I’m going to introduced you to a “regular” and a theory of mine. I’ll call the regular Cliff Claven because that’s who he reminds me of. The guy is the king of know-it-alls. Anything you’ve done, he’s done twice as good in half the time with none of the materials you had to work with. He’s also from Indiana which brings me to my theory. Every single person I’ve ever met from Indiana is a “one-upper” just like “Cliff”. I don’t know if it’s in the water or the psyche or if they’ve all just watched Hoosiers one too many times. BUT they all have to one up any story they hear. What is with this?

Last night, Cliff comes in and another regular is telling a story about how he almost died skiing in Utah last winter. It was a pretty amazing story with a leg injury, lots of snow and ice and even a rescue helicopter. We all paused to take a drink and admire the story, when old Cliff came in for the kill. It seems that he was skiing the year before (earlier) on a higher mountain in deeper snow on a steeper course when disaster struck in the form of the biggest recorded avalanche in recorded history. He spent five days trapped beneath thirty feet of snow living off a half-eaten package of peanut butter crackers and melted snow. Three rescue helicopters, two broken legs, frostbitten toes and four St. Bernards later, our friend, Cliff, was finally freed from the worst experience anyone could have ever faced.

We all stared at him for a moment and then everyone just watched TV in silence for the next hour. Each unwilling to have his story trumped by the king of sling, Cliff, Indiana-Man, Claven. Unreal.

Another regular I will call “Madge”. Madge is an older lady (maybe mid-60’s) who keeps me in cigarettes. She doesn’t smoke nor does she have any idea that she’s my enabler. What Madge does is tip me a quarter for every single drink she has. It may not sound like much, but she drinks 15-20 beers every night; I smoke a pack a day—you do the math. It didn’t take me long to do it and realize that she’s got my smokes covered. There’s a rich dude and his wife who get half my rent but that’s a different story altogether.

Madge is a cool old lady who moved here in the 60’s and has a lot of great stories about how Venice has changed for good and bad. She’s laid back and can stand “Cliff” about as much as I can. One time, after one of his ultimate bullshit stories (that trumped one of her doozies) she simply poured a beer in his lap, got up and left. I bought her a couple of free ones after that and we became buds.

I swear she’s read every book ever written and has a solid opinion on everything—one she can actually back up three questions into an argument. She’s a breath of fresh air in a business where most people just repeat what they heard some dipshit like O’Reilly say and think they have their own opinion. You know the types, the ones who sound off like they know it all and then you question them and they can’t back it up with anything but anger and non-logical arguments. Well Madge definitely ain’t one of them and I like her.

Why shouldn’t I after all, she buys my smokes.