My Run-In with Ol' Smokey

I got stopped by a lady cop in my automobile...well, actually it was Ed's automobile, but I was driving it. And instead of it turning into any kind of Sir Psycho Sexy fantasy tale, it mostly ended up with me being scared out of my mind and pleading for leniency.

I know it looks like I'm about to throw down with the cop in the following photo, but really I'm just paralyzed with fear.

First off, as anyone who has ever suffered in my passenger seat can attest, I drive like a grandma so getting pulled over for speeding was a whole new experience for me. For the record, I was doing 65 in a 55. Who even knew there were 55mph zones anymore?

So the cop pulls me over. Upon rolling down the window she is greeting with the strong smell of whiskey from inside the car. This is never a good thing, but it actually helped me out in the long run.

The whiskey smell was coming from the backseat where Brandon had been in and out of consciousness for the past 70 miles. Nevertheless, the cop asked me to come out of the vehicle. Understandably so.

She instructed me to follow the tip of her pen with my eyes. This is fairly easy when you've only had one beer all day and that was over 4 hours ago. Then came some questions about how much I had to drink. She asked if I was feeling the effect of the alcohol from my one beer. I said I hadn't even felt the effects when I was drinking it. To make a long story short, the breathalyzer put me at a perfect .000.

And look at that belly! Whoa, I've really let myself go.

She thanked me for being responsible enough to escort by drunk friends around and let me off with a verbal warning for my powerful display of speed on a completely empty stretch of highway in the middle of nowhere.

Good times.

Bizarro Nick

A few years back I documented my discovery of another Nick Leonti on MySpace. There are not many of us out there. Of course, now I - like all decent people - have all but abandoned my MySpace page.

I feel like the Bizarro Nick post from my MySpace blog is worth saving though. At least the pictures are worth saving, anyhow.

Here is the photo documentation of the parallel lives Bizarro Nick Leonti and I have been leading. See if you can tell who's who.

Living the Horse Track Dream

Guess who got to ride in the official car with the start gate attached to it at the horse track.



HINT: It was me.

Has the Whole World Gone Crazy?

First off let me say that I voted for Obama and am excited about him taking office. For the first time in my life our president will not have a humorous accent. While this might be a disappointment for Saturday Night Live, I think it's good for America. Well, I guess Reagan didn't really have an accent, but you could visualize (audialize?) him yelling "Yeehaw" as much as the others.

It's not that I don't think having an occasional yeehaw-yelling president is good thing, but it was time for a break...change, if you will.

Somehow though, Obama has turned into more celebrity than politician. Maybe it was the cool campaign artwork or the way he simplified his campaign slogans down to two simple words that didn't confuse anyone.

One thing's for sure, people love to make witty puns from his name. Obama Mamas, Obamanation, Barack the Vote, Obama Mia, and the very embarrassing Barackstar just to name a few.

The whole thing is out of control right now. Like the worst of flash-in-the-pan fads, his face is everywhere and on everything.

Novelty t-shirt shops which once had entire racks dedicated to the Taco Bell dog and "Show me the Money" shirts now have Obama. There are a lot of really bad ones out there too. I think the one that made me think things had gone overboard was the one with Obama, arms folded, smiling in front of the White House with a sign that read "Under New Management."

I mean, I'm as thrilled as the next guy that George W. is leaving town, but let's try to maintain our composure. Obama seems to be a classy guy and out of respect to him I think we should refrain from buying this crap.

There are Obama bobbleheads, Obama shot glasses, jewel-encrusted Obama jackets and let's not forget the Obama commemorative coin collection which is being pitched by Obama sound-alike Montel Williams. Even I got suckered in by the surrealism of it all and bought myself a delicious Obama chocolate bar.

Then there are all these people flooding Washington DC for the inauguration not so they can actually see the ceremony (because we all know there are a lot of distant and obstructed views in a crowd of 4 million), but so they can tell you they were there. I'm in America and that's "there" enough for me.

The success of the campaign has spiraled out of control. Maybe we should have waited for him to actually take office and do something before we began our celebrity worship of him, but I guess that kind of hope is just too audacious.

How dumb will we all look if we throw this kind love at the guy and he ends up being the worst president ever? Of course the bar for "worst president ever" has recently been set at an all-time low, so I'm fairly certain that's not going to happen, but still we should try to control ourselves.

While I'm optimistic about Obama being great leader, no one can live up to the hype that we've created for this guy and it will be interesting to see how it all goes down.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy this chocolate bar and hope for the best.

Magician Should Disappear (for reals this time)

Stupid Criss Angel has been in the news too much recently. I guess he's marrying a Playboy bunny or something, but even that doesn't make me like him.

I should mention that I'm a huge fan of magic. I'm a sucker for Penn & Teller. I spent many hours of my childhood forcing people to pick a card and pulling quarters come out of other people's ears. There have been numerous occasions when I nearly purchased one of these. And , yes, I have visited a website called hobbytron.com.

So I like magic. There used to be a time when I even liked magicians... but not like more than a friend or anything. Seriously though, check out how awesome Harry Blackstone Jr. was:

It's kinda hard to tell from the photo, but he's totally making that light bulb levitate while simultaneously making it glow. Plus, he can totally hide up to a dozen decks of cards under his lapels. Who doesn't want to party at the Magic Castle with Blackstone Jr?

