For those of you across the country who do believe that all people from New Jersey live in a putrid industrial swamp, say fugeddabouit at the drop of a hat, and will whack somebody just for taking their parking space… you really do need a little “Jersey Style” education courtesy of the Zman.

Wherever I travel throughout the U.S. or Canada, every brutally unoriginal, smart-ass jokester says the same goddamned thing every single time: “So, you’re from Joizey?” Now usually I’m a playful sort who kids back with almost anybody, but this always irks me. And the reason: NO ONE… I said ABSOLUTELY NO ONE from New Jersey says NEW JOIZEY! It’s an urban myth, my guess perpetuated by 1930 gangster flicks and The Bowery Boys movies. “Hey Satch, why don’t you grab da dames and we’ll all head fa Joizey.”

Now I admit we have our accents, especially northern NJ, which is close to Manhattan. While recently dining in Toronto I asked the waitress for an after dinner coffee and she says back, ‘Ya’s want some Caw-fee?” and proceeds to laugh. Now I possess a killer Joe Pesci imitation, and I look at the server deadpan in the eyes and said, (think Cousin Vinnie, now) “Hey toots, howz ‘bout a little respect here…huh?” She snickers again and says, “Come on, let me here you say Joisey! I just want to hear you say it!” Now all of a sudden I’m some kind of freakin’ traveling road show. Like an indignant ass – still in Cousin Vinnie mode – I blurt out for the entire restaurant to hear, “We don’t say Joizey for crissakes! Capiciche?!” She froze in her tracks as her hands started to tremble. With big puppy dog eyes the woman looks up at me and asks, “ You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

Not too long ago in Tampa, I’m in a store and the woman starts laughing and says, “Boy oh boy, ya’ll sure do talk funny.” Unfortunately she didn’t know she wuz dealin’ wit’ Tommy DeVito from Goodfellas. I gave her the stare that could kill and said, “Whadda ya mean I tawk funny? Like clown funny, like ha-ha funny?”

This dumb-ass broad (having absolutely no inkling of a clue that I was pulling her leg) stared at me like I stepped out of a silver spaceship from Uranus. “No, sir… ya just talk funny.”

“Do I amuse you? Wise don’t you explain it to me, huh? I wanna know…do I amuse you?”

“SECURITY!!! SECURITY!!!”

For years, the much-maligned state of New Jersey has often been the brunt of many a comedian’s off-color jokes. But without question, the HBO series The Sopranos brought a new and interesting sense of pride to the Garden State. I personally happen to be half Italian on my mother’s side, and have lived all my life in northern New Jersey. I know all of the show’s landmarks and have even frequented the Bada Bing (actually known as Satin Dolls, on Rt. 17 in Lodi.) When you live in this area, you learned to recognize that when streets were closed, traffic was diverted, light towers were up, and large production trucks surrounded the grounds, The Sopranos were shooting a scene.

But as cool as The Sopranos was, it only deepened the stigma that everyone here is a buncha leg breakin thugs and that everyone is Italian! And to that again I say, stop being such a friggin’ stunad! Do any of you gabbagools realize that New Jersey has hundreds of miles of sandy white beaches and coastline, pristine forests and mountain ranges, is one of the nation’s top producers of sweet corn, tomatoes, and cranberries, is home to Princeton University, Seton Hall, and Rutgers, as well as luminaries such as Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Buzz Aldrin, Norman Schwarzkopf , Derek Jeter, Shaq, Bon Jovi, Sinatra, and of course let’s not forget Derek Drymon, from my hometown of Jefferson Township, and famed producer of Spongebob Squarepants? (And of course, headquarters to the greatest Cigar store and Cigar magazine on the planet.) This state is a venerable melting pot of nationalities, with Wallington Township being the 2nd largest Polish community in the country! And above and beyond anything, we’re probably best known as the “diner” state.

I will admit there’s no doubt that Jersey people are nowhere near as friendly as others around the country. We’re certainly not mean or anything, it’s just that people in the NY / NJ metro area move at a much faster pace than anywhere else in the U.S. New Jersey is the most densely populated state and the cost of living is outrageous. Our property taxes and car insurance is the highest in the nation and millions of us are cramped into this little state that basically looks like a guy with a flat head who is looking to his left.

