Things I Think

Ten Things I Think – Best Cereals Ever Edition

Since my reunion with my home boys Frank, Count and Boo last Monday I’ve been doing some heavy thinking on what my next blog entry should be (in between enjoying hearty bowls of monster goodness of course). I didn’t have to think too long though. It was quite obvious that this blog post needed to be about the absolute BEST cereals ever-growing up.

You know, I feel bad for those people who never had the opportunity to indulge in sugar-coated mornings. The ones whose Moms brought home nothing but bland Cheerios, Cracklin Oat Bran and Puffed Rice. Puffed Rice?? For a kid?? Only people over the age of 70 eat Puffed Rice.

Some of my best memories from childhood include the days when my Mom and Grandmother came home from the local Food Lane. They’d walk in the door with 7 or 8 huge paper bags filled with groceries and I loved rummaging through each and every one of them. Throwing pickle jars and butter to the side to find the box of sweet goodness buried within. Having them yell at me when I attempted to open the box to obtain the prize inside without waiting until breakfast. Still not sure what that was all about.

In any event and without any further adieu, here are my top ten cereals of all time:

10.Trix. I felt bad for the silly rabbit who never got his Trix. In every commercial he always came so close to getting them. Remember when they held an election every so often to decide if the rabbit should get Trix? You’d cut out a Yes or No on the box and mail it in? I think it was rigged though. There’s no way everyone would deny the rabbit his Trix. That’s just Un-American to me.

 

 

9. Cocoa Puffs: I could somehow relate to Sonny, The Cuckoo Bird. That chocolaty goodness sure was hard to resist. I always thought this was a cereal that tried to compete with the big boys but always fell a little bit short. Don’t get me wrong though. I ate enough of this stuff to keep me on a sugar high for years.

 

 

8. Super Sugar Crisp. How it will ALWAYS be remembered by me. Yes, before Sugar Bear became “Super Bear” and Post changed the name from “Sugar” Crisp to “Golden” Crisp. I’d like to meet one of the Mothers who was comforted by the fact that even though they changed the name of the cereal and mascot every bowl still contained 18 grams of sugar.

 

 

7. Freakies. I honestly don’t remember too much of this cereal. It looks like it was only marketed for five years.  I have an old Polaroid picture of me around age 7 eating a bowl of it so I assume it must have been delish.  I didn’t eat crap back then.

 

 

6. Cap’n Crunch. I loved all the flavors of the Cap’n. I’m even an avid follower of him on Twitter (and he even follows ME). I used to love it when the Cap’n would have his treasure hunt games. You’d get a game piece in the box and have to call some phone number to get a clue. I still wonder if anyone ever won the bicycle they were giving away or if it was only a ploy to get you to eat more crunch. If it was the latter, it worked because I ate plenty.

 

5 Fruity Pebbles. If there was ever any cereal that I could eat a whole box of in one sitting it would be this. Much like a fine wine or good lager it goes down smooth and never seems to fill you up. I read an article somewhere that said since 1970 Fruity Pebbles is the most popular cereal purchased in America and I can see why. It’s addicting.

 

4. Quisp. I’d be surprised if many of you remember this one. This cereal is actually one of the earliest ones I remember having growing up. The little alien guy with the beanie. Quisp is rare to find these days but is still made. I think it’s actually just saucer-shaped Cap’n Crunch (it’s made by the same company). But the whole alien thing is what kept me coming back.

 

3.  Lucky Charms: There’s something about Lucky Charms that’s like crack to me. It’s got to be the marshmallows. I’ve been writing to General Mills for years asking them to make an “Oops! All Marshmallows” version of Lucky Charms. I think they’re ignoring me.

 

 

2  Frankenberry, Boo Berry, Fruit Brute: I had a hard time choosing between these three so I selected them all. If I was stuck on a deserted island and my number one choice was not available these would be what I’d choose for breakfast every morning. I mean, what’s not to love about having breakfast with a ghost, werewolf or frankenstein?

 

And finally……

1. Count Chocula: An absolute no brainer if you’ve been following my blog, Facebook or Twitter feeds. Who else would love a cereal so much as to read it bedtime stories, take on motorcycle rides or have it’s picture taken with the guys who wrote Sister Christian? That’s how much I love this stuff. Count used to be available year round, even when Frankenberry and Boo Berry went by the way side. Sadly, it only appears now at Halloween time but I plan on stocking up.

 

Your turn: Let me know some of your favorites. How does it compare to this list?

