Karmann Ghia

Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for sometime in my callow youth---

Go on... pull my paw and I'll show you what the middle ages smelled like.

---back in the Midwest, in a small Illinois town of about six thousand, right in the middle of farm country. And there I was, in High School trying to figure it all out. Okay, not really. I wasn't trying to figure anything out except for maybe girls, but as I've learned nobody understands them. However, being male and a teenager in the Midwest I was also into cars. My first car was a gold '67 Chevy Caprice Classic (a high-end Chevy Impala), that was a hand-me-down from my Grandparents.

Hellooooo Goldie!

That Chevy was one sweet ride. It was in mint condition. Big engine, tons of power, bench seats... ah, what a road machine. Perfect date car too. But alas, the Caprice was not to be mine for long. After I'd been driving the Caprice for about a year, that was when my younger brother was starting to drive and my parents felt that since the Caprice was an automatic that it would easier and safer for him to drive while I drove something else. I was not happy about this at all, but I had no choice. Of course whatever I'd be driving next would be newer, safer, and a better car than this old Chevy. Ah... no it wasn't.

It was a rusty, '73 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia that my dad paid $200 for. Yeah, that's a FAIR trade.

Dad figured the Karman Ghia would be a good "beater car" for me to learn how to drive a stick-shift. In retrospect he was right, because ever since I've only owned manual transmission cars and I like driving a stick.

Sadly I have no "before" pictures of the Karmann Ghia when I first was given it. It was green (where there wasn't rust) with a white hard-top - no heat and no air-conditioning either. It took me a few weeks to get the hang of changing gears, but once I was comfortable with driving, the Ghia was a ton of fun to zip around in.

Factoid: The plate was the title of the first
ill-fated attempt at doing a sequel to the movie "2001"

Being an old Volkswagen, this car also required plenty of "special attention". I replaced at least two starter motors, several fuel pumps, one generator, etc. It was always in need of work. But I loved that little car dearly.

One day I noticed a large pile of leafy tree branches stacked near the street where the city had done some trimming. This gave me an idea. I grabbed some twine, picked up the branches and tied them all over the outside of the Ghia (took me most of the afternoon to complete). Once I was done, the Ghia was unrecognizable as a car and looked like a big bush. My friend Greg had stopped by and he was amused by what I'd done, so we decided to take her out for a drive. It was difficult seeing through the window, but I was able to see enough to navigate the street, so we headed off through town. Thinking back on this now, I guess it was kinda' irresponsible, but I was a teen - in my defense I wasn't racing through the streets, I was lumbering along at the pace of a parade float. A motorcade of drunken Shriners could have easily passed us.

Nobody drives shrubbery in our town and gets away with it!

Greg and I drove around for about a half-hour before the inevitable happened, we got pulled over by a cop. He was totally cool, and amused by what we'd done, but he said we had to get it off the road or he'd give me a ticket since my plates and tail lights were not visible. Otherwise he said it really didn't pose a threat, but he didn't condone driving a vehicle covered in branches. The cop allowed me to drive the car back to my house. He followed along behind then watched us remove the branches from the car. Once he saw how rusty the old Ghia was he said he could understand why I'd want to cover it up.

This whole experience gave me an idea - why not paint over the rust.?.. and if I'm going to paint the car, let's make it camouflage - inspired by the tree branches of course. And by paint, I mean just that - with a bucket and a brush. I had no cash for any fancy-ass paint job. So I ran to Farm and Fleet (local farming goods store - Walmart type of place).

Everything we sell is made right ch'er in America!
'Cept for that which is made in China... and that's most everything.

I got some tractor paint and brushes and went to town on the Ghia.

Painting inspired me to do more work to the car. Another trip to Farm and Fleet netted me some running lights that go on semi-trailer trucks... so I wired up the Ghia for lights, putting them along the sides. Then I added amber lights to the front, and blue lights inside the nose grills.

Strangely, everything in the interior could only be seen in black and white.
Must be a German thing.