So all of you good folks from the other 49 states – how about cutting us some slack? We’re good citizens and our state has a lot to offer. Just don’t ask me to say Joizey, cuz the next person who makes that lame-ass wise crack ends up with his friggin head in a bowling ball bag.

I’m glad we came to this little understanding.

- ZMAN

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Metal, Chrome, & Testosterone

Recently I attended “Bike Night” at JR Cigars in Whippany, New Jersey, with my 13 year old son, Tommy. It was just the gorgeous, perfect night – blue sky and late summer temperatures as motorcycles of every size, make, year, design, and color descended upon the parking lot for four hours of high-tech nostalgia and testosterone.

I admittedly don’t ride or own a bike, but the middle age crazy, mid life yearning in me really wants to something fierce. I just love motorcycles and the unbridled freedom they represent. My friends who ride say that just like smoking a cigar, cruising on a bike unwinds the mind and recharges your batteries, allowing you to become one with the bike and your surroundings. My wife thinks I’m out of my f’ing mind but why would I expect her to understand? She loathes cigars even thought those checks I get to support the family come straight from the tobacco world.

Long hairs, throwbacks, and white-collar dudes joined in unison to hang and celebrate the age-old joy of “riding on the wind.” They came from all walks of life (Yeah, and that would be me, “posing” on a custom Harley.) It was a male bonding extravaganza and the smell of finely aged burning leaf wafted through the air as Tommy and I oogled and ah’d at many an amazing piece of machinery and art. Of course all of the true blue Harley’s were out in full force as well as some very cool Victory’s, but I was definitely impressed with many of the Japanese bikes that have taken on the American “bad-boy” look. Honda, Yamaha, and Kawasakia make some bikes I couldn’t believe weren’t American made as their engineering and style were flat out awesome. Then there were Triumphs, BMW’s, and some old Norton’s on display, as well as my all-time favorite, the Indian.

A few years ago, Indian Motorcycles went belly up. I decided to check the web and found out that the company has been reformed with a brand new headquarters and a state of the art manufacturing facility in Kings Mountain, North Carolina. Four brand new 2009 gorgeous touring road models should be available this fall and that is just great news for a true American icon. You certainly don’t have to ride bikes to appreciate the amazing beauty and hand craftsmanship that goes into these masterpieces. Seems they’ve received a 30 million dollar cash infusion from investors, and the people at the top are hiring the best in the business at every position in order to bring this much heralded name back into the public eye. God I want one. Please mom and dad, oh can I please have an Indian for Christmas? Check ‘em out for yourself at: www.indianmotorcycle.com

There was this one dude, the classic rebel with the long white ponytail, dressed in the traditional biker garb and rode a beautiful “old school” style chopper that was in super mint condition despite being 40 years of age. With long handle bars, spoked wheels, a tiny little gas tank, chrome everywhere, and a rebellious gleaming swastika mounted above the sissy bar, this mutha was no wannabe poser as many an onlooker smiled in delight. And, the man was a perfect gentlemen which is definitely the norm at a gathering like this.

As riders of every type were in attendance, so was my pal, Dave Runfeldt, the honorable mayor of Lincoln Park, New Jersey (also Chiropractor extraordinaire and volunteer firefighter) and owner of a magnificent Harley Davidson Road King, special fireman’s edition. Emblazoned in screaming fire engine red and adorned with flames flowing up the fenders, this big boy turned a hell of a lot of heads – No, not Dave – the friggin’ bike, you dumbass!

And what bike rally wouldn’t be complete without the smokin’ hottie biker chicks clad in their short denim shorties, leather vests, and bulging twin-v’s. I give major kudos to the older gals – the plus 40 ladies who may have added a little umph to their personal cruising weight, but still had the moxie to parade their wares for a dad and his pubescent kid. It’s a pisser because Tommy tries to pretend he’s not looking but I’m sure he was feeling a tad warmer than usual on Friday night.

