St. Patrick’s Day at the  University of Wisconsin - Oshkosh  was so wild in the early 70’s that students came from across the entire country to celebrate. As I look back at my college years in Oshkosh I can’t help but reminisce about those wild, wild St. Patrick Days. We all looked forward to that March day when the bars would all open early. Most of us would start the day off with green beer over our cereal. By noon there were so many students passed out on the street across from the main dorms that the police found it easier to just put up barricades and direct traffic around them. As hard as it is to believe, on just that single day there were actually more drunks in the city of Oshkosh than at a Lisa Minnelli wedding! Eventually UW-O scheduled Spring Break to coincide with St. Patrick’s Day so most of the college kids would be out of town. I’ve never enjoyed St. Patrick’s Day quite as much anywhere else since then. Perhaps that’s because I was so much younger or it might just have been the spirit of the 70’s. We all seemed to be so much wilder back then. I was too young to ever celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in Chilton. I wonder how they celebrate this day back home.

There is something about getting older that can be...unfortunate. I spend almost every New Year’s Eve and St. Patrick’s Day at home thinking of those days, many years ago when I would be out having so much fun with all my college friends. There’s nothing keeping me from going out now, yet every year I just get nostalgic for my Oshkosh years. My guess is I’m not alone and that many of us complain about the boring state of our lives in latter years but never do anything about it. What happened to the Tom Neuhoff who wouldn’t be caught dead at home on any holiday? I might have gotten older but does that mean I have to forgo with St. Patrick Day celebrations? As you all get older do you find yourself only waxing nostalgia at home rather than going out as you did so many years ago? We’re all free to change our lives at any time but yet how many of us do? Most people out here celebrate St. Patrick’s Day at the handful of Irish pubs throughout Santa Monica and Venice. A glass of Guinness will cost you four bucks. At least that’s what it cost five years ago, which is the last time I went out and actually partied on that day. Perhaps next year I’ll go back. Perhaps. After all, I am 25% Irish.

You might ask why I stay in L.A. if I continue to rave about Wisconsin and complain about life out here. Well, I left Chilton four days after graduating from CHS in 1967 and hitchhiked out west to become rich and famous. My plan was to have my own sitcom and private plane by the time I was 30. So much for dreams. Even after all these years show business is the primary reason I remain out here. I still enjoy walking the back lot of the studios, especially the older ones like Paramount, which is rich with history. The buildings are all named after celebrities from the past. My favorite is the Lucille Ball facility. It’s where some of the most important suites are located. I can't help but dream about the Tom Neuhoff building. I wouldn’t care if they stored low-flow toilets in there. It’s still a building on the Paramount lot with my name on it.

There are lessons to be learned about fame and fortune that can be learned only by living out here. Many of us watch the tabloid TV shows and wish we had access to the parties and festivities all the stars get invited to but we don’t hear about the drawbacks of fame. And there are drawbacks. Imagine eating at your favorite restaurant with the love of your life only to look up and notice everyone is staring at you. Flash cameras are blinding you with every fork full. Staring at you chewing every mouthful of expensive food. Now doesn't that put a bit of a damper on the whole fame dream? I feel self conscious just eating a burrito at a crowded Taco Bell. Sure, you can bet the celebrities are probably not staying home on St. Patrick's Day but every time they walk out their front door the paparazzi is just waiting to stalk them, no matter how badly the star might look that day. After awhile it's understandable why some people change with fame. They become cynical and aloof. Reclusive. Then some don't. Hillary Swank, who grew up in Bellingham, Washington, still retains that small town, grounded personality. She's definitely not been intoxicated or corrupted with fame. I’d like to think that my Chilton upbringing would prepare me for fame. It would keep me from becoming an ass. (Although there are people who would say it's too late for that.) Then again, sometimes I think it might be nice to be the arrogant jerk who gets free tickets to the Superbowl. Even if the Packers aren’t playing. Never wait in a line again. For anything. It doesn't make sense, does it?

I had heard for years that Dick Clark was nowhere near as friendly in person as he appeared to be on camera. I was told he would fire people at the drop of a hat. Yet he was the friendliest celebrity I've ever had the privilege to talk to. I told him I was in a number of film classes in college with one of his producers; Larry Klein. Larry was producing "American Bandstand" only 6 months after graduating from UW-Oshkosh. Now he produces both the "American Music Awards" and "Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve", to name only a few. If I had known he was going to be this famous and powerful I would have made it a point to be his best friend in college. Not that I didn’t have plenty of chances. He and Jim Mollon (Chilton High Graduate – 1968) owned a submarine sandwich shop on Main Street in Oshkosh. Stupid me! I always ate at Burger King. To this day a Whopper just spells lost opportunity. Well, it doesn’t spell it literally but you know….