Anyhow, that's what a magician should look like.

Not like this:

I'm tellin' ya, I love a good magic trick, but Criss Angel makes me not even care if he's using real swords.

Somewhere along the way magicians went from friendly tuxedo-clad gentlemen to shiny overly-shiny sleazeballs (Vegas's Lance Burton, GOB from Arrested Development) to cocky a-holes with with extremely poor fashion sense.

David Copperfield was bad enough, but now his name is Criss Angel and he's got a necklace made of crosses and handcuffs. At least almost-as-annoying David Blaine doesn't have a wiggedy Hot Topic hat...but I don't like David Blaine either.

And what happened to t-shirts? Criss Angel isn't the only guilty one here. There are millions of you out there. Why does every t-shirt have to have cryptic silk screening all over it. Is that a skull? An eagle? An upside-down tree? Whoa, you must really be a rebel because your shirt's printing starts on the front and works its way up and over the left shoulder...and here I am with a stupid logo front-and-center on mine.

Include Ed Hardy shirts in there too.

Outside of dressing like Mystery from VH1's the Pick-up Artist, Criss Angel is also a crappy magician. Of course, I'm a fan of card tricks and sawing people in half. I've never been a fan of the overly drawn out and produced magic trick where the magician does something stupid like make a casino disappear or set himself on fire for 3 hours. These are Criss Angel's specialty.

And when Criss Angel does his dumb tricks...errr illusions he really wants you to think he's amazing. Unlike like ol' Blackstone Jr. who would trick your eye and give you smile, Criss Angel acts like he is the baddest man on the planet because he just walked on some plexi-glass and made it look like he was walking on water. NEWS FLASH: he wasn't. Go ahead and trick us, but don't try to convince us it isn't a trick. You are not a "Mindfreak"...even though I don't know what that means. For the record, I don't care to.

All i want him to do is get a hair cut, take off the chains and pull a damn rabbit out of a non-wiggedy hat.

I guess there's chance Criss Angel's whole image is his best trick. Maybe he just appears to be the world's biggest douchebag. But I've seen this guy do "magic" so I know he's not that good.

Felt good to get that off my chest.

Oldy Foldy Rides Again!

Well, I've been busy getting Nick on the Town up and running, but I think it's time to show Oldy Foldy a little bit of love. Besides, I just got charged $10 to keep the domain for another year so I might as well use it.

Also, there a lot of things I want to write about that aren't really appropriate for Nick on the Town.

For example, I really want to write about how I'm both scared and pissed off by all the overly religious people who are cramming these ridiculous "Yes on 8" ads on me, but I can't really do that on Nick on the Town. Turns out my employer doesn't want me saying bad stuff about religion, God, church, etc. Whatever. For the record, the "Yes on 8" people are the same scary people that are forcing "Yes on 4" on us. Please try to be smarter. Vote no on both. Hard.

Also, sometimes I just want to randomly list some cool alternative rock songs of the 90s that I don't think get the respect they deserve:

* Pea - Red Hot Chili Peppers
* Teen Angst - Cracker
* Falling for You - Weezer
* Tongue - REM

Again, I can't really put crap like that on Nick on the Town. Or maybe I can. I dunno.

Anyhow, look for more Oldy Foldy updates in the future.

Okay, Okay....

I know I haven't posted since I met Mr T. Even though it's easy to jump to conclusions, I assure you that Mr. T has little or nothing to do with Oldy Foldy failing to produce.

The real reason I haven't posted is that I've tricked my employer into letting me blog professionally.

They have assigned me to the grueling task of being "Nick on the Town" which means I have to go to events, bars and other fun night-lifey type things and write about it.

So feel free to check it out, www.nickonthetown.com, and I'll try to post to Oldy Foldy when I get a chance.

The Happiest I've Ever Been

I don't even know where to start telling you how jealous you are.

My Favorite Baseball Cards

I wasted much of my childhood sorting, resorting, alphabetizing and re-alphabetizing baseball cards. Sure, that seems like a waste of time but it was actually quite fulfilling. Also, I was a loser.

Some kids were only interested in collecting the cards of "superstars" (e.g. Jerome Walton, Chris Sabo) but for me and others like me there was much fun to be had with the lesser known players as well.

A lot of people, even baseball fans, have no idea who Urbano Lugo is, but those of us who were "collectors" know that he pitched for the Angels for at least one year (1987). His card was worth nothing just like hundreds of other players' cards from that year - a proud group known as "commons."

The only reason anybody remembers Urbano's short stint in the majors was the fact that his card was in practically every pack of 1987 Topps which, for my money, is the best card ever made with it's classy woodgrain borders.

I must have had 15 Urbano Lugo cards. The name itself was funny enough, but line up 15 of those suckers in a row and it becomes HILARIOUS. This is the kind of joy collecting cards gave me.

Non-collectors will never experience the joy of knowing no-names like Urbano Lugo. Nor will they get the satisfaction of cards featuring guys with funny haircuts, big glasses or dirty words written on their bats (thank you, Billy Ripken). They've long forgotten about Odibe McDowell, Billy Joe Robidoux and Johnny Lemaster (or Johnny "Disaster" as my dad used to call him).

