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9 October 2007 - MGD's FAQs

Despite the fact that I try to project an aura of superiority and a 24/7 "stay the hell away from me"-vibe, people are always coming up to me on the street and asking me questions. Maybe I just have one of those knowledgable faces that inspires confidence that I know my way around town.

Some of these frequently asked questions are:
Is it hard being so awesome so much of the time?
How long do you take in the morning to ensure that your hair is so perfect?
What's the difference between doric, ionic and corinthian columns?
What are you doing in my house?

But the one that comes up most often, without a doubt, is: "What does the G stand for?"

This question opens up far too many possibilities. It's like I'm TS Garp. That could be Terribly Shy or Terrifically Sexy. There's no limit to what I can acronymize the initial into.
Sometimes I say that the Bee Gees are my uncles and it stands for "Gibb." God, wouldn't that be awesome if Barry Gibb were my uncle?

Other answers include:
Genuine
Garth
Gandalf
Gallifrey
Graft versus host
Gnarls
Goo Goo Ga Choo
Gaetti
Geico
Gee wouldn't you like to know.

But I'm finally going to demystify the legend of the G. It stands for Garcia, my mom's maiden name. You'd probably not guess it by looking at me or considering my politics, but I'm half Hispanic. Which half, you ask? The one that allows me to check the box on my college applications.
I think that my middle name is a link to the great poets and novelists that my people have given the world. There have been Garcia Lorca and Garcia Marquez. And now....Garcia Davison.

So the mystery of the "G" is finally solved, but that doesn't mean that all of my secrets are revealed. There's still the mystery of where I left my pants last Thursday night. And if anyone has any leads, don't hesitate to let me know. My passport was in the back pocket and more importantly, they're my favorite pair of jeans.

-MGD
Max Garcia Davison is a Junior at Claremont McKenna College. He believes in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent overrated crap, that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. He believes there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. He believes in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

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