Over the years I’ve visited Larry Klein at Dick Clark Productions in Burbank many, many times and sat in the barber’s chair in his office but he never made an effort to help my career. You can’t blame him. Everybody wants to be your best friend once you’re famous. People are coming out of the woodwork. The real friend has been your buddy all along.

Life in Hollywood was so different before 9/11. The entire industry everywhere was far more relazed. There was a time when you could easily sneak into any major studio and watch rehearsals or even live tapings of various shows. My trick was to walk around with a Yellow Pages under my arm. After all, why would someone be carrying a telephone book unless they worked there? That got me into "The Tonight Show" while it was still being taped in New York City. I was there the night before Tiny Tim married his Miss Vicky. I was backstage to watch Sonny and Cher argue bitterly then change on a dime as soon as the lights went up. I stood next to Rob Reiner during rehearsals without the toupee he wore on "All In The Family". "Roseanne" was the only sitcom I attended where there was a metal detector at the entrance. That went up shortly after she butchered the "Star Spangled Banner" at a Padres game. "Coach" was the most relaxed sitcom set I have ever been to. Jerry Van Dyke was so friendly and loved to ask my opinion on his performance. Especially after I told him I was a Canadian writer. I knew he wouldn’t be expected to know any writers from Canada and for that reason I just might be famous and important in The Great White North. It’s deceptive but efficient. I was always treated with respect due a famous Canadian writer. Except at the "Roseanne" show. Nobody was treated with respect there.

A Chilton spring, as I remember it, is a time of joy. Winter has, for the most part, departed and the air is crisp and fresh with the smell of melting snow. In L.A. we start worrying about West Nile virus again. Our two worlds couldn’t be more dramatically different. I was on the Chilton High School track team and our season always began in the spring. Although I was classified as a half-miler I rarely completed the distance. We had a foreign exchange student from Thailand who was just as lazy as me. The entire team ran about three miles into the Chilton countryside every day of schoo. The Thai student and I would run at the back of the pack and then when the team got far ahead of us we would jump into a ditch and cover ourselves with straw until the everyone else passed by us again on their way back into town. That was 35 years ago but to this day I can still close my eyes and smell the fresh March countryside of Chilton. Those aromas takes me away from the smog and crime of L.A. when I need it the most.

Memories of Chilton have always been there for me in the most troubling of times. Chilton is my heart’s home. It will always be. Even if I do end up becoming an arrogant jerk. From all of us at

                 Hollywood Daze

including those who aren't even 1% Irish

                Happy St. Patrick's Day!

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

UW-Oshkosh

February is the month of love. I was born in this month. Valentines Day is that one day of the year when everyone celebrates their love for another human being. Except for me. I have to confess that I’ve never really been all that lucky in love. The last Valentine’s Day card I gave out was in 1994 to a lady I met in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. I was on my way to Martha’s Vineyard in a VW camper bus. Jenny had that rare combination of innocence and wholesomeness I’ve only found in Wisconsin women. She was also the first Mormon I ever dated. Growing up on a farm, I soon learned her idea of foreplay was breaking down and cleaning her 12 gauge shotgun in bed. To this day the smell of gun cleaning solvent gets my hormones racing. It’s only luck that I ran into her on the streets of downtown Oshkosh. What are the chances of meeting an angel like her at that time of the night? There were, however, a couple of things I never understood about her Mormon religion. Like the part about, "No sex for under a hundred bucks".   What’s with that?

Dating in L.A. is like playing Russian Roulette with a bullet in every chamber. I learned on a first date to always insist on a restaurant with a metal detector at the front door. You just can’t be too careful. Don’t even get me started on online dating! I met Pam online about five years ago. She emailed me her photo which looked pretty good. I didn’t understand at the time the significance of her posing across the top of a dumpster but it all made sense later. Well, after months of emailing and phone conversations we agreed to meet. I drove the 714 miles from L.A. to Salt Lake City, hoping to begin a relationship with my second Mormon girlfriend. I waited at a Denny’s restaurant for 6 hours. She never showed up! After a couple of months and a few more phone calls she finally confessed the photos she emailed me were 15 years old. She had gained "a little weight" since then. Eventually I learned "a little weight" meant over 160 pounds! I’m so stupid. I should have figured something was amiss when she let it slip during one of our phone conversations that she was having trouble lately fitting behind the steering wheel of her VW Jetta. A couple of years later I was driving long haul semi truck for Schneider’s when I stopped by Pam’s place after dropping off a Sears load. She was still emailing that photo of her lying across the top of a dumpster and talking trash to unsuspecting men on the internet. She had gained even more weight. The VW Jetta was nowhere in sight.