Perhaps the best example of what they're missing out on is this:

For many years I thought this card was just a bad dream I had. It's Glenn Hubbard with a snake fer crissakes!

How did this happen? What is going on behind him? Why did the Braves allow this? I don't know the answers to these questions, but I do know an awesome baseball card when I see one.

Hubbard's beard is awesome enough, but combine it with a gigantic snake and you've got baseball card magic! Not to mention the fact that the Philly Phanatic and other mascots are having some kind of drunken party in the background. It's gotta be the best card of all time.

The only card I can think of right now that even comes close is the Mickey Hatcher "big glove" card from 1986:

Hooboy, that's a big glove!

Upon seeing these cards, I know all you non-collectors are pissed that you wasted your childhoods with "friends" and "playing outside." Yup, you sure screwed up.

Well, if I remember more funny cards I'll post them here.

IMDB STARmeter up 135% since last week!

It's not easy to become a major motion picture star.

First, you have to go to high school with a guy that makes movies. Then, ten years later, you have to go drink beer with him and accept when he offers you a movie role. Next, you receive something called a "script" which makes a great coaster. Then you spend up to 12 non-consecutive days drinking in basements and hotels while ad-libbing fat jokes and the next thing you know your "STARmeter" on the Internet Movie Database is up 135% in one week!

Sure, "Better Than Crazy" hasn't been released yet, but who cares when your STARmeter is skyrocketing like that?

Just for comparison, here are the current STARmeter readings for some of my peers:

Tom Cruise: up 20%
Cary Grant: down 19%
Brad Pitt: down 12%
Halle Berry: down 25%
Mr. T: down 24%
Carrot Top: down 27%
Phyllis Diller: no change
Bea Arthur: up 9%
Gary Coleman: up 112%
Dude who played Max Headroom: up 17%
Edward James Olmos: up 211%
Lassie from the original tv show: up 19%
Lassie from the 1994 remake: down 50%

So, out of the people (and dogs) who matter, Gary Coleman is nippin' at my heels and Edward James Olmos has me beat. Not too shabby if you ask me.

Now, I just need to wait for the movie to be released and find a place to put all those Oscars.

It should also be noted that I have no idea how the STARmeter works or exactly what it measures.

R.I.P. Dad Moustache

Nothing gives a man confidence and instant respectability like a strong moustache. Wyatt Earp had one, Albert Einstein had one, Waylon Jennings had one, Magnum PI had one; the list goes on and on. Sure there are some stinkers out there (i.e. Hitler, John Waters), but for the most part I'm a fan of all moustaches. I'd like to take this time to apologize to John Waters for grouping him with Hitler, but he brought it on himself.

Anyhow, if you were born any time between 1965 and 1983, before the whole world went soft, your dad had a moustache...and it was an AWESOME moustache. The Dad Moustache is the best kind of moustache because it exists for no other reason than to put fear into children. Of course by "fear" I mean "respect."

My dad's Dad Moustache was a true national treasure. Here it is, not too long ago, pushing my nephew in a wheelbarrow.

A closer look.

I'll see if I can track down a photo of it's late 70's prime.

I remember how the moustache and I used to play catch in the yard and how it used to drive me to school in the morning. And I definitely remember the way the moustache moved slowly back and forth as the dad-head it was attached to shook in disappointment as I struggled to start the lawnmower, chop firewood or identify the alternator while staring blankly under the hood of my car.

Now, my dad's moustache is gone. After 30-something years of sporting a museum worthy cookie-duster, all that's under my dad's nose is his big gleaming, joe-schmo upper lip.

Here it is in all it's horror.

Remind you of anyone?

It's like looking at the bare wall after the Mona Lisa got torn down.

Perhaps the worst part of the whole thing is that when the old man drinks a beer all the foam will go directly into his mouth instead of making a pitstop in the stache before being vaccuumed out by an extended bottom lip. What's the point of even drinking a beer?

Also, moustache's friend, big burly beard, preceded him in death 20 years ago and, frankly, I was just getting over that.

Of course, I'm taking action. I've instructed my lawyer to find out if it's even legal to simultaneously have a bare lip and a closest full Jimmy Buffet records. I just don't know what else to do.

RIP, Dad Moustache, you will be missed.

European Adventure #7 - Dublin

After visiting places like Paris, Venice and Vienna, coming into Dublin felt a lot like coming home...except the cars were on the wrong side of the road and the food was a lot worse.

The language barrier was gone. No longer was I "danke schoening" when I should've been "auf weidersehening." No longer was I randomly pointing at a menu and getting something strange and delicious in return. No, in Ireland it's the opposite. I knew exactly what I was ordering..and that it would be bad.

Maybe coming straight from the land of perfect sausage was unfair to the sad plate of bangers and mash I ordered at the Quays Pub, but that "banger" was just onions wrapped in sheep gut.

But I'm getting off track. I'll get back to food later.

My point is that Dublin felt a lot more like America than the other places we had been. Please don't take that as me saying I didn't enjoy Dublin...I do, after all, enjoy America.

One thing that makes Dublin like America is all the Americans. Of course, there's the requisite bunch of spoiled American teenagers who are touring Europe to "find themselves" through binge drinking and sexual promiscuity, but there are other Americans as well. Even our waiter at the restaurant where we had our one delicious Irish meal was from Chicago.

