians we have many lesser imps and demons to deal with. It’s like everything else in the 21st century….very personalized. Some think Iran is the biggest threat, others are more worried about North Korea, but those guys are like little annoying dogs nipping at your heels. One well placed kick and we could send them flying into traffic if we wanted to. Hugo Chavez is a funny cartoon menace in our own hemisphere, but he is less dangerous than your average newly-divorced housewife after a bottle of wine and some xanax.
We really need China to step up. They have all the attributes to be an awesome enemy. A culture we will never understand, billions of people to march around and look scary, extremely smart scientists, a chemical based athletic program, they have even managed to build some nuclear subs. Come on China you can do it! They own so much of our debt, they could always threaten us financially, but I don’t think many 11 year oldswill have nightmares about china refusing to buy the 30 year treasury. So, alas, the days of being scared of the country with10,000 nuclear weapons have been replaced with fear of a country withone. I know that is a legitimate threat but it’s no nuclear winter apocalypse.
I guess I’m just sentimental.
This is the first of a two part post (part 2 here)……The next post will be about the opposite of these……..people.
I have always loved poker. I have had a regular weekly or monthly game since I was in high school. These were the days before the Texas Hold-Em explosion. I had played hold-em in a casino before (age 19), but only because the stud table was full. After I watched Rounders in 1998, I started playing more hold-em than stud. After ESPN’s card cam revolutionized televised poker, and Chris Moneymaker’s $40 pokerstars.com satelite netted him poker’s richest tournament prize I, like many others, stopped playing the variations of 7 card stud all together in the casinos and started playing more no-limit hold-em.
I’ve played quite a lot of it over the last 7 years or so, and the environment in which I play contributes a great deal to my enjoyment of the game. I hardly ever play on-line anymore except for the occasional large tournament for pretty low stakes. I live a few blocks from a brand new, extremely nice casino built on the shores of the mighty Mississippi River. It is sleek and modern, the dealers are very cool, you know you are getting a straight game (as opposed to on-line), and it even has a rather beautiful Four Seasons Hotel attached to it. The poker room is medium-sized compared to some of the other choices in town and the no-limit games here are probably the toughest in town to beat, but they have a lot solid action, and a patient player can rake large pots when the game heats up. I have played for 32 hours straight in this room quite comfortably, so I rarely play anywhere else. So a few times a week, I grab my buy-in (for the cash games, I’m don’t play in a ton of tournaments) and head down to the room to settle in for the inevitably long sessions.
As much as I love poker, I simply can’t stand many poker players. Its has nothing to do with their game. It’s mostly them. I’m certainly not the best player in the room (more on those types in the next post), but the laptop I am writing this with was purchased with winnings from this particular poker room so I do rake my share. Please understand I am not putting myself out there as a pro or a big-stakes player. I love the competition, the challenge, the struggle of staying patient for hours upon hours of dead cards and missed flops until you catch your rush. When you spend as much time in the room as I do, you get to know the vast majority of the regulars quite well. I know who the maniacs are. I know the players you should not get into a large pot with unless you have a VERY strong hand or are willing to risk it all. I know the players that bluff their chips off night after night. You make a few “poker friends” which are very similar to “airline friends” (you hang out for a few hours and then completely forget about them the second you leave your seat). I consider it quite a fun way to spend a day/night.
Killing a night in the card room is a fine alternative to the way one might spend a fine summer evening……. getting drunk and chasing coked-out skanks at one of the many bars downtown, although that does, on occasion, happen. Most nights I find that putting a poker player on a hand is often easier than trying to get said skank out of my apartment without giving her my phone number, and receiving the occasional tough beat is better than occasionally receiving the clap. (See Kool Moe Dee’s: “Go see the Doctor” for a further explination of the latter).
I have had some of the most interesting conversations of my life at the poker table. The discussions are as wide-ranging and diverse as the people who frequent these types of places. In a 1 hr. span one can have a conversation about topics such as: Great Nude Scenes from the 80’s, The Complete Works of NWA both pre- and post-Ice Cube, Using Leveraged Debt in Municipal Finance, and, of course, Great Adventures in Strip Club Negotiation. Play a 15 hour session and the possibilities are endless. Some people would consider this torture, I truly enjoy it. There is, of course, a catch…..The PRD.