All of these lights were on their own switches so I could control them. The Ghia had been missing a radio, so I just used the open hole in the dashboard to put the switch box for the lights. I mounted an under-dash stereo to make up for the missing radio.

Launch control, we're ready for lift off.

And then I got my hands on some carpet pieces and shagged out the inside of the car. In order to make sure the carpet stayed in nice n' snug, I used bolts with big washers to hold it in place on the floor. So this took some drilling, and was a lot of work, but I didn't want the pieces to come unglued while I was driving. Finally the Ghia was all tricked out and ready to go.

Green on the outside... fuzzy on the inside! Like my underwear.

But after my first fill-up I could smell gas inside the car. Turns out that when I was drilling the holes for the carpet bolts, I accidentally drilled into the gas tank (it's in the front of the car). Considering that the gas tank wasn't full of fuel when I was drilling, but instead full of dangerous fumes, I was extremely lucky that I didn't cause a spark while drilling, because---

Ground control to Major Tom... you're majorly screwed!

--- that gas tank probably would have exploded. So I ended up having to pull out the gas tank and patch up the hole. Once this was done, the Ghia was at last ready to roll!

Highway to the danger zone BABY!

Man, I had a blast in that car. My friends and I would pile in and drive all over the place. Being a small town in the middle of nowhere there wasn't anything to do so we'd "shoot the loop", which is just another way of saying we'd go cruising. That was BIG fun back in small town Illinois.

Amazingly, I got a ton of use out of that little Karmann Ghia, I drove it my senior year in high school and my first three years of college. Remember, that the car had no air conditioning or heat. In the winter I'd have to bundle up. I recall leaving to head back to the University of Iowa after Christmas break. Mom made me a thermos of cocoa for the trip and in addition to all my winter wear, I was wrapped up in a sleeping bag too, all squeezed into that little drafty car. The things you do when you're a poor college student.

I ran out of relevant pictures for this post,
but I found this nifty picture of a cat in a space suit! Ain't it neat?

The Ghia was always having problems, and despite this I still loved the car. At one point the starter motor went out for a second (or maybe third) time. I didn't have the money to get a rebuilt one to replace it, so I had to drive it without a starter motor... which you can do with a manual transmission car. What you have to do is, put the car in neutral, then push it to get it rolling. Once you've got a decent amount of speed, you jump in the car before it can stop, press down the clutch, slam the stick into 2nd gear and then let out the clutch. This will cause the engine to turn and consequently start. I drove this car for two semesters having to start it in this manner. I got good at it too. I started parking creatively, pointed down hills and such so I'd have an easy starting roll.

See what I mean? No more pictures.

My junior year at the University of Iowa was when I said good-bye to the Ghia. I was living in a house just off campus with five of my buddies (all of us crammed into a tiny house). Tom Grant, one of my roommates asked if I'd consider selling the Ghia. I thought about it, and said that I might. He said he didn't have much money but offered me $250 cash.

Sold!

And I made $50 more than my dad had paid for it. Ha take that!

Listing all the troubles I had with this car, you'd think that this would have put me off Volkswagen's - not at all. My next vehicle was a '77 VW Bus. And THAT was a hell of lot of fun to drive.... and "no", I didn't paint it camouflage.

Fun Factory!

For the past six months I've been working on a job that never gives me any down-time, or so it seems. Add into the mix that it's been a supremely frustrating experience and that I work at home, and you can see why I get a little batty week after week. Well, this past week was lighter than most and consequently allowed for some free time over the weekend. So Emily and I decided to hit the beach, just to hang out and relax. We headed down to Redondo Beach and while walking around the pier we encountered this:

Watch it! That clown's gotta gun!

The Redondo Beach Fun Factory is an indoor arcade on the boardwalk, it looked like it might be good for some cheesy fun, after all the word "Fun" is in the name of the place. I mean, there's no way this place could be filled with creepy, frightening creatures that would give children nightmares. Wanna bet?

