Omar Devon Little, 29 there abouts, a rip and run man from B’more.
the wire
Omar Little of The Wire
Yep, me too, followed by Omar Khayam.
Omar the Tentmaker/“Omar’s Tent and Awnings”
I was also going to say Rageh Omar but it turns out he’s actually Rageh Omaar.
Tentmaker!
Okay. As of post # 66, here are the ones that have been mentioned more than once:
Omar Little, The Wire (16)
Omar Sharif. (11)
Omar Khayyam (8)
“Omar the Tentmaker.” (6)
General Omar Bradley comin’! (3)
Omar Epps (3)
Omar and the Howlers (2)
Tosa West, or Tosa East?
I went to West.
Regards,
Shodan
Put me down for Omar Sharif.
First, Omar the caliph, the one whose daughter was one of Muhammed’s wives.
Second, Omar Little from The Wire.
Wait-- I’ve made fun of Shodan and his “Regards…” line for so long… and now I find out we’re both from the same town?? Yikes!
(Next week, I discover that Rand Rover was my paperboy in the 80s and Carol Stream is in my mom’s book club!).
But I went to East.
Though some of your classmates probably knew “Omar the Tentmaker”… especially if you palled around with that kid named Judson*…
*wild wacky guy who went on to be… I’m not kidding here… a minister at a drive-in church.
Sharif. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go book my room at the Retirement House…
The sound of whistled “The Farmer in the Dell” on a dark city street, of course. What else could it be?
Jim Omar from Spider Robinson’s “Callahan” series.
Sharif
We’re in the middle of season four of The Wire, so I thought of Omar Little with his shotgun and his scar.
I’m amazed that, while a couple of other stray baseball players have been brought up, not one poster has named the greatest ballplayer in the history of the game to bear the name Omar: Omar Vizquel.
Apparently I’m one of the few sorry Cleveland Indians fans here. While Vizquel has played for other teams (and is still active at the age of 43), he spent his glory years with Cleveland. While Ozzie Smith gets all the ink, I believe an objective comparison would demonstrate that Vizquel is the greatest-fielding shortstop in the history of the game.
His clutch hitting is another unappreciated aspect of Vizquel’s game.
So Vizquel is definitely my immediate response if someone says “Omar.” Big deal in my household, not only for his play, but because my at-the-time teenage daughter had a big crush on him. She knew very little of baseball, but used to hurry into the room when he came to bat.
“Oh, he’s so CUTE!” We tease her about that to this day.
And now for the second-place winner in this poll for me:
Years and years ago, long before they could obtain all the porn they could ever want with one click of the mouse, the horny adolescents of a bygone era had to rely on the dumb luck of somehow obtaining “dirty books” – those cheap paperbacks carried by certain stores.
Probably initially acquired via shoplifting (I have to confess that I once did this myself) or perhaps raiding older brothers’ closets, they were furtively passed around by friends.
The specifics of the ones I read have faded from memory – all except for one, which must have been my favorite. I still recall the title – Slave of Lust – and can still picture the cover.
The premise had something to do with a beautiful but sexually uptight secretary who somehow falls into the hands of a less-than-ethical psychiatrist. This guy hypnotizes her, planting a suggestion that when the name “Omar” is whispered to her, she will immediately turn into a wanton, sex-craving maniac…but of course, will have no memory of her activities once she exits the hypnotic state.
Needless to say, the psychiatrist uses this scheme for his own benefit, and has his way with her at each session – graphically described, of course.
And yet somehow, he’s portrayed as not really having evil intent (this was the mid-1960s, after all). He actually falls in love with this girl, and in the end he confesses his scheme to her. But as she has been “cured” of her hang-ups by his tender ministrations, they end up living happily ever after together!
I guess the book must have had a powerful effect on me, because this is the second thing I think of at the mention of the name “Omar” – even though it’s probably been a good 45 years since I’ve laid eyes on it!
See Posts #32 and #57.
Heh. I think of my very Irish father, whose middle name was Omar. Not Brendan or Declan or Brian, but Omar.
Weird-o-rama.