Hello. Hi. How are you? Above is the entire 4th episode (broken up into three easily digestible segments of delight) of my incredible television program “The King of Miami with Dave Hill” that was on the futuristic Mojo Network but for reasons I am still trying to fucking figure out, dammit, is no longer on the air. Anyway, thanks to the magic of the Internet you can watch it anyway. This is my favorite episode of the program. I hope you enjoy it so much.

Dave Hill

Hello. Hi. How are you? Above is the entire 4th episode (broken up into three easily digestible segments of delight) of my incredible television program “The King of Miami with Dave Hill” that was on the futuristic Mojo Network but for reasons I am still trying to fucking figure out, dammit, is no longer on the air. Anyway, thanks to the magic of the Internet you can watch it anyway. This is my favorite episode of the program. I hope you enjoy it so much.

Dave Hill

I’ve just returned from the gym and- as you can probably imagine- I pretty much tore that place a new one lifting this, running on that, and generally fucking that place up in general. This is no New Year’s resolution stuff kicking in early either- as anyone will tell you, I have been making a point of being in incredible shape for a long time now. Still, yesterday was my first day back at the gym in a couple months so it must have been a lot to handle for all the other people trying to work out around me. I guess it’s kind of unfair of me if you really think about it. Good thing I don’t.

The gym is one of the few places I wear an iPod these days and it’s kind of fun putting together an unstoppable workout playlist (or “gym jams” as I like to call them in private and also in the dark) for myself. The latest one features a lot of Pavement, Pentagram, Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Guided by Voices, Heatmiser, and Black Sabbath. I find each band works a different muscle group and, as a result, I am in the shape of a lifetime (ask anybody). Sometimes I try to watch TV at the gym but it never works out too well. They have that one music video channel that plays Black Eyed Peas videos nonstop and then it’s pretty much the Ellen show on all the other channels. Last night though, the guy on one of the crazy cardio machines next to me was watching “The Hughleys” and was laughing out loud the whole time. I couldn’t figure out what could possibly be so funny on an episode of “The Hughleys” (No offense, D.L., you know I love you) but then I saw that Sherman Hemsley on the screen and I knew what all the fuss was about. The man has got it. And did you know Isabel Sanford who played “Weezie”, his wife on the “The Jeffersons” was over twenty years older than him? True story. It’s amazing what a mustache can do.

Now that I have completely fucked up the gym for the day, I am not quite sure what to do. It’s pretty rainy out and- given my penchant for cutting myself- I should be on close watch today. If only I didn’t live alone. Oh well, let’s end on a high note anyway. Here is Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty doing “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.” Great stuff.

Dave Hill

I’ve just returned from the gym and- as you can probably imagine- I pretty much tore that place a new one lifting this, running on that, and generally fucking that place up in general. This is no New Year’s resolution stuff kicking in early either- as anyone will tell you, I have been making a point of being in incredible shape for a long time now. Still, yesterday was my first day back at the gym in a couple months so it must have been a lot to handle for all the other people trying to work out around me. I guess it’s kind of unfair of me if you really think about it. Good thing I don’t.

The gym is one of the few places I wear an iPod these days and it’s kind of fun putting together an unstoppable workout playlist (or “gym jams” as I like to call them in private and also in the dark) for myself. The latest one features a lot of Pavement, Pentagram, Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Guided by Voices, Heatmiser, and Black Sabbath. I find each band works a different muscle group and, as a result, I am in the shape of a lifetime (ask anybody). Sometimes I try to watch TV at the gym but it never works out too well. They have that one music video channel that plays Black Eyed Peas videos nonstop and then it’s pretty much the Ellen show on all the other channels. Last night though, the guy on one of the crazy cardio machines next to me was watching “The Hughleys” and was laughing out loud the whole time. I couldn’t figure out what could possibly be so funny on an episode of “The Hughleys” (No offense, D.L., you know I love you) but then I saw that Sherman Hemsley on the screen and I knew what all the fuss was about. The man has got it. And did you know Isabel Sanford who played “Weezie”, his wife on the “The Jeffersons” was over twenty years older than him? True story. It’s amazing what a mustache can do.

Now that I have completely fucked up the gym for the day, I am not quite sure what to do. It’s pretty rainy out and- given my penchant for cutting myself- I should be on close watch today. If only I didn’t live alone. Oh well, let’s end on a high note anyway. Here is Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty doing “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.” Great stuff.