Childhood Memories, Thought and Opinion

The Boys Are Back In Town

“Guess who just got back today?
Them wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven’t changed, haven’t much to say
But man, I still think them cats are crazy”

Phil Lynott – Thin Lizzy

One day, not too long ago, I woke up and they were gone. The friends I had known and loved since childhood had just up and left without so much as even saying goodbye.

Perhaps it’s my fault. I was the one who abandoned them. I’d always assumed they’d be there when ever the urge would strike me. Sure, I’d walk down their street quite often when out on grocery excursions but sometimes I was just too caught up in the task at hand to even stop by and say “Hello”.

I’ll admit, when I heard the news of their flight I felt an empty feeling in my stomach. A churning sensation. And I knew my days would never start out properly anymore. I lamented the laughter. The good conversations we all had. The little plastic things made in their image that they used to bring me as presents. All those thoughts and feelings came rushing back.

Days turned into months without so much as a word from them. I considered posting their images on a milk carton (skim of course) but the dairy farmers all laughed me to scorn. They didn’t get it. So I did the next best thing to get the word out.

I took an image and had my picture taken with the band Night Ranger at a recent concert. My hope was to get the message out that my friends were missing and I needed them back more than anything.

That’s when the General Mills Gods must have heard me.

Last night around 10pm I received a call from a friend of mine who used to hang out with the boys too. I could hardly hear what she was saying through all the tears. She told me she had spotted the boys at the Wegmans supermarket. They were there and they were asking about me.

Even though the hour was late, I quickly grabbed my keys and made haste to the local Wegmans. As I rushed in the door I was greeted by the strong smell of cinnamon. I surmised that either the bakers had made rolls this morning or the Apple Jacks kids were firing one up in celebration. I chuckled assuming it was the latter.

I quickly went to the spot we always used to hang out in. Nothing. I saw nothing but frogs, rabbits, magicians, some crazy bird and a leprechaun. My friends were no where in sight. That empty feeling in my stomach was back and I assumed tomorrow would be no different then it has already been for so many months.

It was at that moment I had an epiphany. I noticed that the store had already begun putting out trick or treat candy some two months early. I wondered if they might possibly be hanging out in the Halloween aisle. Like me, they always liked that creepy stuff too and at this point it was worth a shot so off I went.

Trolling through piles of bite sized Snickers and Milky Ways the heaven’s parted and there they were. My friends. The ones that had gone on a long vacation were back.

We just stood there looking at each other not really knowing what to say.  Finally, my joy became too great and I shouted: “Hey Guys it’s me, Jimmy!!”. A tear rolled down my cheek and I noticed that one of the shopping cart boys who had witnessed this reunion was now fleeing from my vicinity.

We finally embraced and I brought the boys home. I didn’t ask them why they left or how long they might be staying. I just wanted this moment to last forever.

I’ve decided that after breakfast this morning I’m sending my testimony in to Maury. I think between all the “You ARE The Father” segments, this reunion would make a nice story.

 

Thought and Opinion

Jerry Lewis And The End Of An Era

Labor Day’s official definition in the United States is “A Federal holiday held the first Monday in September to honor working members of society”. For many, in addition to being a day off from their own manual labor, it’s also synonymous with being the last Monday before kids go back to school.

But this year though, between the football games and the picnics, the Labor Day holiday will feel a bit empty and out-of-place. For the first time since it began the annual Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon will not be hosted by the man whose been the mainstay of its existence since 1966.

Jerry Lewis, one of the very last surviving members of the golden age of comedy and someone who has spent the last 45 consecutive Labor Day weekends raising more than 2 1/2 billion dollars to fight this debilitating disease, has been told by producers of the telethon that his services will no longer be required. In addition, the telethon has also decided to drop the “Jerry Lewis” from the title and go simply with “MDA Labor Day Telethon”.

Now some of us see Jerry as the sidekick to Dean Martin back in the day. Others remember him as the original Nutty Professor before Eddie Murphy took that mantle. But like him or hate him, here is a man who devoted half of his life to raising awareness and money to help end human suffering. To simply brush him to the side without public recognition of his services is reprehensible.

Lewis himself, like every one of us will someday, has been sidelined over the years with heart and other health related concerns. It seems hypocritical of the MDA to remove the one person who has hosted the telethon and raised funds for the fight against disease simply because he himself is battling it.

Critics will say Jerry is old and his time has long since passed. Well, I’m of the opinion that longevity and commitment should be rewarded.

Obviously, you simply can not have someone hosting a show who has mental lapses or some other mental or physical ailment. But surely, there must have been some place for Jerry Lewis in his own telethon.

Alas, 2011 will mark the first time Jerry Lewis will no longer be a part of the Muscular Dystrophy Telethon. I sincerely hope the MDA has another successful year so that we can end the suffering of millions of people. But I’m still a bit sad that I won’t get to hear him sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone”.

