(My Boss) Paul’s Top Five List… 80’s Toy Commercial Songs

It’s about that time for another list from my boss, and long time on-again, off-again friend, Paul.  How do I know it’s time?  Because he told me so.

Top 5 80’s Toy Commercial Songs (Non-TV Show)

5) Madballs – Freaky fun for everyone.  I had one or two of these. [I had the mummy one.  I also collected the comics. Why they had a comic is beyond me.  Why I collected them is even farther out. – Ed.]

4) Toys R Us– Just like the song said… I didn’t want to grow up, either.  Some people, like this blog’s owner, never have.  [Damn skippy. – Ed.]

3) Skip It – A shoddy toy, but a cool song. [The counter on the ball is analog.  Totally worth watching the vid simply for that. – Ed.]

2) Lego – Like Zack, we were all Lego Maniacs back in the 80’s.  [Since I’ve never grown up, I’m still a Lego Maniac.  – Ed.]

1) My Buddy – My brother, Bert, had one.  Not sure what happened to it.  Not a big fan of the toy, but the song is so catchy that I find myself singing it to my two year old son, Logan.  I call him “my buddy.”  Pause for the awwwws[My eyes are still rolling which makes it tough to type. – Ed.]

Okay, for the real one, click here.

Happy Find… Michael Jackson Auction Items

This bit of info is about as late as my mail usually is (curse you enemy couriers!), but Mr. Moonwalk himself, Michael Jackson, recently hosted an auction of his fabulous stuff in Beverly Hills

Scratch that: he charged people $20 a (king of) pop to look at all his crazy shit, and then up and cancelled the auction.  But not before Lindy West of Slog (or should I say, of The Stranger?) was able to get in and snap a few pics.

Some highlights (not the magazine for children, though I’m sure MJ had a subscription):

Who drew this? That kid my eighth grade class that always doodled Garfield, Q-Bert, and ALF? (In other words - me.)

Who drew this? That kid in grade school that always doodled Garfield, Q-Bert, and ALF? (In other words - me.)

Creepy doesn't begin to explain this thing.

Creepy doesn't even begin to explain this thing...

Creepy definitely is a good start here.

Creepy is definitely a good start here...

Click on the links above the photos for even more insanity.

 (Thanks Veness)

JusWondering… Which Celeb Site Is The Worst?

I like blogging. 
I like reading other people’s blogs. 
Most of the blogs I read are about celebrities.
Therefore, celebrities do not need to have blogs.

But oh they do.  I was searching around for some bad ones, and though I’m sure there are more, these were some of the highlights of what I found.  Let me know what you think.

Goop by Gwyneth Paltrow

goop1

On the surface, it may seem understated, but inside, it’s pretentious goop all over the place.  Like this dress up Gwyneth section, or talk about her travels with her dad, Bruce, that seem kinda creepy.

Kim Kardashian

kimkar

From one of the fakest women in the world comes one of the fakest blehgs in the world.  Wanna see Kim look like she’s been visited by Madame Tussauds?  Or if she was a Real Doll?  Then her site’s full of pics like this:

kimkarwax

Melanie Griffith

melgrifmagicdoor

My vote for the winner is Melanie Griffith’s site.  Not only does it seem abandoned, but it also includes the Magic Door, as seen above.

For the full experience, turn up your speakers and click here.

Coast-To-Coast Snug Job A No-Go

How’s that for a headline?  Can’t you just hear the newsies singing screaming that one?  As it turns out, two weekends ago I went to NYC for a Snuggie Pub Crawl (and also met a friend).  This weekend, I went to Seattle to visit a friend… and almost went on a Snuggie Pub Crawl! 

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"Pub Crawl or Bust!" - soon to be printed on the front of my Snuggie

Alas, my travelling compadres on this latest sojourn weren’t too keen on picking up some “Slankets” (as they were referred to on last week’s 30 Rock), and we opted for traditional bar hopping, which was just as well.  Albeit Seattle was a tad cooler than New York the week prior (making “blankets with sleeves” more comfy), which is ironic, because NYC is simply ‘cooler.’  No offense, Seattle, but no other city can compete.

SIDENOTE: Whenever I use the word ironic, I’m always afraid I’ll pull an Alanis.  Am I alone in regard to this ‘worry?’

BONUS SIDENOTE: I’d say the biggest difference between the East and West Coasts (or at least New York and Seattle) is what follows the prefix hip-… Do you prefer –sters or –pies?

Anywashington, the trip was a great time.  To conserve my energy, which is a euphemism for I’m feeling lazy today, here are some pics I took with explanatory captions.

Happy Find… House Vs. House… U.S. Vs. Japan… Guess Who Wins?

