Never Meet Your Heroes

I met Tucker Max this weekend, and I have to admit, I was kind of dissapointed. When I first found out he was going to be doing a book signing here, I was fucking ecstatic. In all seriousness, I was looking forward to seeing him in person just as much as I was Scalia - I mean, if there was a Drinking and Womanizing Hall of Fame, he'd be the first one inducted. And unlike Scalia's brilliant opinion in Crawford v. Washington, I still laugh out loud at repeated readings of The Absinthe Donuts Story or Tucker Tries Buttsex.

Thing is, he just seemed tired and hungover. And, while I can sympathize, having been in that position a few times myself, I had expected someone larger than life. I expected belligerent drunkedness and general obnoxiousness. Instead, there was just this guy sitting there, looking like he was bored out of his mind.

Of course, you can't fault the guy for not living up to my inflated expectations - after all, he's the biggest propenent of the "this above all: to thine own self be true /tho' thine own self be an alcoholic a-raging" philsophy. You can't force the kind of things he has in his stories: getting drunk and doing stupid things have to happen of its own accord. If he was just "performing" to portray the "Tucker Max image" for his adoring fans, he would have been as much of a poser as the douches he mocks.

Even so, I wish I had had the opportunity to see the man at his A-game. Maybe someday.

Fuck it.