Incredible machines, tasty cigars, male camaraderie, and hot babes. Damn, what will they think of next?

Ride the wind, brother.

- ZMAN

Here’s the link for remaining 2010 bike and car shows at JR Cigars in Whippany, New Jersey…

——————————————————————————————————

http://www.jrwhippany.com/index.cfm?page=events_bikecarshow_2010

• All shows 6-10pm
• Grillin’ and Chillin’ outside until 8pm cooking up burgers and dogs
• Beer Specials in the bar and lounge
• Free to spectators and car/bike owners

#1 – Do You Love Me?
It’s funny because the typical male’s answer to that question is almost always the same: “WTF is that supposed to mean?”

#2 – I’m Thinking of Having Plastic Surgery
Our expert claims that men want their women to have natural beauty and that the “real” you, the girl he fell for won’t be there anymore. What a crock of Shinola! I say bring on the saline and pump those puppies up. I’d love it if my wife came home with a new set of big bouncy cans. The first thing I’d do is toss her a basketball and watch her dribble in a low cut top. Although paying for them is another story.

#3 – You Used to Take Me Out and Now We Don’t Do Anything
Whaddya mean we don’t do anything? We watched the Giant’s game, grappled in the sack for three minutes, shopped on line at JR.com, and you cooked me a wonderful roast beef dinner! I think this was a pretty perfect Sunday, if you ask me.

#4 – Don’t You Like My New Outfit (Or Hairdo?)
Okay, now this is a lot of pressure for a guy because the initial response his brain makes is – “What new hairdo or outfit?” But we act cool, try not to flinch and make a suave remark like, “Sure looks better than that old p.o.s. you used to have.” And as you know, that is a very BAD answer, but at that moment your team is inside the five yard line and the friggin’ shrew couldn’t wait until the end of the goddamned game?!

#5 – Don’t You Want to Go Shopping?
Which is like asking a man, “Do you want me to stick a grappling hook in your eyes then pour gasoline and ignite your old Marvel Comics collection?” If the shopping is for you, she’s saying that your three Metallica t-shirts and one pair of shredded jeans make you look like garbage. And if the shopping is for her, well then, all right – bring on the hook but don’t dare touch the comics.

#6 – Can We Talk? (While he’s trying to watch the game.)
Unless it’s about Pittsburgh’s inability to run on the Giants D, what time the Rangers/Islanders game is tonight, if you’d like to make a beer and hot wing run, or if I think that 15 minutes during halftime is enough to pleasure me…please keep the pie-hole on auto-shut. If it’s about the yenta’s at work or the fact that I forgot our anniversary, please wait until I’m in a drunken stupor and passed out in a heaping mess of my own bodily fluids.

#7 – I Only Slept With (insert number) of Guys Before You
Yes, every man wants to have a clear mental picture of another guy shtooping the gal he said “I Do” to. Please – give me all the details, no really – want to know. The so-called expert says a woman should NEVER – EVER let this proverbial cat out of the bag. Oh come on, we’re bigger than that, we can take it… I mean I want to hear all about the days with her heals high in the air while screaming out some dirtload named Roscoe’s name while spread eagle over a duffle bag full of hockey equipment in the back of his ’76 Pinto.

#8 – You Care More About Your Friends Than You Do Me
Now the expert claims this is some kind of trust issue, but since I’m a guy, I don’t get what the hell this broad is getting at. Hey, my friends are important to my life – we smoke cigars, watch the game, go golfing, and other neat stuff. Honey, they could never replace your vacuuming skills and the fact that you dig anal. And do you think that Joe or Sal would wash my underwear? Come on.

#9 – Why Don’t You Start going to the Gym?
The expert does have this one right as she claims that nagging your man could actually cause him to do the exact opposite. “Yeah honey, I really dig looking like a fat blob of shit.” She says to the ladies to get your guy to take a hike in the mountains and then share a bottle of wine together. Sounds great, but she leaves out the part about humping in the dirt until your head explodes. And if you have Verizon, your man can even catch the scores of the games in real time.

