Fun Dip!

We were only allowed to taste one flavor. Today I choose between Orange Clean, Lime-A-Way, and Clorox Lemon Fresh.

Nighttime In The Hollow Arcade!

Gone are the seedy arcades of my youth – replaced by "family fun centers” with their racing booths and ticket dispensing skee-ball lanes.


Could this gameroom at Hidden Hollow be the time capsule of my childhood – that remote Shangri-la, untainted from the trends of the last 20 years, tucked within a desolate valley, unreachable excluding a winding, gravel road? Much of the soul of the arcades of the past was provided by the clientele. The teenagers who occupied my favorite haunt, “The Pirates Cove,” fit the moniker, with their rebelliously long, greasy hair, their earrings, their sharp, grime encrusted fingernails, and their black T-shirts plastered with disturbing heavy metal depictions of undead skeletons. Demonic music constantly blared from the jukebox. Overflowing ashtrays were bolted to the side of the machines. Intimated by their shifty and standoffish demeanor, unprepared to enter their adolescent world, I would have steered clear of the foreboding den, if not for my intense fascination with the animated characters that I could control on the video screens, all for a quarter of my allowance.

Despite the dim lighting, and the lack of any attendant within an earshot of a scream, this gameroom was unlocked. Though, I had the feeling that I was the only patron it had seen in days - almost as if I was accompanying Tom Petty & his Heartbreakers of the future as they dismounted their motorbikes to discover an abandoned warehouse amongst the wastelands – a treasure trove of fully-functioning, pre-apocalyptic video titles.


First attraction: Resting besides the entrance, we find this vintage ride, which apparently rode dangerously close to a Bozo lawsuit. Curious to see if I could carry my adult weight, I plopped in my first quarter (There were no change machines located on the premises, but, fortunately, I always keep a hearty stash for my trips to the wash-a-teria). However, the antique could not even muster a creak. Sadly, you’ll soon see that “out of order” was a prevailing theme on this expedition.


Once inside, you are greeted by three operable machines to the right. While this picture may give you a warm fuzzy feeling, keep in mind two things: They represent 75% of the total electronic entertainment one can derive from this gameroom, and I left the camera shutter open a few seconds to make use of all available light, which was very little. Overall, the room held the atmosphere of a heroine addict’s unfinished basement.


And it was chilly. On my previous two pilgrimages to the Hidden Hollow, I was mystified by the hearty fire that roared in this fireplace, given, on those visits, the valley was just as deserted. Could it have been the work of soot gnomes? Sadly, they were sound-asleep on this cold winter’s night. Couldn’t someone at least teach them how to screw in a light-bulb?


Speaking of magical creatures, here, at our showcase corner, we have a shadow-wraith at play. No, truthfully, this is my lovely human assistant. I make it a point never to enter Hidden Hollow alone. A trusty companion can cover your back in the event of a redneck ambush. She’s testing her skills with Bloody Wolf, a Contra-esque shoot-up that was fairly prevalent post-Rambo, late ‘80s and therefore, merits little mention here.


Nor did I care much for Space Duel, which was, basically, an Asteroids rip-off.


I know colorized cubes were hip back in the early ‘80s, but frankly, I prefer the rocks.


And then I tried this model, another one of the mysteries of Hidden Hollow. Minimalist in both its lack of gameplay and a title, I stared at the black void on the screen in an attempt to experience the vast emptiness of space.


Mocking me from the opposing corner was this hopelessly poignant graveyard. Spawned during the golden age of video arcades, these classics: Eagle, Pole Position, and Pac-Man had all seen brighter days. Rather than sparking electric life throughout the room as they had previously done in my childhood, they were reduced to providing storage for some rusty paint-cans, and perhaps, shelter for a family of raccoons.


Though, I could still take a nostalgic glimpse of the art displayed on Pac-Man’s side. You can tell from his expression, he had few cares. I prefer this, the odd inclusion of feet, to the Japanese version...


...which gives us a view more appropriate for a dentist or a gynecologist. Interestingly, the name was changed for the US version in the fear that many of the young arcade vandals would alter the “P” in “Puckman.” So, was there a trace of youthful fun or depravity in this room?


