I AM NOW ONLY ON FACEBOOK. I GET TOO MUCH SPAM AND NEVER COME HERE ANY MORE. IF YOU KNOW/KNEW ME, HIT ME UP THERE, BECAUSE I AM NOT HERE ANYMORE.06/26/2009
Just a warning for folks who don't like
mushy sentimentality: Stop reading now.
For those of you still with us, here goes:
Max is an absolute sweetheart. He is
the perfect man for me, the only one I
could ever want... He was and is
exactly what I was looking for, even
when I didn't know specifically what that
was--I am grateful I was able to
recognize it when when I found it. I am
so lucky to have him. He's my ultimate,
my everything, and I wouldn't trade him
for the world, not even for Alan Alda in
his prime...
Max Harris is the guy who introduced me to
cool. He saw through the awkward husk of my
adolescence and showed me that a teenager
can be both smart and cool. His wry slow-drip
wit still resounds in my memory even through
we haven't hung out since high school days.
But thanks to the magic of Friendster, he's
managed once again to reach out from the
epicenter of cool-- Saint Louis, MOto pluck
me from the miasmic backwater of Brooklyn,
New York.
Max was the best high school buddy a
recovering dork could have. He introduced me
to the classic rock canon, preparing me for
four years of college rock. He was a reliable
wing-man (or was I his?) in our late night car
chases around Queens Village. And he was an
enthusiastic co-sponsor of the Ketchup-
packet Olympics, otherwise known as physics
class. In short, Max is the Goomba for all
seasons; an honorary Nubian of the darkest,
noblest hue; a life-long friend.
Max is one of the most interesting
people I have ever met. No joke. He
has an amazing memory for details, in
books, in movies, in life. You name
it and he probably knows something
about it. Of course, that isn't
surprising given that he has lived on
all the ends of the earth. AND, he
consistently amuses me. Besides all
that, he has a good heart and sticks
with his commitments. He's top-notch!
mushy sentimentality: Stop reading now.
For those of you still with us, here goes:
Max is an absolute sweetheart. He is
the perfect man for me, the only one I
could ever want... He was and is
exactly what I was looking for, even
when I didn't know specifically what that
was--I am grateful I was able to
recognize it when when I found it. I am
so lucky to have him. He's my ultimate,
my everything, and I wouldn't trade him
for the world, not even for Alan Alda in
his prime...
cool. He saw through the awkward husk of my
adolescence and showed me that a teenager
can be both smart and cool. His wry slow-drip
wit still resounds in my memory even through
we haven't hung out since high school days.
But thanks to the magic of Friendster, he's
managed once again to reach out from the
epicenter of cool-- Saint Louis, MOto pluck
me from the miasmic backwater of Brooklyn,
New York.
Max was the best high school buddy a
recovering dork could have. He introduced me
to the classic rock canon, preparing me for
four years of college rock. He was a reliable
wing-man (or was I his?) in our late night car
chases around Queens Village. And he was an
enthusiastic co-sponsor of the Ketchup-
packet Olympics, otherwise known as physics
class. In short, Max is the Goomba for all
seasons; an honorary Nubian of the darkest,
noblest hue; a life-long friend.
people I have ever met. No joke. He
has an amazing memory for details, in
books, in movies, in life. You name
it and he probably knows something
about it. Of course, that isn't
surprising given that he has lived on
all the ends of the earth. AND, he
consistently amuses me. Besides all
that, he has a good heart and sticks
with his commitments. He's top-notch!