Speaking of that meal, and I guess I might as well just keep talking about food, not only was it the best meal we had in Ireland it was also the cheapest as Amber ex-boyfriend, Philip who happens to be Irish, paid for it.

The thing about going to dinner with your girlfriend and her ex when the ex is treating is that you can pretty much order whatever you want no matter how much it costs. Philip was cool and all, but this was a rare situation and I knew I had a free pass. Therefore, I had the mallard, a game pie, a goat cheese appetizer and a delicious dessert. Also, lots of beer. Somehow though, we found the one restaurant in Dublin that did not have Guinness on tap. Instead I got a Guinness from a can poured into a small glass. Sad.

The food was delicious though.

Anyhow, dinner was fantastic and Philip was solid...not just because he paid like 200 Euros ($1,000,000 USD) for dinner but because he also bought drinks at the pub later. Okay, he was a nice guy too.

Here's me and Phil, partying.

The next night's dinner was much different, as we decided to just go to the grocery store instead of risking another bland banger. This is what our hotel room bed looked like after our grocery store trip.

Of course, it was raining the whole time we were there, but I would've felt gypped (no offense, Gypsies) if it hadn't been.

We also visited the Guinness factory where you get to learn all about the beer making process. My experience with Guinness up to this point had been rocky. Sometimes it would go down easy and make me happy and other times it was a rough ride. Unlike the bubbly, watery beers that treat me so consistently well, Guinness was always a sip of the unexpected.

However, at the Guinness factory, and there's a good chance I was just caught up in the moment, it went down like water. Smooth, creamy and delicious.

Even this racially insensitive ad couldn't keep me from enjoying it.

Also, we learned how to pour the "perfect pint" and even earned certificates for our pouring prowess.

For the record, this is how it's done.

1. Use the right glass. It's got to be the official Guinness pint glass with it's curvy sides and the strategically placed harp logo.

2. Hold the glass at a 45 degree angle to the tap with the strategically placed harp logo directly under the nozzle.

3. Pull tap forward to release nitrogen infused beer into the glass.

4. As it fills, turn the glass upright.

5. When the beer reaches the level of the strategically placed harp logo (about 3/4 full) stop filling the glass. Set it on the counter and wait.

If you happen to be at the factory taking the "perfect pint" lesson, feel free to zone out, mesmerized by the beer bubbles, while your instructor is telling you how long it needs to sit.

This is also a good time to dispense some beer directly from the tap into your mouth.

6. Finally, finish filling the glass by pushing back on the tap to release non-nitrogenated beer.

Even though, the beer tasted delicious at the factory, I'm still convinced that the whole process is for show and doesn't really make a difference. It's much too late for them to take my certificate away from me now though. Seriously though, why go through all that effort when you can just pop the top off a High Life?

Here's a little video of me downing a Guinness at a pub much to the delight of Phil who can be heard cheering me on in the background.

But Dublin is about more than drinking beer. It's also about drinking whiskey.

For the record, an Irish Coffee is still called an Irish Coffee even in Ireland. I was kinda hoping that if you just ordered "coffee" it would automatically come with whiskey in it, but I suppose that was unrealistic. It should also be noted that, in Ireland, an Irish Car Bomb is not a cocktail, but a device that blows up a car and, man, are they sensitive about it. Don't order one.

Outside of alcohol, rain and crappy food Dublin is actually a cool place. It looks pretty much how you would expect it to look: Grey and green with pubs everywhere. The River Liffey, St. Stephen's Green, the Ha'penny Bridge, a bunch of James Joyce stuff, plenty of those double decker tour buses, it's all there.

I'd be lying if I said we didn't spend most of our time in the various pubs...which, it turns out, are the same as bars. Here's a picture of some of the beers we drank...and some of the glasses we stole. Gotta make up for that exchange rate somehow.

So we ate our last meal on the bed in the hotel, watched a little Irish reality tv, drank a bottle of Lodi wine we found at the Irish market and Aer Lingus took us home the next day.

Speaking of Aer Lingus, this whole trip would not have been possible if they didn't sell us round-trip direct flight tickets from SF to Dublin for $516 including all taxes and charges and everything. Check into it.

Welp, that's about it. Catch you on later down the trail or, as the say in Dublin, bye.

European Adventure #6 - Dream Sponsorship

Before I move on to the Dublin leg of our trip, there's some unfinsihed business in Vienna.

There must be something in the water in Vienna (hops, barley, etc.) because I usually have fairly unremarkable dreams, but there I had crazy things happen in my sleep.

There I was, sleeping and dreaming a respectably entertianing dream in which I rode a slow moving roller coaster in teh clouds above a major US city, possibly Chicago, while on a business trip that I was using to legitimize golfing at some really nice golf course. Of course, in real life, I've never been to Chicago, I rarely have business trips and I don't golf, but that's why they call'm dreams, kids.

Anyhow, the dream wasn't really anything all that special until the slow roller coaster came back down to Chicago and dropped me off at what appeared to be a college campus. At his point I notice an interesting assortment of celebrities walking around with backpacks on as if they are going to class. And they were sports celebrities I don't really care about. Mostly just sports stars who are pretty popular in comercials: Ladanian Tomlinson, Shuan White etc.