Clearly, nothing personifies failed potential more than this dark corner. The All-American air-hockey table could have provided a half hour of spirited competition. Yet, it was missing all the essential accessories.


The Toy N’ Joy Talking Machine remained silent. I missed hearing the encased hen’s words of wisdom – late by about 30 or 40 years.


Next, we come to the Black Pyramid pinball case. Finally, this was the heavy metal imagery I was wistfully searching for.


Bleeding skulls! Undead skeletal warriors! Menacing rats! But, alas, I could not play. I fooled you by substituting this picture that I lifted from another site.


As you can now see, with my shoddy low-light camera work, this game was disappointedly unanimated.


My final bid for death metal ambience, came from this jukebox. Are you ready to rock?!


Let’s see: Billy Joel, Journey, Alabama… I'd rather savor the soothing digitized machine-gun sounds radiating from Bloody Wolf’s speakers.

But there were a few high notes to this arcade.


First, there was the (fully-functional) third (and most obscure) entry in the Donkey Kong series – the one without Mario – featuring some humorous animations. Especially, when Stanly gets stung, and the swarm of flies convenes to devour him whole. I must say, the day a giant gorilla breaks in to create havoc in my greenhouse is the day I hang up my spray gun and retire from gardening.


Kong doesn’t like it in the ass.


And now for tonight’s starring attraction! Live from the L.A. Crate & Barrel Storage Facility - The World Championship of Boxing! And, unlike most fights, this one will be violence!


Oops, let me rephrase in night-school English: It’s The Struggle For The No. 1 Quarreler! Reckless Driver vs. General Businessman!

I rather selected the brute with the mighty man-boobs and the name to strike fear in the hearts of all heterosexual quarrelers: Lick Joe!


Here he displays his massive doughy undercarriage!


Here he enacts his signature move: The Dragon Foot Stomp!


Here he stuns his foe to the floor with his boastingly baby-talk! "GoGoo!"


He Scores (a point over)!


And it’s time for the payoff: Cold blue cash - Greed to its sweatiest extreme!


“Kill You!” Despite the positive messages, I didn’t have the patience to finish this game. I longed to return to the more placid pleasures of the Christmas lights and stuffed animals outside.


That’s better – The pristine wonders of nature. Hidden Hollow may be “A world of fun, fun, fun, fun, etc.” but its gameroom was a bust.

Video Dungeon!

The Bottom 10 Worst Music Videos of All Time

Upon being sworn in as President in 1981, one of Reagan’s first initiatives was the appointment of a committee to lift, what he considered to be, cumbersome federal regulations – most notably, standards that protected the environment. Seven months later, MTV made its first broadcast, and throughout the following eight-years under the administration, visual pollutants corrupted television screens across the nation.

MTV later aired a show counting down, what they considered to be, the worst music videos of the ‘80s – ten four-minute clips that tipped the scales of art and commerce and sent it plummeting into the trash bin. However, in a glaring example of bureaucratic oversight, they limited their research to standard, Top-40 issue from Vanilla Ice, Falco, Gerardo, etc. But if they only delved a little deeper into their archives, they could have offered a sample capable of satisfying sadists around the world.

10. Graham Nash- Innocent Eyes:
The quandary: A rift grows between John Ritter and his teenage daughter. He’s such a square. How can he win back her respect? The Solution: two tickets - Graham Nash live!

9. Joeski Love– Pee Wee Dance:
Paging Mr. Herman? Sadly, in this video, he’s a no show. In his Big Adventure, he wins the approval of a bar full of bikers with his spasmodic moves – smashing up beer mugs, which he calls “break dancing.” Here there’s an added hip-hop angle with the introduction of two rappers who, during a science fair, demonstrate the dance through a series of charts and shoddy, cut-paper animations. Though, none the attendants (not even Ice-T nor Pee Wee’s arch rival, Francis) come close to matching the style of the originator.

8. Stan Bush- The Touch:
Forever famed as that highlight of both the Boogie Nights and Transformers Movie soundtracks, Mr. Bush shows off his powerful guitar licks in front of a blue screen displaying a constant barrage of animated exploding robots.