Nobody is who they say they are on the internet. Men lie about their height, receding hairline, marital status and income. Women lie about their age and weight. Some people even lie about their gender. Hey buddy, that "hot" young blonde chick from Miami you’ve been swapping email and photos with is, in reality, probably a 350 pound spot welder from Duluth. And he’s never going to tell.

If you know the history of Valentines Day you’ve really got to wonder why we’re celebrating this guy. Emperor Claudius II banned single men from getting married, believing that single men made better soldiers. No wife back home to worry about. Valentine, defying Claudius, continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentines actions were discovered, the emperor ordered that he be tortured and put to death. While in prison Valentine met and fell in love with a young girl who was the jailor’s daughter. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed, "From your Valentine", an expression still in use. Now how smart is this guy? Dating the jailor’s daughter? Doesn’t this guy ever learn? Legend has it that while being stretched on The Rack one final afternoon, he paused between screams, to ask the jailor torturing him, "Can we cut it a little short today? I’m meeting your daughter behind the whips in a half an hour." Is this the kind of common sense we’re celebrating on February 14th?

They say you never forget your first love. Mine was Sandy Steffes. We were both juniors at Chilton High School. She lived a block off of Main Street and since I was way down on Breed Street we both walked the same route home from school five days a week. Even though I was a class clown I found myself incredibly shy in front of Sandy. Not that I wasn't shy in front of any girl but I was especially shy in front of her. To this day I have no problem doing comedy in front of a crowded nightclub but put me in front of a lady I’m attracted to and I freeze up. I’ll never forget asking Sandy to the homecoming. She was walking home with a girlfriend so I didn’t have the courage to interrupt them and ask her. Who needs a witness to rejection, right? So I walked on the other side of the street and finally when her friend walked away I stepped out from behind a parked car and shouted across the street, "Do you want to go to the homecoming with me?" Is it any surprise she turned me down? What was I thinking?

Nonetheless I have to admit even now I can be just as stupid with women. After all these years I still wonder what Sandy is up to now. What does she look like? I heard she married and moved out to Kansas. My guess is she’s still hot.

Can anyone tell me why all the gorgeous women in the world are married? Well, at least they tell me they’re married. There is a local Korean librarian out here who is the most beautiful lady I’ve ever met. Sometimes we're talking when she smiles and my brain just shuts down. Yunae is just that beautiful. And just that married! Sometimes I think God either wants me to stay single for life or become gay. I’m not sure which. How many of you reading this blog can look into your lover’s eyes even today and still feel that wonderful, wonderful magic? For you people every month is the month of love. I envy every single one of you. No matter where you're living. 

So from all the mad lovers at 

               Hollywood Daze

                       Happy Valentine’s Day!

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

If you can read this you’re not dead. Congratulations! You made it to see January of 2006. Who would have guessed? I never expected to live longer than 30 but then I also planned on having my own sitcom and ocean front property in Malibu by now. Funny how things don’t work out exactly as we plan. A New Year is usually good for me. My granddaughter, Angel, was born in the beginning of a new year. My son was born at the very end of the year so I don’t know what’s that saying.

I became an EMT in L.A. for Schaefer’s Ambulance Company in the beginning of a particularly adventurous new year but ended up a shark fisherman by the end of the year. More on that later. Driving for Schaefer’s in L.A. was great because I was working open-mic nights as a standup comic and could drive the ambulance to the Improv or The Comedy Store. Getting the optimum time slot is essential. Too early and no one is in the club. Too late and they’re all drunk and tired of laughing. So I would wait until around 10:00 PM and tell the M.C. I just got a Code 3 (Lights & siren) and had to run. Could I get the next time slot? I do my 4 minutes in my EMT uniform then race out of the parking lot with lights and siren blaring. Those were the days.