So I'm standing there watching these sports celebrities walk to class and that's where things took a turn.

The dream switches cameras on me. Instead of me seeing things through my eyes, the "camera" is behind me. It slowly pulls back and up to reveal that each sports celebrity who is walking to class is being followed by a pack of clones that are all walking with them in perfect formation. Then the camera takes off, as if on a helicopter, to reveal that the campus is just filled with these pods of sport celebrity clones all walking to class with their backpacks over one shoulder.

Then it happened...and this could change dreams forever. The "tv screen" of my dream faded to black and then, just like I were sitting on the couch watching an A's game or Hannah Montana, the Toyota logo flashed up and immediately triggered me awake.

The thought that a company could buy ad space in people's dreams is a sci-fi plot waiting to happen...and if you're a budding sci-fi writer I encourage you to take my idea and run with it. Of course, I will expect 50% of all profits.

Now, on to Dublin!

European Adventure #5 - The Time We Missed Our Stop

The train system in Austria is fairly easy to navigate and pleasingly efficient. We found the trains to be on time and the transit maps easy to decipher.

Of course, none of this matters when you've been pounding Zipfers at the Anker for the 2 hours leading up to your train trip.

So Dr. Bob, our friendly host, guided us to the proper train, told us to get off at the easily identifiable airport stop, and hugged us good bye.

To make a long story short, I'm sure we were engrossed in conversation about something very important and intellectual when we zipped, obliviously, past the airport stop.

The next time the train stopped I believed I said something like "Well, we must be getting close" as I glanced up at the train map. Then I glanced at the station sign. Then I glanced at the map. Then the station sign. Then the map. Then the station sign.

Not wanting to accept the fact that we missed our stop, I figured I must be reading the map backwards. Was I upside down? Unfortunately, no.

We ran off the train, panicked and ran back on.

The train started up once again and we assessed our situation.

We had 30 minutes to get the airport for check-in. We decided that we should get off at the next stop and then catch the next train going back the other direction.

Of course, the next stop was way, way, way outside the city. It looked like this:

We waited there. And waited. And waited.

It doesn't get much better than hanging out in cold, dark, rural Austria.

There wasn't anything we could do about it at this point though. I was 75% sure I could find my way back to Dr. Bob's and we could just find another way to Dublin the next day...that was, assuming that we didn't die at this sketchy middle-of-nowhere train station.

We waited a while longer. We waited long enough for to have to relieve myself behind the station twice. I'm not proud, but again, I had a lot of beer in me at this point.

Anyhow, the train eventually came. To celebrate, I did my rings routine.

After a sprint through the Vienna airport, we made it to the Aer Lingus check-in desk with 2 minutes to spare. And, really, it was the nicest airport trip ever. No waiting and our bags were the first ones out the chute in Dublin. Screw showing up early.

Worst Cartoons Ever

I was thinking back to my childhood. Specifically, I was thinking about all the cartoons I watched. Even more specifically, I was thinking about all the time I wasted watching really, really crappy cartoons.

Some of these shows were so poorly written, drawn and produced that I couldn't help but feel ripped off. As a kid, I never really had any path of recourse. But now, in our Internet age, it's easy to track people down and find those accountable for wasting my precious childhood years. Also, with a blog, I can at least feel like my voice is being heard by somebody.

For every GI Joe there was a Popples. For every Voltron, a Lazer Tag Academy. For every Jem, a Lady Lovely Locks and so on. So now, after 30 years of feeling screwed over by animation, I'd like to call out the following shows and their makers.

1. Kissyfur
Are you kdding me? How did this show get ok'd by anyone. This touchy feely show was about a little boy bear and his dad. If I remember correctly, Kissyfur and his old man escaped from the circus and decided to run a tour boat company.

Seriously.

Mostly, I just remember a lot of sappy positive messages and A LOT of hugging. The whole thing was stomach-churning and not at all how I wanted to start my Saturdays. Not surprisingly, this was produced by the always 3rd-rate DIC company which also laid such eggs as Captain Planet, The Littles and the legendary Hammerman.

Of course they also produced #2 on my list:

2. The Get Along Gang
Another super-sappy crapfest with plenty of hugging and huge helpings of heavy-handed politically correct messages conceived to brainwash children into being mindless robots...at least, that what sticks with me from the one time I watched it when I was 8. First off, I think the Get Along Gang was created by an inferior greeting card company that was trying to keep up with the "cartoons based on greeting cards" trend that was started by Hallmark's "Shirt Tales" and never really took off.

The Get Along Gang was led by a moose in a sweater...I believe the sweater had an "M" on it which I can only assume was for "Moose" but it could just as accurately have been for "Moron."

The gist of the show was that all these animals in clothes liked to hang out together. They liked to do things as a group and if one member dissented the rest of the gang would force the offender into submission. Like if Mr. Moose wanted to go rollerskating, the rest of the posse would say "Yay, let's go rollerskating." Then one of the other animals, perhaps the turtle with the headband, would say "I'd rather go to the mall" and then the rest of the gang would say that the turtle was bad person (turtle) for disagreeing with the group. In the end, he'd give in and they'd all go rollerskating as a happy, mindless group. Thanks for encouraging my individualism, DIC!