7. Nolan Thomas- Yo Little Brother:
12-year-old Nolan’s lil’ bro is missin’. Following the trail cigarette butts and beer cans along a row of pastel-colored, cardboard buildings, he comes across a house, “…wit somethin’ goin’ on.” Through the window he spies the world’s smallest Billy Idol impersonator, accompanied by adolescent versions of Cyndi Lauper, Prince, and Ric Ocasek. Unable to convince the ragtag youths to steer from their debauched lifestyle, Nolan resigns and joins the gang as they sashay and cartwheel until the fade. Just say yeah!

6. Kim Mitchell- Go For A Soda:
In the dead of the Canadian winter, two bored teenage boys are stuck at home, making desperate phone calls in the hope to persuade a girl or two to join their impromptu party. What could have turned into a beautiful experiment in homosexuality rather turns into a magical lesson about temperance as a 6-inch Kim Mitchell jumps out of the television and sings about how cola, not booze, will quench one’s thirst for love. The mischievous imp then leads one of the boys to the kitchen where he finds a band of tiny holograms rockin in the refrigerator. After another chorus, they all spin, turning into cans of soda. The boy is so won over by the song he chugs the drummer, and then, the corn syrup rushing to his head, finishes the video in a hyperactive barrage of sugar-fueled dance moves.

5. Grim Reaper- Fear No Evil:
The evil Grim Reaper (the traditional, skull-faced, bringer of death) enslaves a tribe of young metal fans. Imprisoned within his medieval castle, the oppressed orphans toil behind his wheels of pain, (at least he let them keep their souvenir T-shirts). Roused by their portly, torch-wielding lead singer, the good Grim Reaper (that is, the band) stages a rescue mission – a mad maxed-out amphibious assault upon the fortress of fear. Once inside they are faced with the dark one’s henchman, Anubis. The guitarist confronts this dog-faced foe in gladiatorial-style combat – ax against ax. The severe solo causes Anubis to slump to his knees with chest pains. The children of rock are freed and, united with their liberators, face their nefarious captor within his throne room. The black reaper wisely decides not to use his scythe against the courageous flesh army that stands before him, they chanting, “Fear no evil!” whilst excessively shaking their fists. He withdrawals into the alternate dimension from which he came. Long live the metal warriors!

4. Stevie Klien and the U.S. Freestyle Ski Team- Let’s Sweat!:
Stevie may be a lowly David Hasselhoff impersonator, but he hangs with the hippest team at the 1988 Calgary Winter Olympics. “Freestyle” suggests an unconventional approach towards winter sports, and, as implied by this video, that includes a radical hybrid of downhill skiing and rock guitar. Nor does it appear, while competing, that they always wear jackets - a T-shirt and a pair of florescent jams suffice. Why? Stevie gives a clue, singing about one particular member, a special girl who touched his heart, “She works real hard / Yeah, she’s got her dreams / When she’s working she gets REAL HOT / Yeah, she’s sweating steam!.”

3. The Malibu Girls- Goin Crusin:
This video leads me to question the nature of reality vs. perception. For one, I suspect one of the members of the “Malibu Girls” group is a guy. Though, with his red-leather vest and herky-jerky dance moves, he’s obviously a very sexy (or lucky) dude, and he suggestively plays his plastic toy saxophone while the blonde singer urges him to, “Shift me into overdrive! Don’t run out of gas!” The other two members take their turns frolicking with him on the beach. Wait. Have I been fooled by some old Hollywood magic? That’s not a beach, but a set, and my hero can’t seem to fit his red corvette into the tiny studio (a metaphor predating Prince?). The girls run to the gray skies and industrial smokestacks of the outdoors for a final chorus in the convertible with two shadowy figures, in the distant background, hunched over in coats. These girls have not shown me California, but, rather, the California of my dreams.

2. Caspar McCloud- Talk To Me (Your Body Speaks My Language):
Caspar (imagine Bud Bundy with Rod Stewart hair), the lonely artist, is moping by his easel - obviously in a need of some Saturday night action, when he’s visited by a glowing spacecraft, which grants him a magical skullcap, which appears to have been lifted from a SNL Coneheads skit. He’s transported to a disco heaven where people from all cultures of the world, including Indian chieftains and deer-costumed furry freaks, can dance together on an interstellar plain of love and equality. All this boogie fever is intercut, ironically, with random doom and gloom images from Hieronymus Bosch paintings. Caspar’s little secret (which he saves until the end): he has an entire closet full of coneheads. Pondering the limitless possibilities, he gives the camera an unsettling, maniacal smile.