It was Schaefer’s that picked up Maryilyn Monroe the night she died. Rumor among the Old Timers was that Maryilyn Monroe was alive when Schaefer’s picked her up the first time but were instructed by the dispatcher to return her home. She was dead on the scene when they were called back later. Hollywood is rich with celebrity rumors. I talked to a plastic surgeon a couple of months ago who is convinced Michael Jackson is actually Walt Disney after a lot of work was done. Just what is a guy to believe?

I decided at the end of the year to become a shark fisherman. After "Jaws" came out the price of shark meat on the commercial fishing docks in L.A. skyrocketed from 9 cents a pound to over 27 cents a pound. I guess after watching a movie where a giant shark eats people for a couple of hours everybody wanted a little payback. A friend convinced me that if we bought this converted 40 ft. Naval Personnel Carrier we could make a fortune in shark meat. It all looked so good on paper. Well I learned the hard way what many of you fishermen in Wisconsin already know, "A boat is a hole in the water you pour money into." I spent more time working on that GMC 671 bus engine than I did actually fishing! Another dumb decision made at the end of the year.

It was the beginning of the next year that I finally sold my Naval Personnel Carrier/Shark Fishing boat. Always lucky at the beginning of the year. I was celebrating the sale with a friend when we foolishly decided to go out on one last shark-fishing trip. Okay, so sometimes I make a dumb decision at the beginning a year. My friend brought along his Mexican gardener who didn’t speak a word of English but loved to fish from the docks. He had never been in a boat before. Nor would he again. We must have been chumming (Dumping a 10 gallon bucket of free tuna guts from StarKist Tuna into the water.) for hours and never saw so much as one shark. I was now dealing with both boredom and a hangover. So I went below to sleep. Now the last thing you want to hear when you’re sound asleep on a boat is a Mexican gardener screaming into your ear, "We’re sinking! We’re sinking!" And I didn’t think he could speak a word of English.

I ran to the deck and lifted the cover to the engine. Suddenly I was having "End of the Year" bad luck. Water was gushing in from a 4-inch pipe. The bilge was already half full of seawater. I looked up at my friend who to this day swears he wasn’t crying. I looked back at the engine and saw it was the pipe from the saltwater cooling system. Theoretically if we shut down the motor we would stop pumping water into the bilge and wouldn't sink. But we would be running adrift for hours while we pumped the bilge out using auxiliary pumps. Just before the water covered our generator I looked over the side of the boat to see the first sharks approaching. Now the sharks decide to circle our boat! Sometimes the only luck you have is bad luck. Then all the lights went out. The gardener dropped to his knees, sobbing wildly and praying in Spanish. My friend kept wiping his eyes. My hangover was killing me. We turned the motor off. For the remainder of the night we drifted without power not knowing how many sharks were circling us or how big they were at any given time. I haven’t been able to swim in the ocean at night since then.

Well God must love Spanish because we made it through the night and grounded safely up on Huntington Beach the next morning. I learned that night what people learn in both big cities and small towns. Never go into a business without either working in it for years or doing a great deal of research. I didn’t know anything about commercial fishing. Or boats. Or even the emergency radio. Two days later I sold the boat and haven’t been shark fishing since then.

It’s a New Year now rich with opportunities. Mayor Bill Engler, Jr. wrote in the Chilton Times-Journal that last year $33.3 million was spent by tourists in Calumet County. Maybe I'll actually get back to visit this year. I would be classified as a tourist. It’s been a lot of years. I’m sure Chilton has gone through a lot changes. What does the Chilton of 1967 have in common with the Chilton of 2006. Probably not much. Except for the good people living there. When people ask me what I miss the most about home it’s always the people.

To all of you reading this blog the entire staff of

                 Hollywood Daze

including the illegals who want to remain nameless,

wish you the year you’ve always dreamed of.

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com 

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Christmas in L.A. is like deer hunting season in New York City. It just isn’t the same as in Wisconsin. Nothing about December is the same out here. Not that the stores aren’t decorated and the city streets all lit up with brilliant holidays bulbs. It’s just that once you’ve grown up accustomed to a White Christmas in all its holiday splendor, Christmas in 95-degree heat pretty much blows. "It’s A Wonderful Life" was shot in Encino, California on a day when it was 102 degrees in the shade. In the final scene when Jimmy Stewart is running down main street shouting, "Merry Christmas!" to all the business establishments they had to actually stop shooting early because the actors were suffering from heat exhaustion. Sort of takes the illusion out of the movie.