3. Rude Dog & the Dweebs
If the Get Along Gang taught us anything it's that cartoons should not be based on greeting cards. Perhaps just as bad of an idea is basing a cartoon on a clothing line...especially and inferior clothing line like Rude Dog.

For those who don't know, Rude Dog was a surf/skate t-shirt company that featured a little Spud's Mackenzie type rip-off dog. This was a time when every clothes company had to make surf clothes. And even though clothes are a dumb thing on which to base a tv show, there were plenty of better options.

The most obvious example is T&C Surf. Their shirts had all kinds of cool characters like a surfing gorilla and a guy in a witch doctor mask. That's the kind of thing that would make a good show! Nintendo saw the potential of T&C and made a video game based on them, but the tv folks, even the losers at DIC, let this ship sail on by them.

I seem to remember Gotcha having some half-man half-fish that probably would've made an ok cartoon. Or maybe Maui & Sons could've done something along the lines of Muppet Babies or Captain Caveman & Son. Hell, I'd even rather just watch the car from Jimmy'Z t-shirts drivin' around for half an hour. Or maybe the O and the P from OP could just walk around having alphabet adventures. Hobie, PCH, Catchit, RipCurl - all better than Rude Dog.

Anyhow, I can't remember anything about the show except that all the dogs (the "Dweebs" being Rude Dog's buddies) had bad accents and I think they worked as auto mechanics. I could probably go on wikipedia and refresh my memory, but it's just not worth it.

4. Snorks
Quite possibly the most-obvious knock-off ever, the Snorks were basically the Smurfs with snorkels built into their heads so they could live underwater. They looked like the Smurfs, they talked like the Smurfs, they had the same personalities as the Smurfs. The girl was probably named Snork-ette and they probably ate Snorkberries while being chased by Snorkamel. Screw the Snorks!

5. Turbo Teen
This one is just ridiculous. The "hero" of this show was a teenager who could turn into a car. I mean, it's not like Superman changing into his cape or Bruce Banner getting mad and getting big and green. Heck, it's not even like a Transformer turning from a robot into a car. This is a real and actual human turning into an automobile...but only when he gets hot.

I have no idea how this works. I don't remember anything about the backstory. I just know that dude would turn into a car when he got hot.

He used this ability to fight crime, but it was a ludicrous premise that even little 6 year-old me couldn't get into.

The show worked as any normal show only at some point "Turbo Teen" would have to chase a really fast bad guy. Other than hauling groceries and bathing at the car wash, this is where turning into a car would really come in handy. Of course, the problem is that in order to chase the bad guy as a car, he would have to get hot. This generally resulted in him having an exchange like this:

Stranger: He stole my purse! Please catch him!
Turbo Teen: No sweat...errr lots of sweat.

Then he'd start running until he turned into car.

Lame.

6. Give me some time. I'm sure I'll think of more.

The Banjo Project - Update #3

My banjo skills continue to progress...at a snail's pace. Here's a little number called "Cripple Creek."

European Adventure #4 - Vienna

Our overnight train from Venice to Vienna departed over 45 minutes late, but thanks to some trademark Austrian efficiency, we rolled in to the Westbanhoff station a mere 5 minutes late.

There, we were greeted by this man.

He is Dr. Bob, an old friend that I won in a break up. She got my dignity, but I got Dr. Bob and that's a trade I'd make any day...since, really, I never had much dignity to begin with.

Anyhow, Dr. Bob is a supergenius professor who is doing a year of research at the University of Vienna. His office is filled to overflowing with formula-filled notepads and other things my simple mind cannot make any sense of...especially while doing this:

Vienna was a breath of fresh air. After being easily identified as tourists in Paris and Venice, we were treated as regular nobodies in Vienna. It was nice to finally experience some real language barriers when trying to order a cup of coffee.

Vienna is a magical land filled with sausages (but not those tiny ones in the cans), beer and jelly donuts. It was just like my dreams only I didn't rescue any bikini girls from a volcano. Oh, and Mozart and Strauss are eveywhere...and, to a lesser extent, Beethoven.

We started our Vienna adventure by eating sausages and going to the Belvedere Museum which, unfortunately, had little or nothing to do with Mr. Belvedere. On the plus side, Klimt's "The Kiss" was there and it was spectacular, but I still would've like at least a mention of Bob Uecker.

Then we went shopping.

There were like a dozen H&M's on one street which helped me quickly make up for the fact that I had never been to one previously. H&M is kinda like the Gap only people like it more and they are more selective about where they put there stores...well, if you count putting a dozen of them on one street in Vienna "selective." I didn't buy anything.

Eveything in Vienna is like 800 years old and covered in gold. Take a look at this church:

And you can kinda see an old building behind us in this smoochy shot:

Here's a gilded Strauss:

Anyhow, Dr. Bob doesn't actually live in Vienna true. He is slightly outside of the city in a cool little town known as Klosterneuburg. He has a view of a castle right from his balcony!

Also, there were bakeries and a wine shop in walking distance...which is pretty much the most important thing in the world.