I remember these characters from the book of Revelations...

The "Fun Factory" was filled with all sorts of video games, carnival games, and lots of creepy characters who were no doubt at one time supposed to amuse and delight little children... Children of the Corn perhaps, but to any other kids?... these things had to be spontaneous diaper-fillers! The place had old arcade games, carnival games of chance there was even a Tilt-a-Whirl.

Teddy was hung by the neck to serve as a warning to kids
to keep heads and arms inside the ride, or suffer his same fate.

Emily did find one of her favorite all-time arcade games - Skeeball!

Just to keep things interesting, I'm rolling ripe avocados!

Emily's a shark at Skeeball and she racked up a lot of tickets. I was playing at the machine next to her and couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to come close to her score. Then I discovered that my machine was only giving me 7 balls, not 9 as promised. Skeeball bastards screwed me out my tickets!

Then we came across this-- one of the original "Pong" games. Man, this thing was a piece of ancient history, but it still worked.

Last time I played this, I had hair! Take THAT Wii!

After the excitement from this mish-mash of arcade amusement started to wear off, we looked around and noticed how truly unnerving some of the rides and games were. Like this clown seesaw.

Don't mind me, I'll just be starring at your crotch the whole time.

There was a really disturbing Donald Duck ride. Clearly it's meant to be Donald Duck, but it's been given a bizarre paint-job to probably off-set any legal actions from the Disney Company. But the end effect is one of a drugged out Donald just waiting to take your kids away on a magical journey.

Duuuuuude... I'm sorta' freakin' out here...

And then we came across one of the more unsettling items. A coin-operated puppet show filled with characters that looked like some macabre mortician's fetish cabinet.

For our next number... we eat the chipmunk!

Emily found a vending machine from her childhood and couldn't wait to give it a try. It was a Flintstones-themed machine that you put 25¢ in and get a plastic egg with a toy prize inside.

Fun is just a quarter away!

But a closer look at the machine's window and what it said was unsettling...

Translation: "Hey kids! These came outta' my butt!"

Okay... so dinosaurs laid eggs. I got no problem with that, but it was the female dinosaurs, NOT the males (as far as I know). So what are these "eggs", where are they coming from, and why isn't someone stopping it?

But Emily was braver than I and ventured forth into the steaming pile of Dino "eggs" and what did she find? A purple reindeer finger puppet! Who knew the Fun Factory would deliver such delights?!

Hey guys... I... I can't feel anything below my neck! Guys?!

Before we left the Fun Factory we had to stop at the prize counter, cash in our tickets and see what treasures we had won! Could it be one of two racially insensitive Native American statues?

Chief WoodenFeathers on the right is yours for 3000 tickets! Or $750 cash.

The prize counter had a confusing ticket vs. tokens exchange rate towards credits, so despite the 70 or so tickets Emily had won playing Skeeball, it only amounted to 5 credits and consequently left our choices limited. We got a lizard.

I could help you redo your floor, I am a repTILE after all.

After winning a rubber lizard and a purple reindeer finger puppet, we bade farewell to the Fun Factory and dragged our chairs to the beach to catch the last of the afternoon sun.

It was a gorgeous day at the beach. A little too cool to get in the water, but nice for just sitting in a beach chair and dozing. Very few people around. It was quiet and relaxing... until the seagulls showed up.

Moments before we were descended upon by about 50 hungry seagulls. Seriously.

Fortunately we did not have any food with us, otherwise the air strike of oceanic birds would have pecked us to death. They quickly moved on and left us alone. Secretly I think they were after Purple Reindeer, whom we were able to safely smuggle out of Redondo and to freedom in the San Fernando Valley. I'm sure he'll be writing a book about his harrowing experience very soon.