One of the few downsides to these sessions, other than the occasional tough beat, is the mood-killing Poker Room Douche (PRD). Quick side note…..(PRD’s are the main reason that I now believe the iPhone to be the work of a lower power and not that Steve Jobs guy. Why? Nobody can hit that many walk-off homers without the help of some type of demon beast. I am so addictied to this thing, I’ve convinced myself the rest of the Apple workforce consists of employees that simply count money and find drifters and hookers to kill for Jobs’ food because that is the price of selling your soul to Satan) So when the Douche sits down, my iPhone and aftermarket earbuds (Bose…worth every penny) are ready to save the day.
In PRD Avoidance Mode I spend 45 minutes of every hour listening to the sweet sweet sounds of Ice Cube letting the Alpine play…. pumpin’ new sh*t by N.W.A……(just kind of takes you away doesn’t it?). I am avoiding the type of people that make the first several episodes of the World Series of Poker must-see T.V. even for people who are not interested in the final results (very similar to the American Idol auditions). I can’t say these types never win, or haven’t raked a pot from me, they do and they have. I like to join good and brief conversations and laugh at good jokes like anyone else, but 85% of the time I’m sitting back, folding junk, listening to music or a podcast, and playing poker. I’m not anti-table talk by any means, but these Douche folk are just unnnnnnbearable. You may be familiar with some of the breed, because they are often related to the Office-Mega-Creep and Biggest-Tool-in-the-Bar-A-Hole-Ed-Hardy-Shirt-Guy. So, in no particular order, I present the Top 5 PRD’s
1. The Greatest Player in the World– This is the guy that believes the only reason he ever loses a pot is that the other people in the hand are complete idiots. He takes 2-4 minutes before angrily mucking 9,10 against a board of A,K,5,9,4. He berates any and all players that take down a pot by raising his bet and then spends the next 4 hands grumbling about how you misplayed the hand. He is a genius when he hits his draws and you are an idiot when you hit yours. Know this PRD by the gracious way he slams his cards on the table when he has a winner and the way he storms away from the table when he misses. Busting someone like this never gets old.
2. The Rude Middle Eastern Guy– Not too PC but it is just a fact. This applies equally to Gentiles, Jews, Arabs, Assyrians, Turks, and anyone else from that endlessly-troubled place on earth that acts like this. There is always one in the room that just comes across rude no matter what they do. They order drinks rudely as they ogle the cocktail waitress, they seem to always bump into you with their elbows because they think they need more room at the table than everyone else. They even bet rudely by slamming down chips, splashing the pot (throwing chips that makes it difficult to see how much they bet), and launching cards into the muck so hard they could slice the nuts off a goat. This PRD will also jaw you after taking down a pot, especially if they ran a successful bluff. If they lose? I have seen this species actually launch a water bottle accross the poker room because of a lost pot. This guy is often hard to beat because he certainly owns at least one pawnshop and probably has at least $265,000 in cash stashed somewhere.
3. Stephen Hawking’s Bastard Child he had with a Busted Daytona Beach Stripper- This barrel of laughs justifies every possible move he makes with some type of statistical reason for his actions. Not only will this douche explain theoretical pot odds and implied odds of any pot he is in to the others, he will do so while shuffling his chips like a rabbit on meth. Can’t just say, “I’m priced in”. Nope. He needs to explain the odds of calling 3-1 pot odds with a 31% percent chance of hitting his flush draw against the 80% probability that I’m on top pair with a straight re-draw. The problem with this PRD is that he doesn’t know what he is talking about. He just saw a similar hand on TV and remembers the cool numbers on the screen. The ultimate calling station. His much more dangerous, and cool, 2nd Cousin…..Der Wunderkind will be explained in the next post. (I’m not a master of odds either, I have a solid understanding, sure but I play on gut feel more often than not. I just keep my mouth shut).