Dave Hill

The holidays- am I right? I have spent the last couple days in scenic New Haven with my brother and his family and also my parents, who made the trek from my native Cleveland for a few days. It was good times all around, full of lots of meat products, candy, presents, and- when necessary- scotch. For the most part, however, everything was in moderation, at least compared to my usual habits anyway. I am trying to “bring it down” this holiday season, you know, for the camera. Also, I don’t want to buy new pants (unless they are really cool pants, of course, in which case I am happy to pay whatever someone might be asking).

Today, of course, is Boxing Day over in England, Canada, and probably some other places too. As I once understood it, Boxing Day is the day when you take all the stuff in your house that you don’t want, put it in boxes (thus the name), and then give it to some poor bastard who could use all that stuff more than you could. A few years ago, however, a Canadian girl explained to me that Boxing Day is really just a day to hang out and “get fucked up and stuff” and that no one really puts all that much stuff in boxes anymore, even if they are bored. She then went on to tell me how she had a nasty coke hangover and she was really glad her shift at the coffee shop was not that long that day, which, of course, reminded me that there are many ways to celebrate a holiday- you just have to find the way that’s right for you.

I should mention that I am riding on the Metro-North train from New Haven to Grand Central as I type this. It is a crowded train but- in an effort to keep anyone from sitting next to me- I have whipped my dick out. No, just kidding. But it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I really don’t like when people sit next to me on the train, especially when I’m typing on my laptop about whipping my dick out and it’s not all that hard to look at my computer if you are sitting right next to me.

As long as I’m on the topic of riding on a crowded train, I should point out that someone who just got on at the last stop, Bridgeport, seems to have a thing for wearing pee-stained clothes. As I look around for suspects, the smart money is on the old lady across the aisle to my left. I say this not to suggest that old people are always the first ones to point the finger at when the stench of pee is in the air (my experiences with small children, prom dates, and chimps has taught me not to rule out anyone). It’s just that this woman in particular has that vibe about her, that look on her face that seems to say “I don’t have any hang-ups whatsoever about wearing pee-stained clothes. In fact, I think I feel a little something coming on right now.”

Uh oh, we’re at another stop now. More people coming. Maybe I really should whip my dick out.

Dave Hill

The holidays- am I right? I have spent the last couple days in scenic New Haven with my brother and his family and also my parents, who made the trek from my native Cleveland for a few days. It was good times all around, full of lots of meat products, candy, presents, and- when necessary- scotch. For the most part, however, everything was in moderation, at least compared to my usual habits anyway. I am trying to “bring it down” this holiday season, you know, for the camera. Also, I don’t want to buy new pants (unless they are really cool pants, of course, in which case I am happy to pay whatever someone might be asking).

Today, of course, is Boxing Day over in England, Canada, and probably some other places too. As I once understood it, Boxing Day is the day when you take all the stuff in your house that you don’t want, put it in boxes (thus the name), and then give it to some poor bastard who could use all that stuff more than you could. A few years ago, however, a Canadian girl explained to me that Boxing Day is really just a day to hang out and “get fucked up and stuff” and that no one really puts all that much stuff in boxes anymore, even if they are bored. She then went on to tell me how she had a nasty coke hangover and she was really glad her shift at the coffee shop was not that long that day, which, of course, reminded me that there are many ways to celebrate a holiday- you just have to find the way that’s right for you.

I should mention that I am riding on the Metro-North train from New Haven to Grand Central as I type this. It is a crowded train but- in an effort to keep anyone from sitting next to me- I have whipped my dick out. No, just kidding. But it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I really don’t like when people sit next to me on the train, especially when I’m typing on my laptop about whipping my dick out and it’s not all that hard to look at my computer if you are sitting right next to me.

As long as I’m on the topic of riding on a crowded train, I should point out that someone who just got on at the last stop, Bridgeport, seems to have a thing for wearing pee-stained clothes. As I look around for suspects, the smart money is on the old lady across the aisle to my left. I say this not to suggest that old people are always the first ones to point the finger at when the stench of pee is in the air (my experiences with small children, prom dates, and chimps has taught me not to rule out anyone). It’s just that this woman in particular has that vibe about her, that look on her face that seems to say “I don’t have any hang-ups whatsoever about wearing pee-stained clothes. In fact, I think I feel a little something coming on right now.”

Uh oh, we’re at another stop now. More people coming. Maybe I really should whip my dick out.

Dave Hill

Oscar Peterson was seriously good at piano. I even saw him live once. He wasn’t messing around.

Dave Hill

Oscar Peterson was seriously good at piano. I even saw him live once. He wasn’t messing around.

Dave Hill

Dave Hill

Dave Hill