Just watch the previews for these, and comment on which one is best. 

Can The Greatest American Hero be defeated? 

If you answered yes, then I’m sure you’ll watch the second clip again and again and again and again…

If you need more (and you will), click here and here.

(via Bonniegrrl)

The NYC Saga Prequels

The NYC highlights are finito, so now I shall present the problems that almost made the trip impossible.  And to keep up the nerdery spirit, I present them as… the Star Wars prequels, because they’re just as shitty.

EPISODE I
THE FENDER MENACE

To keep it short – I was going to drive my car to New York.  It’s a bit newer than Steve’s car, and it gets better mileage.  On the why to get its brakes checked, an accident occurred that smashed my radiator (and my front fender and headlights).  So much for that…

EPISODE II
ATTACK OF THE PLANS

I’m not sure on all the details, but Steve was on a business trip for the first half of the week.  He was supposed to get back Wednesday (we were leaving Thursday).  Then his job needed him to stay a bit longer.  Then his flights were delayed.  Then his layovers were lengthened.  He made it back barely in time for our night soccer game.  He didn’t get to get the oil and tires on his car checked, like he hoped.  So much for that…

Oh yeah, so that, plus I woke up at 6am on Thursday, hoping to get home early from work in order to nap before soccer.  But instead, a client’s computer blew up on me and it consumed – no, devoured – my day.  I was at the office until 8pm trying to fix it, and to print out all the maps and instructions for our trip.  So much for that…

EPISODE III
REVENGE OF THE SPECTRAL FOX

On the drive to the Big Apple from the Motor City, I was wired.  Steve slept a bit for the first part.  Around 5am, I drank one of those 5-hour energy boosters, and Steve woke up to talk.  All of the sudden, I hit the breaks.  I thought an animal ran in front of the car.  It wasn’t until the shock of it all settled in that I could describe it.

A small red shadowy smokey spectral creature, like a fox, rushed into the road, looked at me, then darted back to the brush.

Needless to say, at the next exit, we switched.  So much for that…

(Not So) Artisitic Representation

(Not So) Artistic Representation

So what’s next?  Perhaps this:

Drunken Recollection… Return Of The Hangover

On the taxi ride from Tom’s Restaurant back to East Village, Steve passed out quickly, and not soon after, I followed suit.  Tim bid us farewell, and I remained awake for our ride back to Midtown.  The taxi that narrowly missed crashing into the backseat where I was sitting probably helped…

EPISODE VI
RETURN OF THE HANGOVER

Upon reaching our final destination without reaching the final destination, Steve decided he wanted some more food.  I think I agreed.  We remembered seeing a Taco Bell on our way to the pizzeria the day before, so we ambled forth in search of late night seasoned beef and cheese and tortillas and rice…

The next morning, after awakening in our dirty Snuggies, we tried recalling the run for the border.  We remembered that it was more like a regular deli that had a Taco Bell in the back.  The Taco Bell was closed, yet the front remained in business.  Weird.  Steve didn’t think he purchased any food, and I cannot confirm or deny that fact, but I do know he inquired about it.

Steve – “How much for pizza?”

Worker – “$3.50 a slice.”

Steve – “I’ll give you three for a half.”

The rest is fuzzy, and so was Steve.  He wasn’t feeling too hot on the morning of our ride home, whereas this time, I felt fine.  Upon learning of my faux pas regarding the hot dog joint/secret bar, we made the decision to seek it out properly before leaving.  We had to know if it truly did exist.

So on the way to the subway station at Times Square, we stopped at this place to get cupcakes:

"No doubt that bakery’s got all da bomb frostins/ I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling." RIP "The Notebook" Love

"No doubt that bakery’s got all da bomb frostins/ I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling." RIP "The Notebook" Love

While outside enjoying “da bomb frostins,” we bore witness to a scene straight out of Police Academy.  A short cop was surrounded by tall European women,  in their late teens to mid-twenties (with an elder or two over-seeing them), and he was posing for pictures with them. 

There were well over a dozen of them (a baker’s dozen?), and he had to make sure there was variety in his stylings.  When Steve and I walked into Magnolia, he was letting them put on his hat and hold his night stick.  When we were eating, he was fastening handcuffs on one of the girls.  I just imagined that if he was called for an emergency, he’d leave her behind locked up.

From there, we took the subway to Union Square, and met up with Tim and Mike again.  Tim was excited and had this to say:

I’ve finally made a union with someone at Union Square.

Anyhotdog, our final mission before leaving NYC was to locate this secret bar.  It was not far from our point of departure the night before, and here’s what we found:

Not too be confused with Mark's Place.

Not too be confused with Mark's Place.

