When I chose to attend the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill it wasn’t because I loved the school, the campus, or any specific program – although their Journalism School did teach mad skills. It was because, at the time, my Step-Dad was up for a job there, and had he taken it, college would have been free
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It all started with our Teacher, Ms. M-Bomb, so-called because she blew up at kids for what seemed like no reason. And because she had a huge butt.
My first pair of skis were a gift from my Father. And when I say gift, I don’t mean he went to a shop and bought me a pair of skis. He made them. By hand. Carved, he says, from an old shipping palette
A few years ago I was invited by the Love, Hope, Strength Foundation to participate on a trek up Mt. Everest. The plan was to play the world’s highest rock concert in an effort to raise money for a new Nepalese cancer center. (No doubt the record for most high people at a rock concert had already been set.)
I’ve been told at various times in my life that I look like John Travolta (back when disco may or may not have sucked) and Pauly Shore (I had that much hair once), but my real doppelgänger? John McEnroe. Or as I’m regularly told, a younger, more handsome version. Their words, not mine.
They’d send me to my room with orders not to come out until I had written a story
I learned how to make a Tepee, dance at a Pow-wow, not tip over a canoe, and get to second base with a girl
“Nah-Nah! You have a girl’s name!” It’s true. I did. The proof still exists on…
I was absentmindedly washing the dishes when she hit me
ET: There’s a lot of bad drivers out there today. Jimbo: All it takes is…
I got my high beams on
Yeah, I know you see me
Got my high beams on
Yeah, you best believe me