We went to a bar called....hmmm, ok I forget what it was called. I do remember drinking a lot, buying used bar glasses off the waitress and trying to keep up with Amber as she ran all the way home to Dr. Bob's stating that, after pounding a bottle of wine, she said she simply had to "jog it out." Here we are at the bar doing an impersonation of our livers:

Upon getting home, I felt it necessary to stack things:The day we left, we resumed the drinking. This time it was large beers at a quaint little joint called the "Anker Hotel" where they served the best thing I have ever eaten. This:It's goulash with a flower carved out of a sausage! Does it get any better? That big white thing is The Most Amazing Dumpling in the World.

With some time left before we had to catch our train to the airport, we decided to have a couple more over-sized novelty beers and follow that up with a trip to the wine store. This leads in to the next post titled "The Time we Missed our Stop." Stay tuned.

The Smartest Thing I've Ever Done

They call it Instant Pussycat, but for me it took 40 years.

What am I talking about? Well, let me start from the beginning.

One day while shooting a movie in my friend Mike's grandma's basement....wait, that's not really the beginning.

The true beginning was the 1960s. This was a time of turmoil. A time of change. A time of protest. Also, for those who weren't so socially and/or politically active, it was a time of swingin' parties and, apparently, powdered instant cocktail mixes.

Now, I'm not saying Mike's grandparents weren't concerned with what was going on in the world, I'm just saying they knew a good drink when they saw one. Grandma Max's basement bar is a testament to their cocktail prowess. The bar appears to have remained untouched since 1975. It's fully stocked with 40 year old liquor bottles, logo glasses, swizzle sticks and various unidentifiable cocktail accessories from the 60s. It's a true museum to the cocktail world and it sat, untampered with, for decades before the movie crew piled into Grandma's Basement.

According to the date on the box (copyright, not expiration which couldn't be found), it was 1969 when Early Times produced the Instant Pussycat cocktail mix and proudly printed the slogan "I thought I saw a pussy cat. You did. You did" on the box.

On the set of the movie, we joked about cracking into the packets and mixing up a few cocktails. The recipe was simple enough - 1 part Early Times, 3 parts water, 1 packet of Instant Pussycat drink mix - shake, pour and garnish with a lime wedge and cherry. Luckily, we decided against creating 40 year old cocktails that night.

Unluckily, we changed our minds a few months later.

But a few months later, we had to change our minds. Mike showed up at my door with 3 gorgeous Instant Pussycat cocktail glasses. They were perfect. The shape of a lava lamp, but with just enough stem to slide your fingers around it as if holding a baby bird in your hand. If held properly, not only did you look cool, but the Pussycat logo with it's little wagging tail could be read by all.

With the combination of Instant Pussycat mix and Pussycat glasses pressuring us, how could we resist this drinking challenge?

But if we were gonna do it, we were gonna do it right. This meant a walk to the Tallac Bottle Shop for maraschino cherries...and maybe a couple pocket shots for good measure. Pocket Shots are little plastic bags filled with liquor that they sell, like chips, at the liquor store register. Surprisingly legal (for now), they are probably worthy of their own blog post, but for the time being, enjoy this picture of pocket shots in a canoe.

After giving the glasses a rigorous washing, it was time to bring the Instant Pussycat back to life.

Upon opening the first packet, I was pleased to learn that not only was the powder not clumpy, it was white as snow. However, upon meeting the whiskey and water, it turned a bright orange.

The glasses were filled. A toast was made. Photos were taken to show the doctors later.

Before I continue, let me tell you about a few of the more interesting ingredients in Instant Pussycat drink mix. First, "dried egg whites." How bad can 40 year old eggs be for you? Probably pretty bad, but luckily for us there was a second ingredient that I'm positive made the eggs safe. This was BHT. According to wikipedia, BHT was a popular preservative in the 50s and 60s. Since then, it has been removed from most foods. It's even banned in Japan and a few other countries. Here, in the US, it's just banned from baby food, but no one really uses it anymore because people are afraid it will give them cancer.

Now back to the story.

The glasses were filled. A toast was made. The photos were taken. Then, in one of the most monumental highlights in history of cocktails, the glasses were raised to our eager lips.

To experience a resurrection like this - to bring a cocktail back from the dead - is to experience how Howard Carter felt upon discovery King Tut's tomb or the way Robert Ballard felt when he located the Titanic...and, really, the Instant Pussycat revival is just as culturally significant. Perhaps we've created a new field of science: Archeological Cocktailing.

And as a pioneering Archeological Cocktailer, I felt the tingle of discovery. I was Thomas Edison about to flip the switch on my first lightbulb. I was Neil Armstrong opening the lunar module door. I was a young Orville Redenbacher applying corn to heat for the first time.

As the liquid touched my lips, I was pleasantly surprised...not just because I didn't drop dead instantly, but because the drink had a pleasing citrus taste. We had won. The naysayers, nay-said that it couldn't be done. But BHT had preserved the deliciousness of the Instant Pussycat, dried egg whites and all. It was a true victory for Archeological Cocktailers everywhere.

That was, until the aftertaste.Before I continue, I want you to find a pile of old records. This may require a trip to your parents or grandparents house, but it will be worth it. Now find the record with the dustiest cover - it's probably something by Pablo Cruise or Three Dog Night. If you're lucky it will have gotten wet a little at some point and now has the corresponding mildew. The important thing is that it's just been sitting there, its cardboard absorbing all the smells and flavors of 40 years of neglect. Now find a dozen more just like it and start licking.

I couldn't believe that a drink that started off bringing me such joy, ended by bringing me such pain and suffering. It was the equivalent of drinking a cup full of liquid dust.

When the aftertaste hit, I looked towards Mike. He looked back. Alarmingly, we had both retained our eyesight. Of course, neither one of us will ever have children, but it was worth it. And, really, odds were pretty low to start with. Also, my tongue is itchy now.

Still, we had history to make, so we were dedicated to finishing one full glass apiece. It didn't take to long to realize that the aftertaste was just as bad if you took a little sip as it was if you took a fat gulp, so we both quickly downed the drink. Then I chased it with the Pocket Shot...which usually needs a pretty quick chaser itself, but in this case, it went down like smooth Sunny D.

The suffering lasted only moments, but the taste will never fully leave me. Neither will the pride. The pride of having put my life on the line for science, for America and, of course, for no good reason at all. And for all the terrible taste, there was no questioning how cool the cocktail looked...especially with that Tallac Bottle Shop cherry floating around in there.

So, now that Mike and I have broken the seal, will the Instant Pussycat make a comeback? Will "Pussycat parties" - as the box suggests we should hold- once again be all the rage? Probably not...unless for some reason humans start to develop a craving for dust flavored beverages. And, really, as far as dust flavored beverages go, the Instant Pussycat is right at the top of the list. And, hey, it's no worse than Mr. Pibb.

And that's the story of the smartest thing I've ever done.

Viva la Pussycat!

European Adventure #3 - Venice

If it weren't for the occassional waft of urine, you wouldn't believe that the city of Venice was any more real than the fabricated version in The Venetian in Vegas.

Seriously, it's like walking through Disneyland during a custodian strike.

First off, it's completely ridiculous to build a city where Venice is. I'm not even sure there is any actual land there. It just appears to be a cobblestone labyrinth floating right on top of the water. And when I say labyrinth, I mean labyrinth. I, personally, didn't see any goblins, talking door knockers or David Bowies, but none would have seemed out of place.

You cannot make a right turn here. No matter how good your sense of direction, Venice will eff you up. And I don't care how many times you won the soapbox derby while earning your Eagle Scout badge, you will get lost here.

Luckily, you don't care if you get lost because you are lost in a magical wonderland of Italian meats, cheeses, coffees and adult beverages. It's pretty fantastic.

We arrived in Venice in the middle of night with no clue where our hotel was. Minutes before leaving home, I received an email from Hotel Al Gazzetino that said, even though I had booked a room 4 months prior, that they would be unable to accommodate my reservation. Quickly, I booked the first hotel I could afford and hopped on a plane.

This left us wandering around the darkened Venice maze in the rain in the middle of the night. Our new hotel was called the Royal San Marco Hotel and we new it was close to the Piazza San Marco (You've seen this place in painful jewelry commercials. It is filled with pigeons and a gigantic church). Luckily, we found a group of Italian police officers. Unluckily, our conversation went like this:

Us: We are looking for the Royal San Marco Hotel

Them: This is San Marco.

Us: Yeah, we know that part. We're looking for the Royal San Marco Hotel.

Them: This is San Marco.
Us: Arrivderci!

Eventually, we walked into a different hotel and asked them where our hotel was. The concierge actual walked us, through what appeared to be a secret passageway, all the way to the lobby of our hotel.

The Royal San Marco Hotel turned out to be fantastic. On a side note, I tracked down the Hotel Al Gazzetino. Upon finding it, I quickly realized that by "unable to accommodate (my) reservation" they meant "our building has been condemned."

It was totally dark with no signs of activity. As an added bonus there were three print-outs taped to the front door. The first was an email to me, saying they could not accomodate me. The second was a similar email to someone named "Jenna Brooks." The third was a map to a different hotel.

Anyhow, I spent our first night in Venice pounding $18 hot chocolates at the bar across the street. They were called "Hot Choco Nuts" and they were worth evey penny.

The next night I returned to the same bar and chased out a whole group of folks by switching a tv to the Colts/Chargers game. Good ol' American football.

I can't believe people actually live in Venice. It really looks more like a painting than it does a place anybody could actually live. Yet, you see little old ladies walkign around and, if you make a wrong turn (and you will) you will end up in the residential area where there are actual families living. Unlike the French, who are all architects and flower girls, the Venetians all work as glass blowers and pizza chefs.

Venice is filled with old churches that are huge, dark, scary and don't even allow you to wear hats, tank tops and/or cut-offs. Since that is all I brought with me, I was S.O.L. for the majority of my time there.

I should also note that I didn't see a single Venetian blind in Venice. They just has curtains like eveyone else. And shutters. Lots of shutters. However, I feel it can be safely assumed that if they did have Venetian blinds, they would have just called them "blinds."

Yup, we ate well in Venice.

There were Ferraris.

I made friends with Signore Kitty.

And that's Venice.

Unbelievable

I'm not sure if this is real or some eleaborate hoax, but if it is real, someone at the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists should really have asked for a second opinion before naming their website http://www.therapistfinder.com/

Also check out which actor is represented by which agent at http://www.whorepresents.com/

Good day.