1. Tim Curry– Anything Can Happen On Halloween:
But what’s even more dirturbing is the Cheshire Cat-like grin that the caped Curry makes over his bat-shaped bowtie as he sings “It’s better than a video!” Though, after watching this haunting musical number from the (supposed) children’s film, The Worst Witch, I can’t imagine anything worse. I seriously doubt if it ever aired on MTV, but its mockery of the artform earns it a special place on this list – along with a warning. He has cast a black spell upon my conciousness, bombarding me with nightmarishing visions I fear I may never be able to shake. "Anything can happen on Halloween," he croons. "A dog can turn into a cat." But I now imagine something much much more horrifying: While I sleep, my cat slinking into my bed and turning into a Tim Curry. Applying the cheapest digital/magical effects of 1986, he climaxes with a brazen display of insanity, shouting “Your teacher could become a sardine! Has anybody seen my tamborine?” before sighing a (hopefully) faked orgasm, while his hair turns green, and he disentigrates in front of stock footage of skulls, insects, and exploding fireworks. Admist the chaos, I’m reminded of of another video from the same year, Genesis’s Land Of Confusion, which ended with a puppet of Ronald Regan pushing a red-button labeled “Nuke.” Yes, even the final vision of an atomic blast seems more reassuring.

We Are Hungry Men!

When I was a child, I asked my father if there were any singers that he didn’t like. After some thought, he replied, “I like almost all music… except David Bowie.” I was stricken with guilt by this statement. Mr. Bowie was my friend. Unbeknownst to my father, I had met him, though only once. He came to my Cub Scout den to strum his wooden guitar and sing Christmas songs, earning us an extra gold arrow point. My father is often too quick to judge others by their appearance. On this day, Mr. Bowie wasn’t wearing those scary, spacey/silvery tights (his bulge wasn’t on display) and his hair wasn’t rebelliously spiked. He was wearing a conservative, rainbow striped sweater and a matching scarf. I asked him if he watched Danger Mouse. “Yes, Danger Mouse is very popular in England.” Then, before waving goodbye, he gave me a warm hug, “You are the best behaved little Cub Scout that I have ever met.” I felt the soft wool sweater against my cheek, and he handed me his scarf. “This was woven by the laughing frost gnomes of the North. It’s magic, but you can only use it once.” I have kept it for twenty years, that is, until last night.

You see, I made a snowman, and, to complete the cliché, I wrapped the scarf around his icy neck. Then I went inside to finish off my Red Baron thin crust-supreme pizza. Within minutes, he was making these irritating scraping noises at my front door with his twig hands. I answered in a huff. “What you want?” His mouth of stones turned downward, he pointed at the pizza crust in my hand. “Sorry Frosty, you’re too fucking late!” Icicles began to stream from his eyes. I gained a little sympathy. “Look, I’m out of food.” If only I hadn’t gorged myself on the coffee cakes the night before. Then I remembered that Shoney’s offers an all-you-can eat soup, salad, and vegetable bar for $4.99. So, I threw him in the trunk. Things were fine until he ate the cabbage n’ beef soup. He started melting, and, to my horror, I saw what was hidden underneath the snowy flesh. It was a wet little boy, wearing a Cub Scout uniform with about nine arrow points. And there was something devilish – the intensity of his red hair, the smirk across his unsightly freckled face, and the $4.99 that I had just blown that infuriated me. “Get out! Get the fuck outta this fine family dining establishment!” He laughed, obscenely displaying the cabbage mush in this mouth, and ran out the door. I sat alone for a minute, considering grabbing a bowl for myself, before sadly recalling that the Shoney Bear decrees, “From my bar, there shall be no sharing.” But then an even more scorching revelation crossed my mind. My scarf! That little, thieving bastard!

Be A Winner!

I could use an employment councilor, or maybe I should become one. Then unemployment would be more ironic, a witticism to apply to that initial "What do you do?" question. Or perhaps I should invest in a Milton Bradley game of Life. I'm sure it's more effective than an ouija board / interest test. I could use my skills to help friends and family, and then bill friends and family.