Over the years I've found methods of getting into the Christmas spirit despite the heat waves. Working as a department store Santa Claus never failed to raise my holiday spirits. Except when a parent tossed a screaming baby with wet diapers onto my lap. The very first job I had as a Santa left me with absolutely no preparation or training. I walked into the basement of an L.A. shoe store and donned the famous, red outfit, including a stomach pillow. As it turned out they had a sleigh located right out in the direct sunlight. I must have sweated away ten pounds a day in that sleigh. On my very first day I walked up into the sleigh and while standing gave my very best, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" I waved to all the parents and children but couldn't understand why no one would even look at me, much less wave back. I was a complete failure as Santa on my very first day. Then I looked down and noticed my Santa pants had fallen down around my Santa boots! They never told me to safety pin the pants to the pillow! It troubles me to this day how many children had nightmares for years of Santa waving to them in his boxer shorts. Thank God I was at least wearing underwear that day!

While living in Seattle with my son, Tyson, I would sneak my Santa costume home after work and we’d go to hospitals and housing projects. Visiting sick children was always tough for me. Nobody wants to see a child sick, especially at Christmas time, but the sight of Santa brought smiles to the faces of even the most ill. My son, dressed as an elf, handed out coloring books, allowing both of us to share Christmas in a manner few may experience. If you ever get an opportunity to play Santa jump at the chance. But it can be wrought with emotion. One day while visiting a housing project in South Central L.A., a five-year-old girl sat on my lap after waiting patiently for an hour in line. I asked her what she would like for Christmas. Without skipping a beat she looked up at me and said, "Santa, I don't want any toys for Christmas this year. Just bring back my daddy to me!" It seems her parents had recently separated. At that moment not crying was the most difficult task of my Santa career but... Santa has to remain jolly. Even in the presence of such young angst. We often hear of how selfish children can be at this time of the year but there are many kids who are only thinking of their family. That's the valuable lesson I learned from that little girl. Toys can be great but just having family around makes for a far better Christmas. The wisdom of children is awesome.

Some of the best memories I have of growing up in Wisconsin involve the Christmas season. Every year without fail my family would drive around Chilton, looking at the neighbor's outdoor Christmas decorations. In L.A. if you cruise around someone else's neighborhood it's called a "drive-by". Hardly anyone decorates their homes out here, making it only more difficult to get into the festive spirit. So people celebrate the season indoors. I’ve only been to a couple of Christmas parties but my favorite was at KTLA-TV in Hollywood. The studio paid to have the Disney characters come over and entertain all the children. At the time my son, Tyson, must have been around three or four years old. I still have Super 8 film of him playing with Goofy and Mickey Mouse. It’s hard to believe my son is now 30 years old and a father! Where does the time go?

KTLA and Goldwest Video were both owned by Gene Autry at that time. I had written a "WKRP In Cincinnati" which was taped on the lot. Since I didn’t have an agent my only chance of pitching a script was to befriend a member of the cast or crew. I did meet everyone on the cast except Loni Anderson, who pretty much kept to herself. Howard Hesseman, on the other hand, who played DJ, Johnny "Fever", was not only friendly but eager to talk with anyone, especially if you knew of his work in the comedy improv group of the 60’s & 70’s, "The Committee". I brought up my favorite sketch of theirs called, "The Blind Date". In it when Howard and his blind date meet she tells him she is, ironically, blind. Both are sitting in chairs having a conversation, while all the time Howard is talking to her he’s also making faces, going so far as to look up her dress, figuring she can’t see a thing anyway. Finally at the end of the sketch she confesses she was lying and can actually see. Howard told me he co-wrote that bit. After that conversation I found him an ally in getting my script read. Celebrities are no different than the rest of us. They warm up once you starting talking to them as people. Be genuinely friendly with them. That’s an important lesson I learned growing up in Chilton.

I left KTLA a few weeks after "WKRP In Cinncinatti" was cancelled but returned the following Christmas season to appear as Bachelor #1 on "The Dating Game". I was billed as Biff Nerd, a character from my standup comedy routine. I dressed for the part, complete with the bridge of my glasses repaired with white first-aid tape. A plastic penholder firmly in my shirt breast pocket. This was years before the Nerd movies. I’ve always been ahead of my time.