4. Uncle Mustache von Creep– Owns a van. Chats up the female dealers the entire time they are at the table. Knows all their last names and asks them personal questions all the time. God help any good looking girl that decides to sit down at the table. He will fold to “sweetie” all night and apologize for taking down the pot “honey”. Sweet talks the cocktail waitresses and takes mental pictures so he can jackhammer himself on the ride home while crusing the high schools. Has 4 fake facebook accounts. Not a real danger to the table unless you need a fake ID to Vote.
5. “Watch me Stroke This One Out” – Good god. King of the softball fields. This guy rolls up wearing gear from a poker website. He has a huge card protector such as a bo-ba-fet (sic?) action figure, or a WSOP medallion with a picture of his fat-ugly kids on one side. Oakley’s or some other “sports” shades are standard. He will chase every flush and straight draw and thinks top pair is the nuts. Instead of just picking up chips and clicking off a solid bet, he will dramatically state “RAISE” as he pops on the shades and gives you the big stare down. The other thing about this guy is he always wants the First Seat Move button and once he rakes a decent pot he will try to move to another table. Miserable.
There are many more types out there including: “Hollywood”, “Track Suit Magoo”, “The Equator”, and “When in the F*&k Was Your Last Shower?”
We will explore another type of Poker Room inhabitant in the next post. I may not always like the next group (I usually do) but I certainly respect them. Thanks for Reading – MC
Just a quick post about how something I usually can’t stand became quite humbling and inspirational. I hate, for the most part, the card protecters some players use to place on their cards during Texas Hold-Em games (the only reason people are supposed to use them is because in a casino, if mucked or discarded cards go underneath you cards and you don’t have your hands on them, the dealer can potentially kill your hand, thats why you keep your hand on them or , as I do, just put a chip on top) Whenever some guy sits down to play with a little picture of his kids and fat wife, or some kind of paper-weight sized blob of metal and plastic I want to throw it out of the room. I understand if you HAVE to have one a 1euro coin or a lucky wheat penny for some reason. Whatever. I have never used one nor have I ever seen one (other than Doyle Brunson’s zippo that has made the rounds at the WSOP as more of a lucky charm) that I ever thought was clever or kind of cool. I guess one should never say never.
A guy sat down next to me last night and said he could only play a couple of hours before he had to leave. This guy was probably in his late 50’s to early 60’s. He looked kind of like Sam Elliott (played Wade Garrett in Road House which, clearly, is the role of a lifetime). He was to my right and I was just listening to music on the iPhone as usual. I had a good starting hand of AJs when the guy announced a raise and I looked down at his cards and saw this:
The Purple Heart. It also had two oak leaf clusters attached. That means he had been awarded 3 Purple Hearts. The man had been wounded in combat 3 times. I hesitated for a second and then layed my cards down without thinking, which meant I folded my hand. I didn’t say anything for a few rounds after that and then asked him if he had served in Vietnam. He was a 1st Luitenant in the Army and had served 2 tours in 1961 through 1963. I didn’t pry anymore and the game continued as normal. There was interest from some others at the table and, although he didn’t elaborate on how he earned the awards, you could tell he had limited mobility in his right arm and hand. He played for a few hours and then he had to leave. As he was leaving I was heading back to the table and simply thanked him for his service to our country. He smiled and said, “I appreciate that.” and headed toward the exit. I couldn’t stop thinking about what must have happened to that guy so many years ago in some cesspool half-way around the world, and suddenly I had to get up and leave because I couldn’t concentrate on the game anymore. He didn’t take any money from me, but he knocked be out of the game just the same. I didn’t mind at all.
This is another old post of mine I liked for this site
Food to blame for Christmas fighting
LONDON, Dec. 14 (UPI) Sixty percent of families end up fighting on Christmas Day because of what they eat and drink, food scientists claim.