Once inside, I stared at the counter of the narrow establishment seeking out the phone booth that would lead us to the bar called P.D.T. (Please Don’t Tell).  I turned left, and there it was:

Get Smart... or Superman?

Get Smart... or Superman?

I pushed open the door, and the guy behind the counter told me it didn’t open until six.  Bummer city.

Lift the receiver and wait for approval to enter the secret bar.

Lift the receiver and wait for approval to enter the secret bar.

We ordered some dogs.  I had mine made Seattle-style, in honor of this upcoming weekend’s trip.  (It’s cream cheese on a hot dog in a bun.)  From there, we made our way back to Madison Square Garden and Penn Station.  And from there back to Newark, and then back

toward 

home.

*sniff*

Drunken Recollection… The Empire Snuggies Back

In the middle of the night, a strange cough – that sounded distinctly male – startled me awake.  I was passed out in a queen-size bed with my cousin Steve.  We were in a hotel in New York City recovering from a long day of travelling and a longer night of drinking. 

…And we were each wearing a Snuggie.

 

EPISODE V
THE EMPIRE SNUGGIES BACK

The pub crawl on which the trip was focused was starting at noon.  It was ten when we started moving.  Steve kept mentioning how well he felt; I kept quiet about how much I was not.  We had set our sights on getting back to East Village by noon, but our first mission was to stop at the store to buy a vital item.

Steve called them safety pins; I referred to them as diaper pins.  Steve thought we could find them at Staples; I thought that was funny.  To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they were still made.  Was there a need for diaper pins anymore?  (Safety pins?  Maybe.)  And why did we need them?  We each had grown fond of our Snuggies and didn’t want to ruin them.  (Oh, and we ended up finding some at Walgreen’s.  They weren’t by the baby supplies, but amazingly, condoms were.  Hmm.)

We had a plan to carry the three Snuggies we possessed in a backpack, and to don them as required (the third was Mike’s – another friend that was coming in from DC for his birthday).  It was New York though, and we probably could have worn them the entire way from Midtown, but… well, I don’t have a clever excuse.  I guess we weren’t 100% convinced the Snuggie Pub Crawl was real, and didn’t want to be left out in the cold heat (it was such a nice day… 70+ degrees).

Our first stop was the sign-up location.  We had purchased four tickets in advance (even though we thought it might not be real we used credit card information on the web… go figure), and on the train ride over, Steve verified the first bar stop on those four tickets.  When we arrived at the sign-up, Steve checked his pockets.

“I have some bad news.”  Apparently, somewhere between checking them on the subway and walking to this bar, the printed up sheets fell out and blew away.  We weighed our options.  We thought of alternatives.  They guy told us we needed tickets, and we didn’t want to have to purchase them again.  Luckily, he accepted viewing the receipts on my iPhone, gave us four tickets and four cups (Tim from Episode IV would be also joining us), and we arrived at our first official spot:

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Now properly attired in our blankets with sleeves and with full crew in tow, the drinking began.  The three of them were off in a mad dash, but I was limping.  Mike put it best:

The days that start off slow very often end in a hurry.

Now I’ll let some pictures do the talking.

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Needless to say – some drinks were poured, some drinks were spilled, some conversation was had, and the Yankees got blown out by the Indians!  All-in-all, the crawl was a success.  But the night was not yet finished…

———————————————————————–

Over the course of the day, I had received information about a secret place.  The specifications were these:

  • It was a hot dog joint in Manhattan.
  • This hot dog joint had a “secret bar” located within it.
  • To access this “secret bar” you had to enter a phone booth and pick up the receiver to enter.
  • The location I was texted stated: 113 St Marks Pl

Here’s where my hubris caused an issue (and maybe drinking… maybe).  I thought I understood the lay the island, and I took the location to mean “113 St. @ Marks Place”… not what it said.  And the little torn brochure map I carried with me cut off around 110 St. at the the top, so how could I be wrong?  Birthday boy Mike passed out at Tim’s place (near East Village), and Steve, Tim, and I made our drunken way out to the fictional 113 St. and Marks Place.

The taxi driver didn’t even correct us, and brought us to 113 St. and Broadway, way up on the west end.  As I approached the waterfront, I stumbled into a closing bakery.

“Excuse me, do you know where Marks Place is?”

The confused baker answered, “He probably lives down by the river.”

As we brewed and stewed and reviewed my mistake, something caught my eye down the road.  It wasn’t a wasted trip after all!  This is where we had a late night burger before returning to home base (to pass out in our dirty Snuggies in a queen-size bed):

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"Doo doo doo doo, doo doo-doo-doo..." - Suzanne Vega / "Tippy toes, tippy toes, tippy toes!" - George Costanza