The Dal Rae

Every month or two, some of my buddies and I have a "guy's night out", which means booze and steak and more booze. Our culinary outings have delved into some of the older dining establishments around the LA area. I guess a lot of folks would consider these places "old man" restaurants. They're not trendy or hip, but they are kitschy locations that used be called "supper clubs" back in the 50's. There are not many of them left, but the nice thing about dinner spots like these is good service and excellent food (generally). Our most recent outing had our meager group of meat-eaters headed into the bowels of Pico Rivera to the Dal Rae.

In case there's any doubt as to what goes on inside, the word "Restaurant" is plainly visible.

You can almost smell the pipe tobacco, vodka martinis and sheer manliness.

The place didn't look like much on the outside, but it clearly had that post-war atomic-age feel. Like most things in LA it was in a crappy area... but not too crappy... but sort of a "been there for a long-time" type of crappy as opposed to "there's gangs everywhere trying to kill us and oh God I hope we don't get pulled over by the cops because they'll beat anyone in this neighborhood" type of crappy. Los Angeles has a lot of layers to its crap, you just have to know which layer you're in--- and dress appropriately.

Wait a second... I feel like I'm in "Goodfellas"...
please don't go Joe Pesci on my ass!

It's cliché to say that walking through the door was like stepping back in time, but suck it up, cuz that's exactly what it was like. You could smell the steak and seafood being cooked in butter. The hostess, bartenders and wait staff were all adults, which was a refreshing change to see. There were NO disinterested 20-nothings slouching about, in positions of authority but unwilling to do anything, hating their jobs, not caring if they waited on us or not. For a change we were treated like customers, like a valuable part of this establishment's business and not a burden to emo-boy or attitude-girl who refuse to make eye-contact with anyone over thirty.

Aw, crap. I'm bitching like an old coot... that's better than cooting like an old bitch I guess.

The main dining room was large with wood paneling and big tuck n' roll leather booths. The room had just the right mood lighting under which to have a cocktail and discuss Sputnik, JFK, and the prospect of flying cars -- fueled by atomic power of course.

Hey why does THAT olive get its own pool?

The Dal Rae is one of those places where they bring you a chilled relish tray right off the bat and then take your "cocktail order". Seems a little hokey by today's standards I suppose... a dish of ice with veggies and pickled curiosities on top... but it was nice, and a tasty compliment to my before-dinner drink.

Ummmm... I guess I'll have the meat.

The wedge salad wasn't really a "wedge" nor did it appear to be much of a "salad". The carrot and tomato seemed like an afterthought at best.. in fact, the whole thing looked like Raymond Burr had attempted to eat a head of lettuce in two bites while on the run, and then in a fit of bile-spewing fury horked it all back up onto a chilled plate. BUT... despite its appearance, the salad (and especially the blue cheese dressing) were EXCELLENT!

And then the main course came...

You're looking a little crabby this evening.

The Dal Rae is a steak joint, it's known for its pepper steak. I ordered surf n' turf. A pepper steak fillet and crab legs. Well... truth be told, the Dal Rae screwed up my order and brought me a standard fillet rather than the pepper steak... but I didn't care. The meal was perfect! The steak was outstanding and the crab legs were beautiful... they even came split so I didn't have to fight to eat them. This was one of the BEST meals I've ever had. Not a HEALTHY meal at all. This was one of those artery-clogging gastronomical orgies your doctor warns you about. Throw in a couple of glasses of wine, and BAM - it doesn't get much better than this.

But wait... there's still dessert. What?... but I didn't save room! We couldn't leave without trying the Bananas Flambé.

Hey... wait a second... Flambé is just a sissy word for fire!

They came right to our table. Set up a little stove, dumped sugar, butter, bananas, and rum into a pan and set it on fire. Who knew a desert without chocolate could be so good?! There might have been some peaches or something else thrown in there as well. I was finishing all this off with a great glass of port. At this point I was the Dal Rae's bitch and loving all that she could dish out.

I can't wait to go back for more abuse.

CURSE YOU CUISINART!!!

We have a little wine cellar where we keep our older, more expensive wines. You know, the ones you want to put in a safe place so that you can enjoy them as they get better with age. It's a way to protect your investment in over-priced grape juice.