How ironic it appears that’s exactly the way the MDA has left him.

Article first published as Jerry Lewis And The End Of An Era on Technorati.

Childhood Memories, Music

Night Ranger Still Rockin America

I still remember the first time I ever heard Night Ranger. My neighbor Mike, who lived next door to me growing up, called me up one Friday night and asked me if I wanted to go to the Palmer Mall. Back in the early 1980’s, having your parents drive you to the mall was all the rage. I suppose it still sort of is today but not like it was back then.

On the drive over in his parents big blue station wagon Mike asked his Mom to put in this beat up white cassette tape that he had. Mike had copied the tape from someone else and it was old school music piracy at it’s finest. “Jim, Wait until you listen to this band” he said.  And from the time the first sounds of “You Can Still Rock in America” started coming over the scratchy speakers I was hooked.

“Who is this?” I asked Mike. I had no idea who this group was but it was different from anything the two of us had ever heard before. We had always been more of a Cars, REO Speedwagon and Rod Stewart type of fan that never let anything “new” enter our musical world. But this was different…and exciting.

“They’re called Night Ranger and they are friggin awesome!” Mike responded and I couldn’t agree more. All the way from our homes on South Side to Palmer Township we listened to that bootlegged tape. Hearing “Sister Christian”, “When You Close Your Eyes” and “Rumors in the Air” for the first time was thirteen year old male audio euphoria.

Upon arriving to the mall our first stop was to the Listening Booth, the only place in town to buy records. That’s where Mike redeemed himself and purchased the full on copy of the vinyl “Midnight Madness” record for us to enjoy as we played video games in his basement.

A year or so later I made one of  my own very first vinyl album purchases. A copy of “Seven Wishes”, which was the follow-up to “Midnight Madness”. I remember Mike and I wearing that album out as well. We were so hooked on this band and were fortunate enough to see them live in concert at Stabler Arena. One of the best shows ever.

So now fast forward a few decades. Adult life has taken over for me and I’ve  become the one listening to my daughter’s music as I drive her to the mall. As for Night Ranger? Well, they are still touring on occasion and releasing albums every so often. Some of it really great music although sadly, nothing on par with the success of the ones I mentioned earlier. The music industry has changed so much they’re just not welcome in the mainstream any more.

In March of this year, I discovered they had released another new record and were coming to my hometown for the first time in twenty some odd years and knew I had to be a part of it.

Additionally, they were offering ticket packages that included an awesome seat and a meet and greet with the band. In 1985, I probably couldn’t get anywhere near these guys. And now, for a C-note, you could get up close and personal. Which was right up my alley.

Seeing Night Ranger perform this past Wednesday night in Allentown was surreal. Most people today would have no idea who these guys are. Unless you play them a few bars of “Sister Christian” which has become they’re trademark. I found myself being taken back in the 80’s watching them perform those songs. I thought about Mike and that Friday night drive. Listening to this music for the first time. We were young, and everything was new.

Suffice to say, I was ecstatic to be ushered back to meet the band. Even though they had no idea who the hell I was, it was an emotional experience to shake hands with the guys that were indirectly a part of my teenage years.

I still had my “Seven Wishes” album that I managed to dig up from an old box in the basement. The album had sat in silence for years collecting dust. But now it too has become new as the three original members who played on it autographed it for me. The album will now be framed and adorn my wall to always remind me of that night.

The meet and greet also included one photo opportunity with the band and it was at that point that I made an odd request. I didn’t want the photograph to just be a pic of me smiling with the guys in the band. That would be too typical. No, I wanted it to be different. Something to remind me of my childhood. So in the end I brought along an empty box of Count Chocula, my favorite cereal growing up.

The band was very receptive to having the box in the picture with us. In reality though, I suspect they probably thought I was crazy because everyone I’ve shown the picture to tells me so. But the more I think about it, it’s probably a good thing if they think that way.

Because somewhere down the road, someone is going to interview them about their long, stoic career and ask them what was the oddest experience they’ve ever had with fans. And I can just picture them laughing and saying to each other:

“Hey, do you remember that guy that wanted his picture taken with a box of Count Chocula?”.

Childhood Memories

Happy 65th Dad

August 31st, 2011. Today would have been my Dad’s 65th birthday. Time to celebrate what has become the official end of “work” and the beginning of the golden years. Truth be told though, were he still alive I think this would be a day just like any other to him.