Helen Conn, a fellow of the Institute of Food Science and Technology, told the Daily Mail the turkey dinner contains high levels of salt and carbohydrates, which help make diners grumpy — and adding alcohol, caffeine, and the sheer volume of food creates a volatile mix.
“Our review found the traditional Christmas dinner leads to repeated rises and falls in blood sugar levels, which can give rise to feelings of irritability and lead on to arguments later on in the day,” she said.
To avoid problems, Conn suggested diners go easy on potatoes and bread stuffing and use unsweetened cranberries.
She also suggested healthier trimmings could include lean bacon wrapped around prunes, and roasted carrots.
OK. I’ve had it. The above article answers the burning question, “what the fuck does a dietician do?”. We are now apparently not responsible for anything we do…ever. You are not getting in fights with your family because you have issues with certain people, it’s because mom makes too much goddamn stuffing every year. You don’t need to ask your creep uncle to stop staring at your girlfriends breasts, you just need to serve him the unsweetened cranberries. You don’t hate seeing your loser cousin who always wants to borrow money to buy weed, you just eat too much salt. The reason you don’t get along with your mom is not because you have long-standing issues from childhood, your blood sugar is just all fucked up. So remember, this year, when the mashed potatoes make it around to you, just say, “no thanks Aunt Beatrice, I’d hate to get upset and ruin everyone’s holiday by drilling grandma in the jaw. Pass the bacon-wrapped prunes bitch.”
Merry Fucking Christmas Motherfuckers
I will never try to quit smoking again. So much hate.
I wrote this on an old site the last time I quit smoking. I’m not a nice person without the occasional smoke.
I quit smoking. Cold-ass turkey. No patch. No nicorette. No drugs. No fun. I have been smoking for a decade and a half. (Avg: 3 packs/week). Since I am feeling particularly out-of-sorts and can only get about 4 hours of sleep per night, I thought I would spew some hate:
1. I really hate people who drive mini-vans (those that are forced to drive them for a company car are excused from the hate, but you still will get a mean look, sorry). I really don’t care why you bought it. I don’t care if you are a man or a woman. I don’t care if its the “Town and Country with the DVD Player and leather”, it is still a mini-van and you still suck. (you think the people who own that house and go fox hunting have that sweet, silver, two wheel drive, v6 ride? Nope. They have 7 range rovers)
Let me give you a few reasons why mini-van owners will always be an object of my hate:
- I know they have the totally uncontrollable, bratty-ass, ruin your dinner, make you never want to have kids type of kids. Why? Because if you own a mini-van, your kids obviously run your life and you are too much of a limp dick or touchy-feely bitch to put the smack-down on your kids when they disrespect you.
- If you are a woman and drive a minivan, you have very little imagination and probably haven’t given your husband head in several years. Why? Minivans are the Big Head Todd and the Monsters of automobiles. They are so bland and forgettable, the only reason one would buy a mini-van would be because you can’t think of anything else to cart your bratty, ill-behaved kids around town. Big Head Todd and the Monsters are so bland and forgettable the only reason anyone would ever listen to them is…….well, I really don’t have an answer for that but I’ll bet you $100 that 98% of all mini-vans have a Big Head Todd CD somewhere inside.
- Man + Minivan = complete douchebag with NO balls
- The floor of your average mini-van is dirtier than a movie theater’s
- I almost get hit by one every day because the bratty kids in the back threw a shamrock shake all over the place, covered up the windows with their “cute” drawings, and the spouse is on the phone asking why the other spouse was so grumpy at breakfast. Not pleased.
- Your bratty ass kids make un-funny faces out of the back window. If they were flipping the bird it would be funny, but they never are because they have such soft parents they don’t even know how to flip the bird.
- They are slow, move the fuck over to the right lane.
- Most people who drive them are over-weight. Why? They are too brain-lazy to find a reasonable alternative to the minivan, so they must be too body-lazy to do much else. They are too fat/lazy to bend down 12 inches to pick up kids from a car. They need 164 cup holders to hold all the 96 oz. Mountain Dews for the family.