We had a nice, but small collection of wines that we have been acquiring and saving to drink on future occasions: some beautiful '95 cabs, pinots, and some awesome blends... all just waiting to be popped open and enjoyed. Notice I used the word "had" at the start of this paragraph. Because this little guy that you see below...

You can trust me, honest!

...betrayed us. Oh sure, it promised to preserve our wine and keep it in peak drinking condition until that right moment when we were ready to grab a bottle, chase the raccoons and possums off the porch and fill our Dixie cups; guzzling the devil's sweat like back-alley Baptists at a pot-luck hog roast. But that was not to be. Oh no. The Cuisinart had plans of its own. Evil plans.

The other night I decided it was time to partake of one of the '95 Beauliu Rutherford Cabernet Sauvignon's I'd been saving for close to 10 years. I was confident that it was safely stored inside our little cellar. Reaching into the cellar, I expected to feel a nice cool 55º temp that the wine was to be stored at, instead I felt this:

Did you want that '97 meritage baked or broiled?

It was like an OVEN! That's not an exaggeration. The bottles were nearly as warm as a hot cup of coffee. One bottle even had the wine bubble out through the cork. I pulled all the bottles out, each one seemed hotter than the next. Needless to say all the wine was destroyed. We would have been better off sticking them in the cupboard instead of keeping them in this hellmouth. But we wanted the security of putting them someplace made to store wine... except, the Cuisinart did the OPPOSITE! It's like hiring a babysitter to watch your children, only when you return home after the movie you find out that she cooked and ate your kids--- and there's not even any leftovers. Damn!

Well, it looks like we're back to drinking ink until we can get more wine.

Conservatively I'd say that about $700 worth of wine was destroyed... possibly closer to a grand. Dunno what happened. The thermostat must have broke or something because the unit's not designed to go much over 65º. Probably an example of great Chinese craftsmanship at work.

Oh, there is a warranty. But it only covers repairs to the wine cellar, nothing for the contents. Like we're going get this easy-bake vino-roaster repaired. It's goin' in the trash with all the wine it ruined.

So sad... so very, very sad...

Cheetah Girls Premiere

Oh man, it's been a loooooong time since I've posted to this blog. I've been busy with work (which is good), mostly battling French and Italian producers and broadcasters overseas on one (very frustrating) project that's taken up most of my days and nights, while at the same time writing another Care Bears feature film and a Care Bears DVD... but those are topics for posts yet to come. I dunno if one can actually digress before starting their topic, but I think I just did.

Anyway...

Emily, who works at Disney (my former employer) had tickets to the "world premiere" of The Cheetah Girls: One World which took place last night in Hollywood. To say I was less than thrilled at the prospect of attending this event would be an understatement - but it promised to be a big "Hollywood" type blow-out. Something that the Disney company rarely springs for and something that the Disney Channel never hosts - and THIS was a Disney Channel event. So it was a big deal that I had to check out.

The "Cheetahs", minus Raven.
Smirk to the camera if you just bought new boobies!

To be honest, I was not prepared for how big an event this was. After working for years at the Disney Studios as a writer and producer and experiencing cheaper, lamer, and more disappointing holiday parties and events, I was shocked to see the Disney Channel spring for a full-on Hollywood premiere like this. I guess it makes sense though, because right now the Disney Channel is king with their pre-teen and teen live-action TV movies, like High School Musical.

Just getting to the El Capitan theatre where the premiere was held was an ordeal for us. Both sides of Hollywood Boulevard were filled with tourists and fans with cameras trying to get a glimpse or picture of those who were exiting from the line of limos. We were not arriving in a limo, we had to park and walk.

It's a madhouse, a MADHOUSE!!! Soylent green is PEOPLE!

Waiting in line to get into the premiere, we were directly across from the Chinese Theatre where lotsa' people were watching... including a Marilyn look-alike, complete with air-blast rising skirt. I didn't ask where the "air" was coming from.

Marilyn moons Hollywood.

Our wait in line wasn't very long. Soon we had our "guest" badges and were strolling down the aqua/blue carpet - Disney couldn't spring for the Red Carpet, I guess that was not in the budget. It was wild walking past all the fans, reporters and paparazzi who at first looked at us expectantly, then frowned in disappointment once they realize that we were nobody. Similar to the looks I get when I go back to my High School reunions.

Emily, ready for her close-up.

As we headed into the theatre, we passed plenty of notables who were getting their pictures taken or signing autographs for fans.

Kim Kardashian... not in Cheetah girls, but working
that "I'm famous without trying" look.

In fact, ALL the Kardashian's were in attendance, even Bruce Jenner (not in the picture below) - whom I got a look at - and to say he looks creepy due to all his plastic surgery is like saying a soup sandwich is messy.

Quick! Take the picture while Bruce is busy reattaching his nose.

Once we got past all this craziness we pushed on into the theatre. Our tickets said we were in the balcony - Oh boy!

Row KK, seat 2, this must be a GREAT seat!

As it turned out, our seats were nearly all the way at the back, up near the ceiling. We were up where the pigeons roost.

Our view of the screen. We were in row "suck".

The movie was supposed to start at 6pm. We were seated just a little before 6. And then we sat... and sat... and waited... for the cast and crew to be seated on the main floor. We sat there for nearly an hour. But that wasn't so bad, at least they had music playing the whole time! Oh wait. It was bad. It was the just title music to the Cheetah Girls movie, played over and over and over in an excruciating loop of torture!

Darn, I just had my nails done! Now they're all waxy!

It was HELL being stuck listening to the same whiny, over-produced track repeatedly. Everyone around us was ready to kill each other just to end the misery. But at last it stopped. And then the real torture began, the movie started... and began with the same track of music we'd been tortured with for the last friggin' hour!

The Trailer for The Cheetah Girls: One World

The movie was pretty awful. Look, I know that I'm a crappy animation writer who's responsible for his share of horrible kid's stuff, so I'm not putting myself above any of this. I'm sure that the pre-teens will eat this up and love it - good for them! But the acting (of the three Cheetah girls) was horrid. All of the songs and the singers' voices were so over-produced and tonally modulated that each girl (and even the guys' who sang) sounded exactly alike. I mean exactly. It was nearly robotic. In the previous Cheetah Girls films Raven Symoné was the featured actor, and now I can see why. She was carrying the other girls, big time. This film really needed her. And the story?... um, what story? This had all the flash and depth of a car commercial. I know, I know... this coming from a guy who writes Care Bears movies.

The real stars of the film should have been these two:

Rupak Ginn and Deepti Daryanani

They were the best performers and most engaging characters in the film. Sadly, they weren't featured enough. Anyway, this post isn't meant to be a review of Disney's latest effort at doing what they do best, selling product - but for what it is, the film is wholesome, harmless, and forgettable.

After the film, we all walked one block to the Roosevelt Hotel for the after party. This is where things got good!

This is just a lot of sheet, you know that don't you?

Since the movie had taken place in India, the downstairs of the Roosevelt Hotel, lobby and all, was decked out to look as if we were in the heart of Mumbai... but without all the poverty, overcrowding, beggars, and unsettling aromas.

Dancers on the tables, makin' with the Hindi moves.

There was plenty of food and booze to be had-- and the food was actually good... and so was the booze. Since there were a lot of younger kids in attendance, the menu did not include much authentic Indian food, but there was plenty of mac n' cheese, chicken fingers, and fries. Who says Disney doesn't know their audience?

No, I said get your hand off my glass.

All in all, we really had a good time. I got to reconnect with some of the Disney people I hadn't seen in awhile and I got to meet some of the folks Emily works with at the Disney Channel.

We even got our picture taken with the cast... via green screen and Photoshop trickery.

Us on the left side... I'm the floating orb next to Emily.