My first question from the bachelorette, J.P. Morgan, a singer from the 50’s and a judge on "The Gong Show", left me considering whether I should walk off the stage. She said that she was sick of the song, "You Light Up My Life", which was quite popular at the time, and "would I kill it one last time?" Now I never sing anywere. Nowhere. Not in the shower. Not at birthday parties. Not even in my sleep. I sat there silent for what seemed like an hour but was, in reality, only a few seconds. She asked Jim Lang, the host, if Bachelor #1 had heard the question. At that point I started singing but since I didn’t know the song I just made up some very suggestive lyrics as I went along. The audience loved it. I was picked, winning seven days and seven nights at the classy "Hotel Tequendama" in Bogotá, Colombia . The villages surrounding Bogota were a lot like Chilton without the sidewalks and indoor plumbing. It was one of the best Christmas presents I’ve ever received and all I had to do was totally humiliate myself on national television.

It was only days after graduating from Chilton High School that I hitchhiked out to California. I had never eaten Mexican food before and thought Taco Bell was as good as it gets. Then I had some real Mexican food. My granddaughter’s mother, Lilly Gutierrez, a first generation Mexican-American, is the best cook I’ve ever met. Lilly can make even a simple taco taste like a feast. She’s taught me so much about her culture. I would be happy if my granddaughter, Angel, grows up to be half the lady Lilly is. A large batch of home made tamales are cooked up for Christmas Eve and the whole family gathers around the Christmas tree to open presents precisely at midnight. That's a Mexican Christmas.

New Year’s Eve in L.A. is pretty much like your typical Palestinian funeral. A lot of gunfire into the air. Unfortunately those bullets eventually come down and hit innocent bystanders. L.A. is the only city I’ve ever lived in where just before the end of the year all the movie theaters play public safety messages from the Los Angeles Police Department warning of the dangers of shooting your gun into the air at midnight on New Year’s Eve. You’d think they would just be happy that we weren’t pointing our guns at each other for a change. My son, Tyson Neuhoff, and I would stand outside at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve and he would identify what weapon was being fired from which house, simply by the sound of the gunshot. Aahh, those precious father-and-son bonding moments. If you’re ever in need of a gun or motorcycle authority my son is the man to call. He's absolutely the coolest guy that ever walked the face of the Earth. And his daughter, Angel, is even cooler. I’d say that even if it wasn’t the Christmas season. At least I’m pretty sure I would.

New Year’s resolutions are a lot like gym memberships. You stick to them for a month or two then drop them like the newest fad diet. That’s why I never come up with more than three. 2006 New Year’s Resolutions:

1) Try to be more tolerant of inconsiderate morons who make outgoing calls on their cell phones in the middle of a movie I paid $10.50 to see. (A note to myself: Stop taking my stun gun to the movies.)

2) Take the hint and top giving my business card out to beautiful women, especially when they just throw them back at me anyway.

3) Make an effort to convince myself that my receding hairline is not a government conspiracy. Have you ever noticed that those security surveillance cameras, such as in banks, are always shooting you from above so everyone standing in line can see your bald spot on the TV monitor? What’s up with that? How can that not be a conspiracy?

I read about what’s happening not only in Chilton but also in other Wisconsin towns like Hilbert, New Holstein & Brillion in blogs like this one every day. Next to astro-projecting myself blog are the best way I have of getting back home. (I’m haven’t given up on the astro-projecting thing.) From everyone at

              Hollywood Daze

incuding a couple of our most devoted agnostics

  Merry Christmas! and a

                   Happy New Year!

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogger

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Sometimes it’s hard to be grateful. Especially around Thanksgiving when we’re expected to make a list of all we’ve got to be thankful for. It’s an easy task for those of you with great jobs. A beautiful home. That Lamborghini parked in the driveway. Maybe even a ’51 Ford in "cherry" condition out in the garage. But what about those of us who may not be doing all that well this year? What have we got to be thankful for? It takes a bit more work every year but I managed to come up with a couple of things to be grateful for this year... This year I’m going to be thankful that I’m not in prison and I still have all my limbs. Both arms. Both legs. Of course the year isn’t over yet.

For those of you living in Chilton and other small towns in the Midwest you definitely have the low cost of living to be thankful for. I read in a recent Chilton Times-Journal classified section that a "2 BR upper with stove, refrig., washer-dryer hookup with garage" was renting for only $365 a month. $365! That same place in L.A. would cost you at least $2200 a month. And that’s only if the owners were your parents! Who love you. And are expecting a kidney from you.

