As a youngster I would go for dinner at my grandparents house at least once a week. My Italian grandmother was an amazing cook and made some of the most glorious feasts (her lentil soup and pot roast can never be duplicated). After dinner we would retire to the family room to watch some Golden Girls. I recall my grandmother laughing hysterically at Sophia on a regular basis. Maybe it was because they had similar personalties. Or that they were both Italian. Or they were both five feet tall, one hundred pounds and intimidating as hell. Whatever it was, Estelle Getty will always hold a special place in my heart for being able to continually crack my grandmother's iron resolve.

Labels: death, family, nostalgia, pop culture

It is videos such as these that make me long for a time when MTV actually played music videos. A time when the Participation Ribbon Generation was not responsible for subjugating creative video ingenuity to an ancillary channel on digital cable in lieu of reality programming that long ago withered and died on the vine (please give me yet another reality show about former reality stars competing in the ultimate reality competition in order to win fabulous prizes that said former reality stars do not deserve). A time when Downtown Julie Brown and Kari Wuhrer filled my adolescent brain with impure desires. A time when one could easily cross the cultural void by watching Yo! MTV Raps and the Headbangers Ball in the same sitting. MTV sold out long ago and nothing short of a topless Audrina Partridge doing the Ed Lover Dance atop Spencer Pratt's dead body will make me cool with it.

Labels: music, nostalgia, pop culture

The 1950s were a simple time. A time when a young man's fancy turned to squeezing off a few rounds on a Winchester 22. A time when a blatant disregard for wildlife and being atop of the food chain was celebrated. A time when women thanked you for killing the hawk that got into the chickens.

Labels: america, guns, nostalgia

I was in Boy Scouts for a clip when I was a kid. I received a knife safety badge, a silver medal in the Pinewood Derby and went on assorted nature hikes. I have pleasant memories of my time in Boy Scouts, just as I am sure these youngsters will fondly remember the day they found a severed head at the Scout Jamboree.

Labels: america, childhood, death, nostalgia

At my high school we did not need slut teacher aides that molested male students. We had plenty of easy girls that would have sex with you if you gave them a bottle of Boones Farm Wine and a joint. That was the deal closer. Take my junior year Pom-Pom squad for example. Three girls got knocked up in a span of six months. Two were sisters, ages 18 and 16, and they got pregnant within two months of each other. I think their mother committed suicide. Even though my high school was chocked full of depraved chemically dependent sex fiends (myself included), I do not think any of us were caught doing this.

Labels: drinking, drugs, nostalgia, sex