It’s been fourteen years since he passed away. Initially, I thought about writing this little memorial to him next October but thought it kind of silly to be celebrating life on the anniversary of his death. So instead I decided it’s better to do so now instead on what would have been a milestone birthday. And besides, I think he’d probably want it that way any how so here goes.

Where to begin?

There are so many things I remember about my Dad. He was a tough guy. A south paw that everyone else in my family respected. A hard ass at times. Someone you didn’t want to get into a scuffle with.

But beneath all the tough guy exterior, Dad also liked to have fun too. Some of my best memories from childhood were of him taking our family on long camping trips with my other relatives every summer.

I’ve heard more then one person say that having all of us crazy “Wood’s” in one place was a sure sign of the apocalypse. But there was no fire or brimstone raining down. No, all we did was play cards,  fish,  pitch quoits and sit by the campfire.

But of all the times we shared together there are three moments I remember most about my father that I’d like to share with you:

1. The Stop and Think Moment

2. The Drifting Apart Moment

3. The Prodigal Son Moment

The Stop and Think Moment is the one I’ll remember most of all. It began during a rain storm in summer when there was nothing else to do and nowhere to go.

It was late afternoon and I had just come in from playing football outside just prior to the rain. I was upset at having gotten into a fight with one of the neighborhood kids (over what I can’t remember). Dad was sitting alone at the kitchen table drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette.

Our home didn’t have central air conditioning so to keep cool we’d usually keep the windows open just enough to let the breeze in while keeping the water out. We’d also use big portable fans to help vent the kitchen. The smell of the hot asphalt street outside cooling down from the steady stream of rain would fill the room and also allow for the escape of the second-hand smoke.

It was on this occasion that Dad asked his disgruntled son what happened. “So and So threw the ball at my head” or something similar to that I said. And for the next fifteen minutes Dad gave me a lecture on the football, friendship and life. “Stop and Think…”, he’d say. “Did you do anything to bring on this situation?”.

Inevitably, there would have been something I had done to put some of the blame on myself. I’d usually start with a “but…but” and he’d always continue on. Telling me to just “Stop and Think” for a minute.

Stop and think. Do you think that person who thinks he’s so tough and treats you bad is your friend? He couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. (I still laugh to this day about that one).

There were plenty of other “stop and thinks” over the course of the conversation but the one I remember most was the last one he told me:

“Stop and think. Do you know how much your Mother and I love you guys? (referring to me and my siblings).

Those three words stuck with me and eventually I was able to settle down and actually start to think about what had happened. By the time our conversation was over it seemed like my brain was exhausted but I felt better for it.

On certain days now, when the weather is grey and rainy, I’ll sit at my table staring out the window and think of that day in the kitchen. I never forgot “Stop and Think”. Someday I’ll probably write a book about it and dedicate it to him.

The Drifting Apart moment came during the separation and eventual divorce of my parents in the mid 1980’s. By then, alcohol (which has always been the Achilles heel in my family) had estranged me from my father. We spoke many times over the years on the phone and in person but rarely when beer hadn’t influenced him in some way to make conversations short.

My brother and sister would see and talk to him way more frequently then me. They were able to see past the alcohol. I couldn’t. Soon I was off to college and living on my own and the phone calls became less and less frequent. Years would go by where we didn’t speak at all and were lost to each other.

I eventually heard that he had remarried but the next time I would actually see him for any extended length of time would be at my own wedding in 1995. Strangely, it was a bit awkward at first but I remember it being one of the best times of my life. For, in addition to me getting married to the woman I love, it was the first time in years we all got to take pictures as a “family” again.

It’s not that I didn’t love him or anything like that. On the contrary, the love I had for my Dad never changed. The separation was just a result of our going our separate ways and me not being able to deal with him in that condition. Especially when it got to the point where nothing was ever going to change.

The Prodigal Son Moment

I’ll never forget it. It was mid 1996 when I got a call from my Aunt telling me my father was in the hospital. They had found a mass in his colon and were operating on it. The doctors had thought they had caught it in time. And it appeared so. They had instructed him he needed to give up drinking and smoking if he wanted any chance of fully recovering and he agreed to it.

The next 15 months were spent reconnecting with my Dad.Ironically, the one thing I remember most is going to the bar with him and my brother for the first time (myself now also a legal drinker) and watching him play the poker machines and drink non alcoholic beer.

One might assume that a bar would be the LAST place I’d want to take my father to all things considered. And truth be told I really didn’t want to go into the Lion’s Den either. But he was adamant about taking his sons to the bar with him. Maybe it was some kind of rite of passage that made him this way. Or maybe it was to prove to me that he finally had control over his problem.  In any event, and after everything he had gone through with his cancer treatment, he wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. So off we went.

