I took part in my fair share of nutty family events growing up. Awkward birthdays. Drunken father’s days. Passover seders that turned into knife fights.So it was with the utmost of high hopes that I once again attended the “Gobbler,” thrown annually by my friend Duncan’s family the day after Thanksgiving. It’s an enormous get-together at their home in Santa Monica, and in keeping with tradition, there were endless cases of wine and Beaujolais, a food truck and dozens of supremely tall dudes. (Duncan played volleyball for Stanford.)
I happily earned my meal that night, holding an impromptu crash-course on blogging for some interested rookies. I taught them the three most important criteria: keep it short, keep it short, go for the poop joke whenever possible.
Thanks for the invite, Duncan. You're the tallest mensch a guy could know.
