Wachs On

by Stephanie Davis Smith | Men's Book Atlanta magazine | September 28, 2011

Larry Wachs is a snarky, smart, seasoned radio vet who just happens to have one of the top-rated morning shows in Atlanta. Now, with 50 years under his belt, he tells us what he’s learned.

I went bald when I was 11. I had pre-premature balding. But now bald is an option for men. In the ’50s, it wasn’t an option. They got toupées. But now it’s an option. It’s accepted.

Everyone has nicknames for their parents. I just happen to call my dad Old-Man Picklenose.

There are a vanishing number of men who want to sit on the porch and do shots.

I’m not judgmental. I don’t judge other men on their manliness. Wait. Yes, I do.

I know for a fact that men are going crazy right now. They don’t know what to do with themselves. They’ve been shamed for what they do naturally.

I’ve taken up smoking cigarettes now at 50 because by the time I get cancer I’ll already be dead. I’m up to a pack a day. At this age, I’m amplifying all my vices.

I’m just learning to be in control now. At 50, I’m in command of my prostate, the money, the career.

People who talk about wine—bouquets and flavor and all that shit—it’s self-puffery. I don’t like to drink my calories. I eat them.

I’m not ashamed to be an American. I have no interest in going to Europe. It’s old. We’ve got good stuff here.

I drove my daughter across the country to school in Arizona. I looked to Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives to find where to eat along the way. That show is like watching food porn.

I like my daughter. The love is unconditional, but I like her as a person. She’s me in a skirt.

There’s the douchey saying, but it’s true: If you’re the father of a boy you only have to worry about one penis. If you’re a father of a girl you worry about... what? A gazillion?

If it were up to me I’d decorate my house all in milk crates. I have no taste. I need consultants—lots of consultants to tell me what to do. But I do know that every man needs a large television.

Next time I get married, I’ll get separate houses and a limited contract. “Let’s try this for three years... and then we’ll decide.”

On dating sites, women tell you right there in their profiles exactly how the relationship will go. “I love cats,” or “I don’t like this or that...” You’re already arguing with me and we haven’t even met!

I like living in Johns Creek. It’s orderly. But I can get bored by certain trappings. Like tennis and neighborhood cocktail parties.

[The Regular Guys’ radio show] is the most complex relationship I’ve been in. There are alliances. We compete with each other. It’s complicated. It’s like Survivor. All work is like Survivor, I guess. You just hope they don’t give you the heave-ho at the end. I’ve been heave-hoed so many times. It doesn’t faze me anymore.

Self promotion? I feel like it’s my birthright. Brand or die, I say. Don’t you go to the seminars, lady?

“Handshandy” is a good word.