Thanksgiving is that time of the year when those of us living in L.A. really miss our hometowns. The place where we grew up in and where, deep down, a big chunk of our heart remains. For me home will always be Chilton, Wisconsin. I am fortunate enough to have a good friend, Terry Fluhr, who lives and works back home. Since Terry works at Chilton High School, he is my primary source of news concerning both Chilton and our alma mater. Through him I have learned about the razing of the old, brick high school I attended a billion years ago. Once again they have torn down a building dear to me! Oh well, I suppose Terry has to give me the good news with the bad. I’ve been to the CHS website. Oh, the new high school is a beautiful place alright and everything is so… state-of-the-art, but it has no soul. No memories for me. Those are for you lucky students attending Chilton High School today. Cherish those memories. They’ll come in handy around Thanksgiving, especially if you ever move far, far away from home.

Terry Fluhr and some of the blogs I read are good for so much more than just local news. They remind me of what life is like back home. In L.A. there are so many people wrapped up in their own worlds that the sense of community is, at best, fabricated. Watching NFL football on Thanksgiving Day is just about the only real Thanksgiving Day tradition out here, which is odd since we’re the only large city in the country that doesn’t have its own franchise. There are tons of Raider fans here but only by default. Why else would any rational human being be a Raiders fan? L.A. parks are nothing like your parks in Chilton. Out here you hardly ever see anyone playing football. It’s soccer. Soccer. Soccer. I might as well be living in Bolivia! Soccer fans are extremely loud. Louder than both baseball and football fans put together. You should hear them in the sports bars. They’re all screaming in Spanish so for all I know they're just swearing at each other and not even watching the game.

This is going to be a typical Thanksgiving Day in L.A. Some of us are left to create our own individual Thanksgiving traditions. My son Tyson and his buddies always preferred playing rough and tough tackle football in the park on Thanksgiving Day. The "Turkey Bowl" was an annual event for years until one of his best friends, Chad, became a father. Things started to change after the birth of his son, Kyle. Although I never admitted it to anyone, I found it took longer and longer to recover from the injuries of each game. Getting older can be a brutal process. Aging has no consideration for our dignity whatsoever. It was only a matter of time before our only Thanksgiving Day tradition, the Turkey Bowl, would be defunct.

Over the years I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving Day in a lot of places. In Canada it’s the second Monday in October and celebrated pretty much like all the other Canadian holidays; everyone sits around a dinner table, wearing funny hats, eating horrible-tasting black English pudding, and drinking pints and pints of their beloved Canadian beer. While our Thanksgiving is to commemorate the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock, the Canadians are celebrating the landing of John Molson on the banks of the St. Lawrence River in 1786 Montreal. Or least that’s what I’ve heard.

Last week I was reminded once more why I miss Chilton. Terry Fluhr has always emailed me with stories about how his family and all the relatives often get together on the front porch in the summer to play cards and drink Wisconsin beer. The only variable might be in the winter when the party moves to an ice shanty on Lake Winnebago. There’s always one common thread woven throughout all of Terry’s stories. Family. Last week he wrote me that at his house on Thanksgiving Day all the children are responsible for making the side dishes. Isn’t that absolutely the coolest Thanksgiving tradition you ever heard of? Imagine the excitement in the children’s voices as they scurry around the kitchen, preparing their own favorite side dish. If we did that in L.A. we’d be eating carnitas and beans for the rest of the year! I can’t help but envy Terry and the rest of you living in small towns like Chilton. You’ve got real traditions. Traditions that will never die. Real traditions. Family traditions.

Perhaps while you’re compiling your list this Thanksgiving you might look out and notice there isn’t a Lamborghini parked on the driveway to be thankful for. You might hate your job, or worse, not even have one. That place you call home might be run down and need of major repairs. There might not be a ’51 Ford out in your garage. But if you do have family traditions you’ve got plenty to be grateful for this year. You live in a town that still fosters the love of family. The love of neighbors. The only time I ever see my neighbor in L.A. is if he’s shooting at me. And then only when he stopping to reload.

There's always those people who might not have any family nearby. I’ll bet you've got neighbors who would welcome you with open arms on Thanksgiving Day. Look around. Remember where you live. A new tradition is only a neighbor away. From everyone at

               Hollywood Daze

 Happy Thanksgiving!

For more comical info on the writer of this blog go to:  WorldHumour.bravehost.com

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360