You never see a man with a smile on his face driving a mini-van. Why? He hasn’t had sex in anything but the missionary position in many years, and MAYBE once a month at that. He just ran by Walgreens, per his wife’s instructions, to pick up some maxi pads and wart cream. His awkward 4th grade son pooped his pants on the way to school. His van reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeks of McDonald’s.
Commercials showing these smiling people configuring the seats 14 different ways so they can pack kayaks, tents, 2 x 4’s, plants, etc. are the most dishonest on TV. First, none of the seats will move more than 3 inches because all of the rails they move on are packed solid with dried up root beer and skittles that have morphed into a substance harder than tungsten steel. People with mini-vans don’t have fun in the outdoors because their kids and spouse bitch the whole way down there, get poison ivy immediately, and want to go home.
You think your motorized doors are cool? They suck.
If it’s summer, the male driver is most certainly in a t-shirt, jeans shorts, and tennis shoes. The female driver is most certainly in pleated, elastic waistband jeans or a terry cloth dress that is going to show fat rolls and sweat stains at the zoo.
There are LOTS of mini vans in your average Six-Flags parking lot. There are also LOTS of mullets and rat-tails at Six-Flags. You do the math. What’s that you say? They are cheaper than SUV’s to fill up? If you can’t afford to fill up your gas tank, you shouldn’t have had kids. They are better for the environment? Blow me. Your kids throw more litter out the windows than a 55 gallon bag can hold.
I would like to leave it at this……If you are going to give-up, move to the strip-mall suburbs, put up flowery wallpaper, become pasty-white, fill up your closet with sweatshirts and ugly sweaters, drive an 1 hour to and from work, and come home to a house full of screaming kids and a nagging spouse at least drive an automobile that doesn’t represent your life because it is as depressing to the rest of us as it is to you.
Quite a bit of hate in that post…..and the market was at 14000 at the time.
We all have one. There is that one person that, for some reason, we are attracted to for reasons that we can’t fully explain. We shouldn’t be attracted to this person. They are not exactly our “type”. They usually are quite different than us. Not in the cheesy, opposites attract way (“oh we are sooooo different she likes The North Face but I SWEAR by Patagonia!!!), but in the “we could probably never have a conversation without coming to blows or screaming at each other until we lose our voice” way. Think Muslim vs. Jew or 2Pac vs. Biggie.
There was this show that debuted on USA in 1992 called “The Ben Stiller Show”. It ran for one season. It was created by Ben Stiller (obviously) and some guy that has made a couple of decent movies lately…Judd Apatow. It had some great guests including Dennis Miller, Rob Morrow, Gary Shandling, and even Sarah Jessica Parker (who is actually quite funny). There was the one cast member about whom I remember asking my friends a simple question, “Dudes, don’t you think she is kinda hot?” The answer was not really. Not no….not really. She was featured on the HBO’s Young Comedians show the same year. She got a recurring gig on “The Larry Sanders Show”. Have a guess?
Yes…..it’s Janeane Garofalo, actress, comedian, radio personality. Everyone’s favorite Gap manager. I was a fraternity member. She thinks we are all date rapists. I lean to the right. She had her own show on Air America. Suit vs. t-shirt. New vs. Vintage. Day vs. Night. Up vs. Down. Doesn’t matter. 17 year crush. Smart and Funny. Really smart and funny. Ladies, that is attractive.
My crew knows all about this. I walked into a room in college where some of them were watching “Reality Bites”. The comments ranged from “maxhate’s girlfriend is on T.V” to “wellll stomp my balls and kick my dog! it’s maxhate! would you like us to rewind it to the My Sharona dance scene?”. High comedy boys…high comedy. When she began to get truly hateful during the 1st Bush term (her rants on her Air America show were so full of hate you can’t believe it) the attraction grew. I actually bought Sirius Radio, in part, to get her show.
The glasses, tattoos, and a couple of extra pounds here and there, she is (surprisingly) 9 years older, it’s all fine by me. There are some other ones including Cheryl Heinz (Larry David’s wife on Curb Your Enthusiasm) but you always remember your first “strange crush”.