From Causes of Insomnia: "Adam"

I’ve never understood the phrase, “I don’t know you from Adam.” In a crowded room, say at a party or a gallery opening (the type of event where people say idiotic things like “His sculptures are so post-modern” or “Her work really speaks to me”) Adam would be pretty easy to nail down. Nakedness aside, he’d be the guy at the bar who orders a drink the bartender has never heard of, or the guy who says to the artist whose work is on display, “Hi, Dabney, I’m Adam. I’m sorry, but I have to say, you don’t really look like a Dabney. You look more like a…Grover. Don’t you think? Guys, doesn’t he look more like a Grover? Anyway, Grover, when I look at your paintings I think, ‘These aren’t paintings. These are paintings about painting.”
At this is the point in the evening, I would leave the gallery and go home, home to my books and my sofa, home to my chairs and my bourbon, I would go home and marvel at the things people say.