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.

Super Tuesday

In celebration of Election Day and the crazy world of politics, I recommend you read this really nice piece by Mark Sundeen which was published in the October issue of The Believer.

And if you're interesested, I voted for Obama.

European Adventure #2 - Why I Hate Flying

Paris to Venice

Don't fly Ryan Air! They are evil. They lure you in with extremely low fares and then they charge you for EVERYTHING! They charge you to check a bag, they charge you to carry on a bag, they charge you to pick a seat, they charge you for every little thing they can of. In the end, you don't end up saving any money and you're stuck with a lot of extra hassle.

Also, they don't fly to big airports. Their "Paris" airport is actually over an hour long bus ride away in the farm town of Beauvais. It is tiny and it smells of cows. And, of course, our flight was late.

Once on the plane, I attempted to nap. Shortly thereafter, I was rudely awakened by some pretty rough turbulance followed by the pilot apologizing for both the severity of the bumps and the lack of notice.

Turbulance and I do not get along. All my life I've been easy prey for motion sickness, so this rough spot immediately sent me downhill. Just like a squeezed sponge, the sweat started to soak everything. My face went pale. My heart was racing.

I don't like planes in the first place, but I defintely don't like being sick on one. Also, with the turbulance, I had to stay in my seat and couldn't get up to use the bathroom. Another thing about planes: you can't roll down the window and, boy, did I need some fresh air.

I was face to face with one of my worst fears - throwing up on a plane...and with no privacy. So I looked to the back of my seat for the complimentary motion sickness bag. Apparently, Ryan Air doesn't supply those.

So I made Amber ask the stewardess for a bag. The stewardess acted as if this were the oddest request ever. Like she had never heard of someone getting sick on a plane before. She returned a little later with not a bag, but a handful of napkins. With no other option, I accepted them and figured I'd work out the puke logistics as I needed to.

Also at this point, the rest of the folks on the plane began to take notice. The fella in front me turned all the way around and stopped just short of opening a bag a popcorn to better enjoy the show.

Then the stewardess returned with good news. She had found a bag. To be more accurate, she had found a clear, plastic bag not unlike a large sandwich bag. On the list of good things in which to puke, a clear plastic bag is only a small step up from a pile of napkins.

Much to the dissappoint of the fella in front of me, I did not end up puking. I held it together just long enough, to land in in Italy where we faced yet another hour long bus ride to get to Venice even though, according to Ryan Air, we had just landed in Venice.

I was still all shaky and pale and gross, so we opted to pay the 75 Euros ($1,000,000 USD) for a taxi instead.

Thanks for the savings, Ryan Air!