They don't even have to be new, a good pair of socks fresh out of the drier is the best IMO. I avoid wearing new socks unwashed because there can be all sorts of nasty shit on them from the factory, shipping, warehouse, etc. that I'd rather not have rubbing against my skin.
They're not made to eat, so who the hell knows what kind of chemicals they douse clothing in to keep them "fresh" and keep bugs out of them while they travel across the ocean in shipping containers. Agreed, wash the fuck out of them, first thing!
It might not necessarily be a bit but he was definitely setting Danny up with some softballs giving him room to do his thing; Larry King was a great interviewer.
He doesn't come off that way in this interview. He seems like a rich old fuck who's been so rich for so long that he genuinely struggles to understand how the poor plebs could possibly exist without private jets.
Oh he was for sure out of touch, he got hugely successful in the 70s and interviewed actual rich and powerful people, real world leaders and superstars. Over his career he interviewed over 50k people, everyone from Nelson Mandela to Eric Andre. Like the other commenter said, it was kind of his shtick to not prepare or learn too much about the guest so he'd "genuinely be curious" about them.
I'm not saying the dude was a saint, he was a womanizer and was married like 7 times, but he wasn't born into money or anything. He was a little kid from Brooklyn whose dad died when he was 9 and it messed him up, he grew up poor as fuck until he lucked into radio in the 50s. He did end up seeing a lot of success, idk if he ever got private jet rich but I'm sure he traveled 1st class more than once.
Eat the rich and everything but also save your ire for someone that deserves it, an old dead interviewer seems pointless.
It's a bit. Larry King was famous for never preparing and treating every person he interviewed the same. Larry King likely had no idea how low down on the list he was in Hollywood.
I met Danny at my local coffee shop. I am a total ass and said "Abed?". He said " Danny. " and shook my hand. Thus confirming my status as Total Ass, and his as a mensch.
Socks as an answer makes me think of “Ode to my Socks” by Pablo Neruda:
Maru Mori brought me
a pair
of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder’s hands,
two socks as soft
as rabbits.
I slipped my feet
into them
as though into
two
cases
knitted
with threads of
twilight
and goatskin.
Violent socks,
my feet were
two fish made
of wool,
two long sharks
sea-blue, shot
through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons:
my feet
were honored
in this way
by
these
heavenly
socks.
They were
so handsome
for the first time
my feet seemed to me
unacceptable
like two decrepit
firemen, firemen
unworthy
of that woven
fire,
of those glowing
socks.
Nevertheless
I resisted
the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere
as schoolboys
keep
fireflies,
as learned men
collect
sacred texts,
I resisted
the mad impulse
to put them
into a golden
cage
and each day give them
birdseed
and pieces of pink melon.
Like explorers
in the jungle who hand
over the very rare
green deer
to the spit
and eat it
with remorse,
I stretched out
my feet
and pulled on
the magnificent
socks
and then my shoes.
The moral
of my ode is this:
beauty is twice
beauty
and what is good is doubly
good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool