He's not goofy, he's my brother

In sixth grade, we all got fake awards at the end of the year. I got one for "Most Interesting Brother," because of all the goofy things I told my classmates about my brother, most of which were actually true.

In that spirit, I thought I would share some of the highlights from time to time.

Today, we'll start with something simple.

For some reason, Josh makes goofy faces in pictures. This is partly because he has a goofy face (rimshot), and partly because I think he wasn't paying attention when someone would whip out the camera.

That's how you get pictures like this:


Yeah, you know, your guess is as good as mine on that one.

Josh would probably tell you that he was slyly flipping the bird, but I'm not buying it.

As easy as 1-2-3

Look at me -- all domestic and stuff.

Just as my wife pretends to see my coveted Nacho Cheese Cheetos on the shelves, I catch her with "Hey, isn't that Jell-O 1-2-3?"

Except when I do it, I'm a jerk.

Well, we were jonesing for some of the aforementioned dessert, so we decided to make it ourselves. Apparently so many people have asked about it that the Kraft Web site actually has a recipe for it.

I made a few modifications -- I used the regular Jell-O and Cool Whip instead of low-calorie. But after a few minutes, this is what I ended up with. On first glance, it looked like I'd made Jell-O 1-2. But if you look close, there's a third layer in the middle. I've labeled them for your convenience.


So you're saying, "That's amazing, Jeff! I am constantly amazed at the seemingly unending list of things at which you excel (with the exception of growing hair, which, as it's not your fault, doesn't count against you). But how did it taste?"

It was pretty good. I don't really have a concrete memory of what it's supposed to taste like, but it tasted like something I'd eaten before, and that was good enough for me. Look, I'm even smiling.

Of course, just after Jen took this picture, I realized that it hadn't quite set yet. But after a little bit in the freezer (I'm impatient, sue me), it was fine.

Since I used the mixed fruit flavor, the bottom layer had a color similar to raw chicken, which was a little disturbing. So let that be a little tip to you -- consider the resulting color when you pick your flavor.

Kick me, I'm Irish

To some people of Irish descent (here in the States, anyway), St. Patrick's Day means corned beef and cabbage and wearing something green.

To me, it means paranoia and a sore arm or leg.

I'm colorblind.

More importantly, my classmates found out that I was colorblind.

"Hey, you're not wearing green!"

"Ow!" I said, recoiling from the pinch. "I am too!"

A flurry of Am Nots and Are Toos got us a debriefing with our teacher, whom I thought would come to my aid.

Alas, she said that I was, in fact, not wearing anything green. Shortly after, my classmates were told that I had trouble telling green from red.

So the next year, when St. Patrick's Day came around again, I made sure I was wearing green.

"Hey, you're not wearing green!"

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my arm where I'd been socked. "I am too wearing green! I even asked this time!"

"How do you know?" Smack!

So yeah, St. Patrick's Day, not so much a happy holiday for me.

Plus, I hate corned beef and cabbage.

The degree of my St. Pat's celebration is limited to driving the snakes from Modesto and imbibing the occasional Shamrock Shake from McDonald's, should I stop at one where they actually know what the hell I'm talking about.

"A what?"

"Shamrock Shake. You know, it's mint-flavored. And green. For St. Patrick's Day."

"I don't think we have that kind of thing here. We have McFlurries."

"Uh, never mind."

"Thank you. I'll have your total at the first window."

This would've been remotely funny had I thought of it before the Oscars

"I wish I could quit you."

Superman or Green Lantern ain't got nothin' on me

This seems to be the kind of thing people who know me think I'd be jumping to do: "Who Wants to Be a Superhero?"

Truth be told, superhero was my first dream job. I have the perfect superhero name -- Sparkman.

Alas, I have two weaknesses standing in my way: a bad knee and about 25 extra pounds. Plus, I'd have to design and sew up a costume, and I don't think anyone wants to see that.

Maybe if this is successful, they'll do another one. Or maybe even "Who Wants to Be a Supervillain?"

That would give me a chance to find another excuse get in shape.

Just don't give away my secret identity, okay?

The Mane Problem 2: Electric Boogaloo

My friend Ken (who has just started a blog) took time from his obviously busy schedule to offer up some hairstyle suggestions. You be the judge:


Mr. T


Jean-Luc Picard


Just plain bald


Charlie Brown


Mr. Clean

Thanks, buddy. At least I didn't ride a unicycle to school.

The mane problem

I'm always complaining about my hair's endangered species status. I used to have a lot of hair, and it was thick. Now, not so much.

Lately, my wife has been suggesting that I just go all the way and shave my head completely. This is due mostly to the fact that one of the dreamy "American Idol" contestants has done the same thing.

That's great and all, but I don't think she's seeing the whole picture.

My wife, bless her heart, thinks I'll look like this:


And my mental picture of the same situation:


My two objections to shaving my head: I don't get out in the sun much and am consequently a bit pasty, and I need to lose a few pounds.

I mean really, if I shave my head now, all I need is a little chef's hat and people will start poking my belly and asking for fresh croissants.

Microwave Massacre unbound!

Woo-hoo!

In less than a week, one of my favorite bad movies finally makes it to DVD!

The folks at Anthem Pictures are releasing "Microwave Massacre" with Jackie Vernon.

I'm not going to say much about the movie -- it's on my list to review later -- but I will say that this DVD is being billed as an unrated and uncut version. It gives the running time as 76 minutes, which is the same found on IMDB.com, so I don't know what exactly they mean by "uncut."

They're also pushing this as having been billed as "The Worst Horror Movie of All Time." It certainly isn't a great movie, it's quite bad. But I've never heard of anyone refer to it as the worst.

In fact, I have met few people who've even heard of it. Go figure.

Despite that, I'll be looking forward to Tuesday. I'm hoping the DVD print is less muddy than my old VHS copy.

It's not easy being cheesy

My brain is working in cahoots with my stomach, and they're both against me.

While I'm doing something important (working, watching my son or delicate scratching), my brain and stomach decide that I'm in need of torment and give me random food cravings.

These can range from the inconvenient (a pastrami Hot Hat, which I could procure after a brief trip to a Straw Hat Pizza in Tracy) to the impossible (the tag-team treat of a Hostess Pudding Pie and Nacho Cheese Cheetos).

What did I ever do to them to make them hate me so much?

And more importantly, what's a guy have to do to get some good snack food to return to the shelves? I'm not the only one pining for the Pudding Pie.

And Frito-Lay seems to have room for every permutation of Cheetos imaginable. Here's the list from their Web site:

BAKED! CHEETOS Crunchy 100 Calorie Mini Bites Cheese Flavored Snacks
BAKED! CHEETOS Crunchy Cheese Flavored Snacks
BAKED! CHEETOS FLAMIN' HOT® Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® 100 Calorie Mini Bites Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® FLAMIN' HOT® Mini Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® Mini Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS ASTEROIDS® XXTRA FLAMIN' HOT® Mini Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Crunchy Cheddar Jalapeno Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Crunchy Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Crunchy Twisted Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS FLAMIN' HOT® Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS FLAMIN' HOT® Limon Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Jumbo Puffs Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Jumbo Puffs Flamin' Hot Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Natural White Cheddar Puffs Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS Puffs Cheese Flavored Snacks
CHEETOS TWISTED Cheese Flavored Snacks

All of that and no Nacho Cheese Cheetos? I think not. For those of you who have not sampled such a taste delight, it's like if you ate a regular Cheeto and a Nacho Cheese Dorito at the same time.

I first saw them when I was a kid vacationing in Southern California with my family. I guess it was some kind of test marketing thing, because I didn't see them back home, and no one believed my stories about them.

Many years later, I was hanging out after class at Stan State, and I checked the little store for some suitable snacks.

There on a shelf, shining like a bounty of gold, were bags of Nacho Cheese Cheetos. I moved so fast toward them that you could still see my afterimage at the end of the aisle.

I only had enough money on me to buy one bag, but I was able to snag a few more bags at a nearby grocery store.

But I had to be rational about this. They disappeared once before; they could vanish again.

I called the customer service line at Frito-Lay and expressed my joy at finding my coveted snacks.

"I'm just curious, though," I said. "Is this just a test marketing thing, or are they a permanent addition?"

"Oh no, they're here for good," the friendly woman at Frito-Lay told me.

Lies!

I like to think that she was misinformed. I'd hate to think that she was deliberately lying to me just so she could rip my heart out and --

Sorry. Got a bit carried away.

I had my battle chest of Cheetos, but even I can plow my way through a big bag only so quickly. By the time I was ready for more, they glittered on the shelves no more.

But every time we go grocery shopping, I look for them. Just in case. My wife helps, too -- by testing my reflexes.

"Hey, are those Nacho Cheese Cheetos?" she'll ask, pointing to a random spot on the shelves. I look for them so quickly that I often miss the evil gleam in her eyes.

Should you want to help rectify this situation, you can call Frito-Lay at 1-800-352-4477, Monday through Friday from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Central Standard Time or write to them at: Frito-Lay, P.O. Box 660634, Dallas, TX 75266-0634

And if you want Pudding Pies to make a comeback, you can try contacting Hostess via e-mail form here or mail Interstate Brands Corporation, Consumer Affairs, 12 E. Armour Blvd., Kansas City, MO 64111. Their number is 1-800-483-7253.

And don't mention me; I might be blacklisted or something for having perhaps made disparaging comments about Twinkie the Kid in my passionate plea for the return of Pudding Pies.

I'd just like to state for the record that I have nothing but respect for Twinkie the Kid, and I'd never do anything to harm him or his hat.

Act naturally

Watching the Oscars the other day reminded me of my own limited acting career.

I'd never thought much of being an actor. Even as a kid, I think I knew I had a face for radio. I had yet to discover I also had a voice for print, but at that point, I was plenty happy just being the kid who made you laugh.

So when my friend Felicia, who lived across the street, mentioned she wanted to put on a play for the neighborhood, I didn't know if it was something I wanted to do.

When she said that I'd be the lead, I decided that maybe I should give it a shot.

It was a short little story. I don't know if it had an official title; if it did, it probably was something like "My Dog."

The story: A kid (me) wants a dog. His mom and dad (Felicia and her brother, Nathaniel) say that he needs to work to improve his grades. Our studious student buckles down and brings up his grades. His efforts are rewarded with a new puppy (my brother Josh, in his debut role).

I think I had about the easiest role. I didn't have to dress up, and I basically got to be myself. My brother had to look remotely like a dog, which meant that he got to don a pair of pantyhose on his head for ears. We had to color in part of the pantyhose with a Magic Marker so it all matched.

The hardest part for me was being able to emote on cue. In rehearsal, I had a big problem. Felicia said that I wasn't excited enough. I would have felt dumb jumping up and down about a dog, especially since I didn't like dogs.

During the performance, it came time for my big line. I decided at the last minute to take a different kind of approach.

"Oh boy," I said, completely deadpan, "a dog." The crowd -- our parents, a neighbor or two and a few other kids -- laughed. Getting the biggest laugh was the high point for me, and we decided that we should come up with another play -- maybe something a little longer.

So, just a week or so before my 10th birthday, our second effort made its debut in Felicia and Nathaniel's front yard. Such seasoned veterans were much too experienced for simple things like "My Dog," so we came up with a blockbuster. Add equal parts "Ghostbusters," "Strange Brew" and "Magnum, P.I.," and you had our play: "McKenzies, G.I." (Ghost Investigators).

I love that we predated the Sci-Fi Channel by a good decade or so for coming up with features ripped off of other popular movies.

Again, I was one of the leads. I don't remember much of the story, but I know the subplot involved a reunion with a girl from my past. How much of a past a 9-year-old had, I don't know, but that's what we came up with. My brother played the ghost in this one, a step up from being a puppy.

"McKenzies, G.I." was another success, but it was our last play. On our limited effects budget, we couldn't really top ourselves. It did give me the idea to try out for the school play a few months later. I'd toyed with the idea each time they announced one.

I'd never auditioned before, so I didn't know if I'd done well or not. I found out when they announced the cast over the intercom system. I'd made it. I didn't know what role I had, but I knew that I could make it funny.

I don't think I made it to even the first meeting. That's when my parents broke the news to me that we were moving soon. I had to quit the play.

And aside from a few school projects, I never acted again.

Aside from acting like I was paying attention in class.

This game is no fun

Nothing can kill the Grimace: Tales of a clumsy younger brother

It was probably my fault; I was the one who taught him.

I took pride in the fact that after some initial work from my parents, I was able to teach my younger brother, Josh, how to ride a bike. I thought I'd done a good job, but there were a few things that made me wonder.

Clyde Crashcup strikes

One day, not too long after I taught him, Josh was riding near the house. While pedaling happily along the road, he managed to hit a pebble the size of a bit of gravel; the kind that makes an annoying scraping sound on the ground when it gets stuck in the treads of your sneakers.

This little pebble caused him to twist up his handlebars and flip over them, landing on his chin. Back to the house he went, dripping a little trail of blood. I had to collect his bike.

My mom saw him, and it was off to the emergency room. The doctor sewed him up with a few stitches and he was as good as new. Except for the giant fat lip (which, strangely, has never gone back down) and the divot on his chin, that is.

The Race

One neat thing about our neighborhood was that the streets were separated from most of the real traffic outside the mobile home park. Obviously, people had to drive in to get home, but for the most part, the streets were pretty quiet. This allowed us to ride our bikes around without having to dodge traffic.

My brother, his friend and I were on the other side of the park with our bikes when we got an idea.

"Hey, we should have a race!"

I was all for it; as the oldest, I was the most likely to win.

We lined up our bikes, with me on the outside, Josh's friend David in the middle, and Josh nearest the curb. We'd barely begun when I saw Josh teetering away from us, being drawn to the curb like a moth to a lightbulb. If he didn't aim left, he'd --

Crash.

Since the curbs were the flat kind that taper into the street, Josh went right into a driveway that was occupied by a large pickup truck.

I was a little confused. I heard the crash, I saw the dent in the side of the truck and the bits of plastic from the shattered turn signal light, but Josh's bike was still out in the street.

Josh was trying to get up, and he was holding his head. That's when I figured it out. He'd busted up some guy's truck with his head. Before I could wrap my own head around that, a door opened and a guy walked out. He looked briefly at his truck and then at Josh.

"Hey, are you okay?" He looked to me. "What happened?"

"He ran into the truck with his head."

"His head?"

The guy helped us cart Josh back home. He knocked on our front door. My dad answered.

"This your boy?" the guy asked.

My dad looked down at Josh, who was holding his head and sniffling. The guy didn't even ask my parents to fix the truck as far as I remember. He was just worried that Josh was hurt. I knew he was okay because he'd only hit his head.

My parents didn't think that was funny. Neither did Josh.

For the next decade, Josh seemed to always be tripping or falling over something. Sure, sometimes I'd give him a little help (what are big brothers for, right?), but he seemed to do all right on his own. And boy, was he resilient. It was like having a stuntman for a little brother.

What's up?

We were trick-or-treating one year, and I'd just come down a flight of stairs after getting my candy. Josh was starting his way down when one of his friends saw him.

"Hey Josh, what's up?"

Josh missed a step and tumbled down the stairs.

My first reaction (and I'm not entirely proud, mind you): "Not him."

After a quick stop at home to get all Bactined up, Josh was back on the road ready for more candy. That, I should mention, was the second bad spill he'd taken that day.

See? Unstoppable.

I felt a little bad for laughing so hard at him, you can't see the Grim Reaper take a header down a flight of stairs and not laugh.

Pointing may not have been necessary, though.

There is such thing as a free breakfast*

It's National Pancake Day tomorrow, according to the fine folks at IHOP.

Sez the website: "On February 28, 2006 from 7 AM to 2 PM IHOPs across the country will celebrate National Pancake Day (also known as Shrove Tuesday) by offering our guests a free short stack of pancakes*. This is going to be our biggest one day celebration in our history."

That little * you might have noticed is for this part here: "Limit one free short stack per guest. Valid for dine-in only, no to go orders. Not valid with any other offer, special, coupon, or discount. Valid at participating restaurants only, while supplies last."

So if your IHOP isn't participating (and shame on them if they aren't), don't blame me. I'm just the messenger.

They also suggest that you make a charitable donation, which isn't a bad idea.

I like my pancakes in the shape of a J or a Mickey Mouse head, but for free, plain ol' circles are just fine.

(via Metafilter

Men of many faces

Don Knotts died Friday at the age of 81.

To my parents' generation, he was Barney Fife. To me, he was Barney Fife, Ralph Furley, The Incredible Mr. Limpet, a funny guy in damn near every Disney movie from the 70s (or so it seemed), a guest on Scooby-Doo and The Muppet Show, and, well, you get the idea.

He was everywhere.

And no matter what, he was making me laugh. As a kid, I had the most respect for people who made me laugh. I look forward to sharing Don's body of work with my son, who already has a pretty healthy appreciation for comedy.

---

Darren McGavin, who starred with Don Knotts in "No Deposit, No Return" and "Hot Lead and Cold Feet," died Saturday. He was 83, which surprised me. For some reason, I thought he was a bit younger.

I'd bet it's because 90% of the time I see him on TV, it's as Ralphie's crusty dad in "A Christmas Story."

"Not a finga!"

Brody isn't even 3 yet, but I think he's seen this movie about 12,000 times.

---

Abe Vigoda is still alive. He turned 85 on Friday.

From the "Oh, well that makes much more sense" department:

There's a follow-up to the story about the microwaved manhood I mentioned yesterday.

Turns out that the tidbit in question was fake. Apparently, "a man and a woman had inserted urine into a fake penis that the woman was planning to use to pass a drug test."

The whiz kids needed the microwave -- which has since been thrown away -- to heat the pee up to normal body temperature.

This, I think, illustrates the perils of drug use much more effectively than the episode of "Saved By the Bell" where Jessie gets hooked on caffeine pills ("I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so...scared!").

I mean, honestly, what series of decisions do you have to make before nuking a pee-filled mock member in a microwave seems like a logical thing to do?

"This isn't funny. What am I supposed to eat?"

Oh my.

Quite possibly the most disturbing thing I've read this week (and that's including plans for a new "Friday the 13th").

Apparently, some guy decided to forgo the Hot Pockets and opted to microwave a different kind of snack.

You know, maybe I was paying more attention to the Superfriends than to the news when I was a kid, but I don't think I ever read a story that had both "microwave" and "genitalia" as key words.

The worst part (don't read if you're about to eat): "After the clerk noticed a strange smell coming from the microwave..."

The article also mentions that there was blood found on the floor of the bathroom, which is actually a little more disturbing.

No Bagel Dog for lunch today.

(via Obscure Store)

Lesson learned

Mine might be the last generation of students to have watched educational movies via an actual film projector. The switch to VHS was pretty much final by my junior year in high school. And even my sophomore year, we only saw a few in Drivers Ed.

When I was in elementary school, we had these filmloop cartridges that you plugged in to a small viewer. I only remember watching one about polar bears because the bear took a pretty nasty fall, and being 7, I thought that was pretty hysterical.

But it was one I saw in fifth grade that has always stuck with me. It was shortly after we moved to Tracy, and I don't even remember why we were seeing the movie.

It was to educate us about the perils of vandalism. The only part that I really recall clearly is a scene where two kids decide to hurl a rock (or brick or cinder block) off an overpass. It smashes through some guy's windshield, and we get to see him all cut up and covered in very unconvincing stage blood whining something like "I'm blind! Aaaaaaa!"

Cheesy though it was, I've never chucked a cinder block off an overpass.

I've bought a handful of discs from the Educational Archives series and I've perused the Prelinger and AV Geeks collections at The Internet Archive, but I have yet to find out what this is called.

I'm usually pretty good at finding these kinds of things, but so far, no luck.

A father-and-son moment

A sunny blue day in Tracy, California. Though relatively early in the day, the heat was already building, strengthening the already pungent aroma from the nearby dairies.

My dad was going to show me how to properly fly one of those little balsa wood gliders. Fortunately, on the other side of the mobile home park where we lived, there was a vacant lot. The lot has since become a shopping center complete with a grocery store, eateries and roughly 8 million nail salons.

On the other edge of the lot, there was a chain-link fence and some Dumpster-like containers. But there was plenty of room and enough mounds of dirt for most of the neighborhood kids to play and do a little dirt biking.

I'd tried flying the gliders before without much success. Since I was in the early stages of puberty my already deficient coordination level was now hovering somewhere between wingless albatross and drunken downhill skier.

My dad opened the package with the pair of scissors he always had with him. He worked for the phone company, and as a result, always carried the scissors -- his "snips' -- and a small blade on a little holster attached to his belt.

Any time there was packaging that was reluctant to open or errant tactical warheads that needed defusing, my dad was there to MacGyver it with his snips.

In recent years, probably due in no small part to teasing from my brother and me, he doesn't carry them all the time now.

We assembled the glider in short order. I awaited my aviation lesson.

My dad adjusted his Pacific Bell ball cap to block the sun from his eyes and gripped the glider with his right index finger and thumb. Then he made a few practice swoops to show me the arc I should use to throw it for maximum glide.

"Check this out," he said. He cocked his arm back and let the glider fly. It went up, seeming to float lazily over the vacant lot. It silhouetted against the bright blue sky, arced down and went right over the chain-link fence into a Dumpster, where it landed with a faint thunk.

"Oops," my dad said. "We'll, uh, have to get you another one."

I never got another balsa glider. Instead, we all went to the bookstore, where my anguish over the loss of my plane was alleviated by the stack of comic books my brother and I got.

Up, up and away, indeed.

Thanks for nothing, Mr. Roboto.

After listening to my K-Tel comp yesterday, "Mr. Roboto" is now stuck in my head. Well, that was good thinking, wasn't it?

If you translated the lyrics to Mr. Roboto into Japanese, would "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto" be "Domo arigato Roboto-san," which messes up the "clever" rhyme?

It's really hard to pick the one thing about the song that really annoys me. I mean, there's the song itself. But then there's the constant use of "modren," as in "I am the modren man."

Plus, it's part of a rock opera.

And like I always (since about a minute ago) say, you can't spell rock opera without c, r, a and p.

Lines of obsessive strangeness converge at one point

The great thing about having roughly a krillion things going through your head at any given time is that you often get to test the laws of probability as a result of obsessing over some morsel from yesteryear.

Lately, I've been wanting to listen to some of the music from my youth. The classic 80s stuff and the early 90s grunge are well-spoken for in my music collection, but there's a gap of a few years -- when I graduated from middle school and started high school.

I tended to buy my music on 45s; I didn't have a CD player (nor did most everyone I knew at that point; they were still new and expensive), and I didn't know enough about the rest of the songs on the albums to justify forking out the dough. So the albums I listened to were from my parents.

So now I'm tracking down records that I ordinarily wouldn't go looking for on my own. One of them was Kenny Loggins' "Back to Avalon." Found that one OK; I asked my parents if they had it on CD and they did. Score!

This leads me to Mr. Mister. You can barely pick up some 80s compilation without getting "Kyrie" or "Broken Wings," but because I like doing things the hard way, I was looking for the album after that -- "...Go On."

I think one of the songs, "Something Real," got some airplay on MTV, but very briefly. Still, I have fond memories of being on a weekend trip in the car, reading a recent week's comic books and listening to that tape on the car stereo.

It seems that the only way to exorcise the song demons from my head is to acquire the songs in question.

But iTunes didn't even have the album. I envisioned having to scour used CD racks to no avail. And then I got smart. Remembering how I got the Kenny Loggins album, I phoned my mom, who had indeed procured the Mr. Mister CD -- via the used CD racks.

I went out to pick up the CD today and meet my mom for lunch so she could see Brody. I arrived a bit early, so I decided to kill time by hitting a thrift store. I like that I can pick up entire albums for a dollar or less. I scored another K-Tel compilation, "Hot Tracks," which features the unforgettable "Mr. Roboto" from Styx.

I pored over the cassette tapes in the same bin and picked up one that was put in backwards so I could see what it was.

Mr. Mister "...Go On."

And this, only days after I found Cherry Pez when I wasn't even looking for it and about a week after I finally found the apple chips I was looking for. Do you think I bought enough?

These are the things I need to remember when it feels like the whole world is out to get me.

Happy Valentine's Day

More fun here and here.

If I could only have one food for the rest of my life? That's easy.

Holy cow!

While at Target today, we strolled down the candy aisle, and I happened to glance at a 10-roll refill pack of Pez. My eyes hit the bottom of the package, where there were two rolls of CHERRY?!?

Clearly I was hallucinating.

But no, there it was, as red as a monkey's behind and, as it turns out, significantly tastier. Cherry Pez. Formerly discontinued. In my hand.

I remembered a pact I had with a friend -- whoever found Cherry Pez first would send some to the other. Before posting this, I checked my e-mail, and as it turns out, we both found it on the same day.

A cool Pez coincidence, don't you think?

That's great, Sparkman, you're probably thinking, but how does it taste?

I don't have a memory of Cherry Pez to compare this to, but what I got today reminds me of two things: Robitussen and scratch-and-sniff stickers.

That sounds kinda bad, but they're good. Underneath the strong cherry flavor, there's that base Pez flavor that you really notice when you eat a whole roll at once.

So there's another thing to check off on my "Man, I wish they'd bring back this cool stuff" list. Still on the list are Nacho Cheese Cheetos and Hostess Pudding Pies. But hope springs eternal...

WonderCon bound

Well, it's off to WonderCon shortly. Expect tales of amazing sights and sounds or bitter observations on pop-culture events.

But how bad can it be when Chewbacca will be there?

I've got a doodle in my noodle

Neat-o!

I found Sketch Swap via Boing Boing the other day and decided to try it out. Here's how it works:

You sketch something with your mouse and submit it. In return, you get a sketch from someone else. It's pretty simple and only takes as long as it takes you to draw something that doesn't suck too much.

In the interest of time, I didn't worry so much about the suck factor. As it is, drawing with a mouse is tricky, especially since I don't have a left-handed mouse.

But here's what I submitted. A jaunty little dinosaur wearing Chuck Taylors.


And in return I got this neat sketch of a cowboy, which I think is pretty cool, especially in light of the "crap!" scrawled next to it.



Instant gratification. W00t!

Worlds of wonder

Wow. Looks like there might be an official tenth planet in our solar system soon. I read that German astrophysicists have said that the melliflously named 2003 UB313 is bigger than our ninth planet, Goofy Pluto.

It's been nicknamed Xena, and its moon has been nicknamed Gabrielle, after characters from "Xena: Warrior Princess."

If it gets the official okey-dokey, it will be given a new name.

In the spirit of giving, here are my top three suggestions:

1. Planet X

This would be a cool nod to history. I remember reading about the hypothetical Planet X in those dusty old science books I used to read over and over in elementary school. But as a name, it doesn't have much panache.

2. Krypton

Xena is cool and all, but if you're going with sci-fi/fantasy, you have to give Krypton its due. Plus it could drum up interest from the general public.

3. Mianus

Uh, maybe not. Never mind. Move along.

I asked my friend Ken for his top three name ideas. Ken's a smart guy, so I figured he'd come up with some good suggestions. Sez Ken: "I'm surprised that they haven't sold the naming rights to the highest bidder like they do for stadiums -- or at least put it on eBay." I asked him if that would make it a "for-biddin' planet." He said he remembered why I was dateless through high school.

1. Fred

Because "I thought it would be cool to have a planet named Fred."

2. Gilligan

Because "they already named an island after him." Plus, there was that cartoon spinoff, "Gilligan's Planet."

3. D'oh!

"...as long as they include the '!' as the official spelling." Of course, if they wanted to be real nerds about it, the official name would be "Annoyed Grunt."

I'm in charge of the stars and I'm here to say

A recent offering over at Tape Findings caught my eye. It's a birthday greeting from Captain Zoom. This particular greeting is personalized for someone named Alex.

My brother got a Captain Zoom record for his birthday when he was little, and for some reason, he was terrified that Captain Zoom was addressing him by name. What we thought would be a fun family experience went something like this:

We put the needle on the record.

"This is Space Command to Zoom. All systems are go for your message to Joshua.

Hey, Joshua, it's your birthday. I'm in charge of the stars, and I'm here to say ---"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Cue hysterical crying from my brother. In his defense, he was quite young and a gigantic wuss.

After its inaugural playing, the record didn't get many more spins on the turntable -- unless my parents were in another room and I wanted to make my brother cry.

Captain Zoom is still working, apparently. And now they'll customize it for any name -- even if it's not on their list. I think you'd have to try pretty hard. It appears that children aren't the only recipients of these greetings.

On the list:

Awsumb
Bucko
Dummy, Stupid, etc.
Donut
Loser, etc.
Schmoepy
Stupid/Stoner/Drunkard/Loser

And my personal favorite:

Chod

Not the spelling I'd use, but still.

I'm not including a link in case my brother reads this. I don't want to make him cry again.

Not till his birthday, anyway.

When number 2 is number 1

The number one movie over the weekend was the remake of "When a Stranger Calls," which I'm assuming is the result of some large-scale triple-dog dare.

To be fair, I didn't see it yet. I didn't think I needed to, seeing as how the ads reveal what traditionally is the biggest plot twist in that familiar story.

For criminy's sake, "Scream" did a riff on the babysitter urban legend before the opening credits. Are there really people who don't know what's going to happen?

I always figure that if you're going to take a familiar story, you dress it up with things that people haven't seen, maybe change it up a little.

Wouldn't it have been neat if the killer was that "Can you hear me now?" guy from Verizon? At least then the audience would be rooting for someone to dispatch him in an interesting way.

While I will entertain the notion that it's not a bad movie, I've read some of the reviews, and they're not pretty. Over at rottentomatoes.com, it's hovering at 13%, which isn't much better than the 7% garnered by "Big Momma's House 2."

When this drops on DVD, I think I'll check it out to see if it's just as bad as everyone says.

I wouldn't be surprised if there's a direct-to-video sequel to this thing in which another urban legend that really shouldn't be an entire movie by itself is stretched out to feature length. And if we're real unlucky, we'll be getting a whole series of direct-to-video crapfests thrillers:

Don't Go Near the Microwave

Jill has sworn off babysitting for good; from now on, she's strictly a dog watcher. The Derf family entrusts their expensive purebred poodle into Jill's care. The dog is a maniac; it runs all over the place. She rescues Fido from the koi pond, and while she kept the dog from drowning, she needs to dry him before the family gets home, which will be at any minute. Suddenly, the microwave catches her eye, and she gets an idea. All hell breaks loose.

If You Can't Join 'Em, Lick 'Em

After the Fido fiasco, Jill has been getting death threats from the Derfs. To make her feel more secure at night, she gets a guard dog, Duke, to protect her. Whenever she hears a noise or gets scared at night, she just dangles her arm over the side of her bed, and Duke lets her know he's on the job by licking her hand.

One night she hears a lot of strange noises. Luckily, she's got Duke. After he licks her hand, she's able to sleep the rest of the night. When she wakes up, she finds her dog dead in the bathroom, and there's something written in blood on the mirror: People can lick, too. All hell breaks loose.

Pop Goes the Evil

Jill is on the run from the crazed members of the Derf family, who are still mad at what she did to Fido. To evade them, she holes up in a small convenience store in the middle of nowhere.

She gets the munchies, so she grabs a soda and looks for some candy. She finds some Pop Rocks, which, the clerk informs her, are dangerous. She's heard this one before. She rips open the packet and pours the Pop Rocks in her mouth. When she cracks open her soda and takes a swig, a vengeful demon that had been trapped in the candy is released and takes possession of Jill's body.

All hell breaks loose.

Dumb things I've done (5 in an occasional series)

Freshman year German class...

It was time for a gingerbread house competition, and my friend Ken and I decided to enter. Neither of us (as far as I remember) had any experience building a gingerbread house, but it didn't look that hard.

In fact, it looked too easy. I mean, jeez, anyone could build a gingerbread house. We had to come up with something different.

Before I tell you what we picked to make a gingerbread replica of, I should point out that both of us are married.

Not to each other.

In the infinite wisdom that only dorky 14-year-olds can muster, we decided that the way to win the competition was not to build a house, but a replica of everyone's favorite starship, the USS Enterprise.

Well, it had the virtue of never having been tried before.

We employed our mad engineering skillz and figured out the dimensions of all the pieces we needed and mixed up our sugary mortar.

But despite our forethought (at least 3 or 4 minutes), it wasn't until we were well into the assembly phase that we found our problem.

Here's our model. Pay special attention to the warp nacelles (those funky tube things in the back).


Okay, well, in space, that works great. Or if you are working with a substance that is strong enough to support its own weight.

Unlike, say, gingerbread.

Our nacelles -- made of giants candy cane sticks -- refused to stay put no matter how much glue we used. They'd just flop over like wilting flowers.

Well, that just wouldn't work.

After a few minutes, we went from "What would Scotty do?" to "What would Willy Wonka do?" to "Oh, crap, it's due tomorrow."

We propped up the nacelles with smaller candy cane pillars. A little inelegant, yes, but those things stayed up.

Did I mention we had to frost the whole thing, too?

We put the hull registry (NCC-1701-A) on the saucer section with little licorice bits.

Once it was done, it looked pretty sweet.

So to speak.

Project Babe Magnet was finally finished and ready to be gawked at by our impressed classmates.

Alas, we didn't get first prize. That went to someone who had -- unoriginally -- made an actual gingerbread house.

Feh.

We got third place, which was still cool. We each got a Toblerone for our troubles, so it wasn't a total loss.

Hey, free Toblerone, right?

Of course, mine had nuts in it (I hate nuts).

Our edible Enterprise also made it into the yearbook. Ken scanned this in for me. That's ours on the left. The thing cropped out so you can get a better view of the regular gingerbread house.


Oh well. At least the girls thought we were cool after that.

Oh, wait...

A genealogy question

I was sad to read of Al "Grandpa" Lewis' passing the other day. But then I noticed that in some articles, he's referred to as Grandpa Munster.

I haven't seen an episode of the Munsters in a long time, but wasn't Grandpa supposed to be Dracula? Lily Munster's maiden name was Dracula, and I assumed that Grandpa was her dad (or even grandfather, I suppose).

So why would he be Grandpa Munster? He's not related to Herman.

Just the other day I was watching one of his videos, "Grandpa's Sci-Fi Hits," which was a collection of sci-fi movie trailers punctuated with shtick from Grandpa. As always, Lewis is fun to watch, despite the painfully low budget.

Rest in peace, Grandpa.

'The best Burtless movie ever made'

Curiosity has not only killed the cat, but a number of my brain cells.

Seriously, some things sound so bizarre and/or awful that I can't just trust the observations of others -- I have to see it for myself.

That's why my movie library includes things like "Blood Freak," "Microwave Massacre" and "Pieces."

Today my curiosity is piqued by "Smokey and the Bandit 3."

I have no distinct memory of the movie, though I know I've seen it. Burt Reynolds shows up in a cameo at the end.

But what's really got me is that the movie was supposed to be "Smokey is the Bandit," with Jackie Gleason playing both roles.

Huh?

From what I've learned, it tested poorly -- people were confused about the dual role. I'm sure it was confusing to watch, but can't you glean the basic premise from the title? Smokey IS the Bandit. Not a lot of guesswork, is there? I bet these were the people who talk to the characters on the screen.

Not having seen the original cut, I'm just curious about the explanation for it. Why is Smokey the Bandit?

Aside from "Well, the first two made lots of money, so let's make a third," I mean.

Thus far, SitB remains unreleased, though there has been some interest from fans for it to be included as a DVD extra in a future release. But given that you can pick up all three on one dual-sided DVD for $14, I wouldn't hold my breath.

Nonetheless, it's on my list of must-see oddities. I'm actually surprised they haven't tried to relaunch the franchise recently.

But who would play the Bandit?



Or if they decide to try "Smokey is the Bandit" again, there's always this guy...

How do you like them apples?

Sometimes the simple things end up the most complicated. Case in point: Many moons ago on a trip to Stoneridge Mall in Pleasanton, Jen and I stopped at a store that among other things, sold packages of dried apples.

Unlike the apple chips you tend to get in the produce sections in grocery stores, these were irregular chunks of dried apple. On a whim, I bought them, and they were really good.

Most people who know me are surprised when I say that fruit is my favorite snack food, but it's true. I went through the sizable bag by the end of that afternoon.

We didn't have a chance to get back out there for a while, and when we did, the store -- and my coveted apples -- was gone.

Thus began my quest.

In the ensuing years, I think I tried just about every variety of dried apples I could find -- apple chips (too thin and kinda burned), soft dried apples (good, but they look eerily like dried ears) and little shards of dried apple I'd get in cereal.

But not until the other day did I find a suitable replacement. And for only 69 cents.

Score!

They're apple chips made by Mariani, the company that also makes really good soft dried apples (even though they look like ears). The key, according to the back of the bag, is that they are air-dried rather than fried.

I polished off the bag (minus a small amount I saved for today's lunch) in one sitting. Now I have to hit the store to stock up, just in case they find out I like them and stop making them.

EDIT: I went back to the store two days later, and they were gone! Clearly a conspiracy is afoot!

Dumb things I've done (4 in an occasional series)

By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I'd been shaving regularly for a while. But one day, just as my ride approached school grounds, I happened to notice that in my haste to get out of the house on time, I had neglected to shave half of my mustache.

Everything else, no problem. But I had to hang out all day with one half-peach-fuzzed lip and hope no one noticed.

That lasted until all of first period.

73 seconds

I thought she was kidding. I really did.

Our teacher's aide came in around second period looking flushed. I assumed it was because it was still cold outside, but then she told us.

"The Space Shuttle just blew up!"

There were a few nervous laughs from the class. That kind of thing didn't happen, right? She had to be kidding.

We were one of the few classes that had a TV of its own; there was a fleet of older sets on wheel carts that most other classes had to share. My teacher turned on the TV, and we saw the replay for the first of many times.

I was 11 years old.

The image of the split plume is etched in my memory, and consequently, I don't need to add the picture to this entry. If you were there, you probably remember it, too.

There was a lot of buzz surrounding the launch in schools across the country because for the first time, a teacher, Christa McAuliffe, was part of the shuttle crew.

I had an interest in the space program. Not very strong, since I was unlikely to meet the vision requirements (The E at the top of the chart is a blur without my glasses), but just the concept of being in space appealed to me. In space, no one can flick your ear or try to trip you. Plus, you know, lots of Tang on hand. Clearly a lot of pluses here.

When I was a kid, civilian space travel was practically a given. We heard almost from the first day about how when we were grown-ups, we could be flying to work -- on the moon. It was always looming over the next hill, just somewhere down the road. Not after that.

My memory of that day -- 19 years and a day after the Apollo 1 disaster -- pretty much consists of that initial viewing, as if the rest of the day stopped at that point. I've only felt shock like that a few times since then, and both times, I heard about the event from someone else.

On Sept. 11, it was the pilot of our plane (we were heading home to SFO from our layover in Milwaukee) telling us what had happened.

And on Feb. 1, 2003, it was my co-worker at the paper I worked at, calling to see if I could come in early because Space Shuttle Columbia had just disintegrated over Texas. All of a sudden, I was 11 again.

---

Challenger Center for Space Science Education

NASA - Challenger STS 51-L Accident

Space Shuttle Challenger disaster entry at Wikipedia

Snopes.com on Challenger transcript rumor

Yahoo links

Space Shuttle Columbia disaster entry at Wikipedia

NASA - Columbia memorial

Apollo 1 entry at Wikipedia

I'm your vehicle, baby...

My wife and I were watching "The 40-Year-Old Virgin." In one scene, we see the title character's place, and it is stocked to the gills with pop culture ephemera, most notably, action figures.

"Is that the Six Million Dollar Man?" Andy's friend asked, indicating a toy. I squinted and saw that no, it was his boss, Oscar Goldman. I told this to my wife just seconds before it was mentioned in the movie.

"Do you realize that if you hadn't met me, that would be you?" Jen asked. She was kidding.

I think.

But then I realized that she might not be that far off. I have toys that are sealed in their boxes. Not nearly as many as Andy Stitzer, the 40-year-old virgin, but a couple. And given that I had to buy them myself, they're not really worth all that much anyway.

So I decided to liberate these toys from their cardboard prisons and let them breathe the fine air of California's San Joaquin Valley.

The two test subjects were just a tad over 20 years old; one each from Kenner's Super Powers Collection and Mattel's Marvel Secret Wars Collection. A staunch DC reader in my youth, I didn't have that many toys from the latter line; I tended to get a Secret Wars figure only if there were no additions I could make to my own Super Powers Collection.

Here they are: the Doom Roller and the Darkseid Destroyer. I don't know if you can tell or not, but I'm trying really hard to contain myself.

Test Subject 1: Darkseid Destroyer

Part of the second series in the Super Powers Collection, this vehicle was designed for the villainous Darkseid, the evil rule of the planet Apokolips. This isn't the original I had from my youth. I picked this up a few years ago when my brother and I trekked down to San Diego for Comic-Con. I saw this and the Supermobile at one of the first places we went to in the dealers room. And like and idiot, I bought them, not realizing that I'd be schlepping them around the convention floor for the rest of the day. Not that it's heavy, mind you; it's just cumbersome to carry a giant box like that in a room filled with roughly 9 billion people.

---

To ease myself into this, I started with the Darkseid Destroyer, as the box was already opened. I'd just never taken the stuff out. Upon opening the box, I noticed that there were a buttload of stickers for this thing. Check it out.


Just in case the stickers didn't work, I scanned them into my computer. Yeah, I'm a nerd. If you didn't know that already, I don't know what to tell you.


Hmm. Instructions. It's got to be easier than putting together furniture from IKEA.


Wow, check out the plastic. I guess the streaks are from being 20-year-old plastic stored in a loser's house.

Time to put on the stickers, I guess. Twenty years later and I still suck at this part. At least I did better than the guy who did the one for the picture on the box. According to the instructions, he screwed up.


Brody offered to keep an eye on the "spaceship" for me during the stickering process.


A-ha! Done. Finally. Check it out, yo. All the ladies in the audience, try not to swoon, okay?


Look, it even lights up.

Well, that wasn't so bad. Now for the next victim.

Test Subject 2: Doom Roller

A vehicle for the villainous Dr. Doom. The little pod fits on a loop of track and rolls around, hence the name. I picked this up on eBay years ago when I had disposable income. I didn't have this as a kid, but it looked kinda cool. I tried selling it a couple of times, but no one bid on it, so I gave up.

See, it's still sealed.

This should be a snap; there are hardly any stickers to put on, and there's very little assembly. A few guns here, a laser turret there...

Hmm. The pod doesn't want to jump on the track quite right. I managed to get it on there finally, and then I flicked the on switch, waiting for it to roll right off the table.

Nothing.

Well, crap.

I was mildly pleased to see that this vehicle came with one of the cool lenticular shield things that came with the figures. And then I noticed it was Kang, not Dr. Doom. You'd think with it being called the Doom Roller, you'd get Doc Doom. But no.

It's still kinda cool, though. Look:

Kang in the city.

Kang in space.

I thought of maybe cracking open the pod to see if I could fix it, but I think that might be trying too hard. Maybe I should just let it rest, you know.

That's it for this installment of Pimp My Super-Ride. If this isn't a one-way ticket to Thrillsville, I don't know what is.

If ever a Wiz there was

My brain seems specially designed to absorb useless facts and information. Consequently, I liked trivia games and trivia books.

Very rarely is this information actually pressed into service, but hey, you never know.

While going through some old crap I had in boxes, I found the mighty Coleco Quiz Wiz.

These days, Quiz Wiz sounds like a spin-off show from "Fear Factor": Get loaded up on coffee and Mountain Dew and then see how many questions you can answer before you pee your pants.

But no, this was a handheld electronic one-player trivia game. They eventually came out with the Quiz Wiz Challenger, which accommodated up to four players, but take it from me, you never get four people to play after you win too many times. They'd rather be out socializing and things like that.

The Quiz Wiz came bundled with 1,001 general trivia questions, but you could buy other modules that contained themed questions: sports, movies and (my personal favorite, naturally) Super Heroes.

Here's how it worked.

You punch in the number of the question on the keypad. You look at the question in the book and pick what you think the answer is, then you press the corresponding key (A, B, C or D). Then hit the "Answer" key. If it's right, you get a green light and a relatively pleasant tone. If you get it wrong, it's the red light and a buzz.

I thought I'd test my memory so see how much of this I still had locked up in the old noggin.

I've still got it. And let me tell you, knowing comic book trivia from 25 years ago -- much of which is now obsolete -- really impresses the ladies.

The questions -- all about DC Comics characters -- were complied by Bob Rozakis, who among other numerous comic credits, was DC's famed "Answer Man."

I distinctly remember that one of the questions in the book is wrong; I imagine it just got coded wrong in the assembly process. Alas, I don't really have time to go through all the questions.

I did, though, like the answers to choose from in this question:

57. In order to attend Legion meetings, Superboy must:

A. travel through time to the 30th century
B. travel through a space warp to the 12th century
C. use a cosmic treadmill
D. take the "A" train to Harlem

The answer is A. Or it used to be when this came out originally. If you have a year or so, I can try to explain how it's different, but I'd bet you probably don't really want to know.

I know my wife doesn't.