Sadly, his condition continued to worsen until he was finally hospitalized in August of 1997. A man who had just celebrated his 51st birthday was now lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him and morphine running through his veins.

I visited him almost every chance I could in between my full-time job and duties at home. Some nights we would have conversations when he felt up to it. I longed to have another Stop and Think session but at that point I was willing to take whatever I could get.

Then there was the moment I had as October rolled around and his condition deteriorated. I remember sitting at his bedside while he was going in and out of consciousness, closing my eyes and asking God that if he was going to take him, to please not take him on my birthday. Any day but on the 5th. It was selfish. But at that time I just couldn’t bear the thought of having my date of birth coincide with the day he died. Looking back now, it wouldn’t have even mattered.

Yet someone on high must have heard me because I was able to spend my 28th birthday with him. The best gift I ever received. And over the next ten days it seemed like he was actually coming around a bit. There was reason to hope even though the doctors had all told us he was the sickest person in the entire hospital.

October 17th – 10PM. It was just me in the darkened hospital room along with my stepmother. My brother and sister weren’t there. The single light over the bed and digital displays on morphine pumps and heparin drips were the only illumination.

Now I’m no expert on theology but I do believe souls can feel when another soul moves on. For as he began to gasp for breath I could tell the end was near.

At that moment I literally felt the temperature dramatically drop in the room. So much so that I began to shiver. And I’ll go to my own grave feeling this way but I swear, at that very moment, I had this overwhelming feeling that someone (or something) was coming for him.

I remember we told him we loved him and although his eyes seemed to be fixated somewhere else he was able to say that he loved us back. And that was when my father uttered the last word he’d ever speak:

“God”.

Silence.

Tears streamed down my face. A man who never so much as went to church and who, to my knowledge at least, never said a prayer or even read the bible. The last word he ever spoke on this Earth was “God”.

What did he see?

The distance between us and everything that happened in the past was gone. All that mattered was that he was my Dad, and I was there with him at the end.

I sometimes wonder if I would change anything if I was given another chance. I mean, would things have turned out any differently? Probably not.

Cancer has done horrible things to my family. Things I hope no one ever has to go through. But in some odd way, with all the pain and suffering that it brings, there’s one thing I have to actually be grateful to it for.

Without cancer, I probably never would have gotten my father back.

Happy Birthday Dad.

Thought and Opinion

Coming Soon

Just a quick post to let you all know what’s on tap in future blogs.

Coming Soon:

Tomorrow: A blog post to celebrate what would have been a milestone and three moments to last a lifetime.

Friday: A blog review of the Journey, Foreigner and Night Ranger concert from The Allentown Fairgrounds. I’ve got a backstage pass to all of the action.

Sept 30th – Seattle: I’ll be blogging about my trip to Seattle, WA at the end of September. To show how much of a fan I really am, I’m heading to the Pacific Northwest for the weekend (a six-hour flight) just to watch my Seattle Seahawks play the Atlanta Falcons.

I will be making the trip solo and will spend the weekend drinking Starbucks (of course) and bumming around the Emerald City. Lots of good stuff as I’ll try to blog early and often.

1986-2011: This year marks the 25th anniversary of my Senior Year in high school. Lots of posts coming with excerpts from the journal I kept during that time.

More short stories: I’m working on a pretty interesting one right now.

If there’s anything you’d like to see me write or want my take on,  please feel free to let me know.

Lastly, if you’ve got a good idea for a name for this blog please send it along. I’m think the generic “James Wood’s Weblog” has run its course. It needs something catchier so any thoughts you have please send them my way.

 

 

 

Things I Think, Thought and Opinion

Five Things I Think – Why I Love Being A Man Edition

Hurricane Irene  is approaching and will bring torrential rain and wind and generally wreak havoc on my weekend off. Just curious, but why does it seem that these huge storms are always named after women (ex. Katrina, Gloria, Diane, Irene)?

As this feminine force of nature makes a washout of the next few days it made me think about the many reasons why I love being a man. So here you go:

Top Five Reasons Why I Love Being A Man

5. No waiting for public restrooms. Ever have to use the facilities at a busy bar or sporting event? When my bladder is full and I make my way to the restroom it kind of reminds me of the Disney Fast Past Line in the Magic Kingdom.

I see huge lines of women waiting with legs crossed while I am able to just mosey right on in.

Sorry ladies….

4. Love of Professional Sports – Even if you go to a party and meet a bunch of guys you’ve never met before, you always have something to talk about. Sports is the universal language of man. Oh I’m sure there are plenty of female sports fans there who can talk a good game too. But I’m also willing to bet they became fans by growing up in a household of men.

3. Less Time To Make Myself Presentable. This one is a no-brainer. Tell me I have to be shaved, showered and ready to go in thirty minutes and I’ll make it with ten minutes to spare. Tell that to a woman and she wouldn’t even be towel dried when the timer went off.

2. The Three Stooges. Trying to explain my love for these guys to a woman is pointless. I’ll be laughing my head off and she’ll look at me with a huge scowl on her face. I guess it takes the XY chromosome to be able to really appreciate their slapstick. Although it simply MUST be the classic line-up of Moe, Larry & Curly. No exceptions. Those other guys just weren’t as funny.

I suppose it’s kind of same reason you have to be female to understand the beauty of those awful Twilight books and movies.

And the Number One thing I most enjoy about being a man?

1. No Monthly Visits From Unwelcome “Friends”.  I think most women know what I’m talking about here. And for those men who are still single it’s best to avoid women if at all possible during the visit.

While we men can procreate at will and not think twice about it a woman’s body is synchronized with some kind a monthly cycle. Something they must attend to or, eh, well, the results will be less then flattering let’s put it that way.

So there you have it. The five things I do enjoy most about being a man. As for you ladies who may be disgruntled about this blog please don’t hate. I’ll still be here the next time you have a tight jar or bottle you need opened.

Oooh, now that makes six things. 😉

Childhood Memories

Growing Up With Superheroes

I’ve wanted to be a superhero forever. The battle of good vs evil always appealed to me. I could picture myself saving a cat from a tree and getting a kiss on the cheek by a beautiful, grateful girl. “Aw shucks Ma’am”, I’d say. “It’s all in day’s work”. I knew right would always win and I was determined to be a part of that effort.

I often liked to pretend to be one from time to time. On one occasion, I even had my Aunt sew me up some red “Spiderman” gloves.  I was determined to actually become Spiderman. When she asked me what they were for, I told her they were needed for a school project. After all, I had to keep my alter-ego a secret.  The idea of me being Spidey for real kind of fizzled out though when I stood at the bottom of a tall building and thought about climbing it. Suddenly, the ice cream cone stand down the street looked a bit more enticing.

I can’t actually recall a time growing up where I wasn’t surrounded by my peers (other superheroes that is). Growing up, these guys (and gals) were all over the TV. And since I love jogging the old memory and seeing where it goes, let’s take a trip and I’ll tell you about all the cool superhero shows that influenced me growing up.

Ultraman : Without question, this is my all time favorite superhero show. I mean, what’s not to love about an average man who on a whim could raise the Beta Capsule, turn into Ultraman and then proceed to open a can of whoop-ass on a giant monster? Believe me when I tell you that this show CONSUMED me growing up.

Ultraman wasn’t the only show that had my attention though. Who could forget these wonderful shows?:

Shazam and Isis: I recall many a Saturday morning spent watching the adventures of Billy Batson and his old buddy driving around in some beat up old RV. When trouble was around all Billy had to do was go find a clearing and yell “SHAZAM” to turn into Captain Marvel and save the day.

Chosen from among all others by the Immortal Elders — Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, Mercury — Billy Batson and his mentor travel the highways and byways of the land on a never-ending mission: to right wrongs, to develop understanding, and to seek justice for all!

It always made me laugh when Billy went to talk to The Elders, the ones who gave him his powers. They were all poorly drawn cartoon characters. And I can’t tell you how many times I tried to summon the  The Elders myself. I’d stand in the middle of the street by my house and yell: “Oh Elders, fleet and strong and wise, appear before my seeking eyes.” Still not sure why they never answered.

Isis was another heroine that appealed to me. A hot mess science teacher who discovered the Amulet of Isis on a archeological dig in Egypt. Now, she’s able to turn into the Goddess and beat the crap out of people whenever she wants. What’s not to love about that?

 

Wonder Woman: I can’t even tell you much about this show. All I do know is that I wanted her to put the rope on me and make me tell her the truth. But seriously, I could probably tell you the exact number of stars that were on her pants.  Just sayin’.

 

 

Spiderman: Ok, I have to admit this one is a little embarrasing. The costume was quite corny and the dude that was Spidey certainly had very little muscle tone. But hey, it was Spiderman in the 1970’s and I took whatever I could get.

 

 

 

The Incredible Hulk: If you were at my house on a Friday night in 1979 this is what you watched. My brother and sister couldn’t wait for it to be over so The Dukes of Hazzard could come on but that didn’t bother me much. Let ’em wait.

I loved tuning in each week to see if David Banner would cure himself of the Hulk. And I was one of those kids who actually thought Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno were one person. In retrospect, I guess it was kind of silly to believe that Bill Bixby had all these huge muscles he was hiding.

 

The 1980’s soon arrived and by that point all of the above mentioned shows were long gone. The only saving grace I had in my middle school years was The Greatest American Hero.  The theme song actually went to #1 on the music charts and I really dug the costume and the whole idea of a teacher becoming a superhero. Sadly, this show didn’t last long either. I’m sure there were many other shows from that era but these are the ones that I always looked forward to watching.

Today, I’m able to get the quick fix of superhero a few times a year when a new movie comes out. But for a boy wanting to be a superhero, the 1970’s sure was a great time to grow up in.

1980's, Childhood Memories, Summer

Dungeons and Dragons

A lot of people have come up to me and asked me how I used to spend my summers growing up. Well, actually no one really has but I feel like telling you about it anyway.

While most youthful teenagers of the 1980’s were spending warm sun filled days going to camp, listening to some guy named Michael Jackson or going to Dip-N-Dances at the Palmer Community Pool I was hard at work with my friends creating characters on sheets of paper, rolling dice and saving the world from utter annihilation playing Dungeons & Dragons.

For those of you who’ve never donned the helmet of a Paladin or put on a Cloak of Invisibility let me explain. Dungeons and Dragons (or D&D) is a role-playing game where players enter realms where monsters and magic are real. Without boring you with too much detail and taking away the heart of this blog post think of it this way: You get to pretend to be a character from Lord of The Rings.

My friends and I used to play D&D for hours. Starting usually around mid-afternoon and going deep into the night gorging ourselves on greasy pizza and Coke. We were so into it.

My brother and all of his friends all thought I was a dork for playing but that didn’t bother me. They didn’t understand that I didn’t need my Atari 2600, M-TV or Madonna. All I needed were my “boys”, some stale pepperoni pizza and my 20-sided dice.

I still remember the frustration we would feel when nature called and we had to take a leak during an important encounter.  No one wanted to leave the table and I think if there were Depends lying around, we might actually have considered using them on more than one occasion.

But the one thing I always remember the most from those gaming sessions wasn’t the food or the battles we had against Goblins, Trolls and Giants. Although those things were very important, the thing that always sticks out for me were the conflicts we used to have with each other.

For without fail, in almost EVERY game session two or more players would start arguing with each other over the course of play and sometimes almost coming to blows. We should have called it D&D Fight Club. And woe to any one when the argument included the Dungeon Master.

The Dungeon Master (DM), is the one chosen to control the world the players adventure into and was a job each of us alternated doing. The DM’s world is based upon a module, a book that has the entire adventure outlined including every creature encountered.

It’s the DM’s job to keep the game flowing based on what the module dictates and controls everything from describing the surroundings to random monster encounters. Essentially, the DM is God. And this appointment to deity status usually posed a problem if the DM held a grudge against fellow players.

Maybe his Mom didn’t give him his allowance that week. Or maybe it was because he had his Underoos on too tight that day.  In any event, whatever it was that caused someone to pi$$ on his cornflakes that particular day, it wasn’t going to be good.

The start of the arguments always began the same way: accusations of cheating on dice rolls. A quick hand to cover the results before the DM could verify was always seen as the primary cause. “You didn’t roll that!”….”Yes I did”….”You LIAR”….(do you see where I’m going with this?).

Most of our DM’s could keep it together. Kind of a hard thing to do considering it was always the players against YOU. The players all had characters and were on the same team. The DM pretty much role-played every thing else in the world from the monsters to the townsfolk.

It was easy to see how battles could ensue. A DM who came into the game session with a chip on his shoulder and having already made accusations of cheating would inevitably lose his cool when his Frost Giant got walloped by a bunch of rogues on the first roll of the dice. Something that was very hard to do.

You could see his blood pressure rise as the players each gave each other high fives. It was kind of like a slap in the face. For most  it was just a game but our DMs always seemed to take it personally and use his God-like ability to make things difficult for everyone. What would start out as a quest for treasure and glory quickly turned into the DM’s desire to wipe out the players as quickly as possible.

So before too long that single  Frost Giant was somehow able to  “magically” summon a half-dozen of his brothers and sisters to join the fray before dying. Ones that I highly doubt were part of the module. That’s when the gloves came off and the dice rolls became more intense.

In the end, the players were victorious most of the time. Tears were shed and on more than one occasion friendships were lost as disgruntled warriors gathered up their Coca-Cola stained sheets of paper and stormed out.

But youth was a wonderful thing and even Dungeons and Dragons couldn’t ruin friendships for long. Usually by the next day all was forgiven and not another word was spoken. Not to siblings or parents. Because when you role-played with us there was only one thing you needed to know: The first rule of D&D Fight Club was, you do not talk about D&D Fight Club.

As seasons change so did my affection for D&D. And it wasn’t long before girls and guitars took the place of giants and dice and D&D became a thing of the past.

Today the game is still as popular as ever. You can even play online with people from across the street or around the world. For a die hard D&Der like I was, you’d think I’d be all over that right?  But truth be told, I haven’t so much as rolled the dice in almost 25 years and have no plans to.

I treasure my friendships too much.

Art, NY Ink

My Visit To Wooster Street

It was in the early morning hours of August 16th, 2011. I was making my way down stairs well prepared for my trip with my daughter to New York City. It was her 10th birthday and we would celebrate it together by taking a day trip to the Big Apple.

As I descended the staircase I could hear the faint trickle of light rain on the rooftop and became a bit discouraged. I peered out the kitchen window to assess the current state of the weather and could see droplets of water sliding down the glass in the early morning gray light. “Just a shower”, I thought to myself wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“Are you still going today?” my wife asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She knew I had been planning this day for quite some time and wondered if Mother Nature choosing to pick a fight with me at the last-minute was going to change my mind.  But that mother-nature bitch was going down today. “Yeah, we’re still going”, I replied as I filled my cup. Indeed, today was going to be a good day.

Arriving in New York City, Jillian and I immediately took the “N” subway south to Canal Street. We were most definitely on a mission. Our goal was to visit The Wooster Street Social Club and Megan Massacre from the TLC show NY Ink. Of course, if you’ve been playing along at home, you already know that it’s my goal to get on the show next season and get tatted by Megan.

We got to the shop just as it was opening at 11am. Inside, I noticed Billy DeCola, the “apprentice” from the show, mopping the floor. For a minute I forgot that this actually was a place of business and not just some studio with actors in it.  Surely,  a big star like Billy would be having his nails done or reviewing a script or something but pushing a mop?

 

 

 

 

 

We wanted to hang out and see if Megan would show up. It would be a long shot but we knew that going in. She usually only comes in if she has appointments.

Since her assistant handles all of those there was no definite way of knowing.  Billy told us that she usually comes in around 1 or 2 if she has appointments so we decided to go grab something for lunch and then come back afterwards.

After lunch, we made our way back to Wooster Street under dismally gray clouds (but no rain) to wait it out. And we waited. And waited. No Megan. At one point Billy offered to send her a text to see if she was coming. She texted him back and said she’d be coming in shortly. So we waited. And waited. Surprisingly, no one from the studio seemed to mind our loitering. On the contrary, they were all hoping right along with us that Megan would be in.

It wasn’t long before all the water I had been drinking all day had warranted a trip to the restroom. After finishing up, I opened the door to exit and saw that the person we had waited hours to see was now standing behind the reception desk. Megan had arrived and Jillian was oblivious to it.

I quickly called Jillian over and we both got to meet Megan. We did the photo-op, had her sign a few things and discussed our love of the show.

It was at that point that I also needed to take care of some business. So I told Megan that if I get on the show next season I wanted her to be the one tattooing me. To which she said she would be honored to.

There was indeed a feeling of victory at having accomplished our mission, albeit we had to wait a few hours. But before making our way back uptown and the long bus ride home we decided to stop down and see the World Trade Center site.

With the 10th anniversary of that horrible day arriving and having never been to the site at all it seemed appropriate to pay our respects.

I must admit that I am definitely not the best person to go along with when trying to follow a map. Black Beard the pirate can rest easy in his watery grave knowing I’d never be able to locate his booty. On more than one occasion along the way Jillian was miffed at her father’s inability to maneuver the streets of Manhattan.

Eventually though, and with the help of a local at a Starbucks, we found our way there. We stood in awe looking at the new Freedom Tower under construction with its steel beams rising into the New York skyline. About halfway down the street was a preview of the 9/11 Memorial that is set to open a few weeks from now so we went inside to check it out.

Truth be told, it was very hard not to cry being reminded of all the horrible events of that day so I didn’t even try. No one, no matter how tough or how many tattoos they have can look at this and not walk away a different person. Life is too precious.

As we made the trek uptown and prepared for the long bus ride home, the sun finally began to come out from behind the clouds. What started out as perhaps a rain dreary trip actually ended with sunshine. And hope.

I peered out of my window seat on the bus as Jillian fell asleep on my shoulder and watched the Manhattan skyline fade into the distance. This was definitely one birthday we’d both remember for a long, long time.