#10 – Does This Make Me Look Fat?
The ultimate question that every broad since the dawn of time has asked every poor schlep who owns a penis.
“Og…dis bear fur make me look fat?”
“Ugh, watching dinosaur fights with Glock. Got Raptors at 3 to 1. Make fire and come back later.”
“Og…I want to know – does dis bear fur make me look fat?”
“Uh…No… course not… YOU make you look fat.”
“Owwwwwwww!” (as Bronto bone is hurled across his thickened brow.)

Honesty may not always be the best policy as a lady’s feelings get hurt, but then the woman gets mad if she thinks you’re lying to her. It is the classic No-Win situation – just ask Og.

So that’s it. I hope I cleared things up from the guy’s perspective. God knows if the Mrs. reads this I may not have the use for my hands for a while.

- ZMAN

Hey Gabbagool…yeah, I’m talkin’ to you. I got a rib recipe that’ll knock your freakin’ head into the next room. These sons of bitches are so sweet, so tender, so juicy and tasty that I had to whack my neighbor just to get the secret recipe from him. But since you came all the way to Jersey just to see me, I’ll let ya take a look – but don’t tell nobody…capeesh?

All right, I’m full of it. It’s actually my neighbor’s Sal & Carol’s own recipe. You see, we’ve been going to parties at their house for years and when they serve these ribs, everyone goes absolutely insane over them. A platter the size of Rosie Odonnell’s housecoat will disappear in minutes with the crowd begging for more. I’ve never tasted a sauce like this, anywhere, and could never put my finger on it. The flavor is intoxicating and I just had to get the lowdown. So last July fourth we had them over the house, they brought the ribs, and Carol was in a sharing mood and divulged her deep secret recipe to me. And since I am a hell of a guy, I’ll be a real mamaluke and share it with youz guys, too.

The Recipe…
I’ll start by letting you know that it’s not a traditional bbq sauce we use, but a base of molasses and brown sugar. You’re going to slow-cook these bad boys, using both the oven and your grill. Yeah, it’s a little bit of work, but I’d like to consider it a labor of love. Trust me, ya chooch.

Start with a nice rack of baby back ribs. (The Zman is always partial to a nice rack.)
Then we make a rub – Paprika, garlic powder, salt & pepper, cumin, and oregano.
Then we make the sauce –
Molasses – 1/4 cup
Brown sugar – 2 1/2 cups
Ketchup – 1/2 cup
Mustard – 1 tablespoon
Chinese Sweet and Sour Sauce – 2 packets (Go rip ‘em off from Chan’s up the Street)
Soy Sauce – 1 tablespoon
Worcestershire Sauce – 1 tablespoon
Fresh Garlic – 3 – 5 (cloves depending on your love for garlic) thinly sliced
Red Pepper Flakes – 1/2 teaspoon

Place the ingredients into a pot and onto the stove top, stir and bring it to a boil. Turn down the heat and just let it simmer.

Take your rub and coat both sides of the meat evenly.
Place the rack on a cookie sheet, uncovered – and put it in the oven for one hour set at 225.
After an hour, cover it with foil and pop it back in for another  2 hours. This lets it get all steamy in there as it slow-cooks in it’s own juices.

Ok, brutha, you’re ready for the grill. Set it to a medium flame and let the grill top heat up.

Place the rack on the grill top for a few minutes on each side until they get golden brown.

Now it’s time to brush on that sauce with a nice consistency.

Place the ribs back onto the grill again for only a couple of minutes, both sides – until the sauce starts to bubble and caramelize. The outside should get slightly charred and nice and crispy.

After you cut them up, you can pour the remainder of the sauce over the meat while it’s still hot.

And that’s it, my brother. North Jersey Style Killer Ribs to impress the hell out of Paulie, Christopher, Silvio, and Tony. And if Johnny Sacks and Phil Leotardo want some, don’t act like a douche bag – just give ‘em their cut. We don’t want no trouble over here.

Oofah! – Z

By Larry Winget

Best selling author Larry Winget has a new book and it’s not only his best work to date – it’s the most important book you might ever read. Yeah, those are some pretty strong words and rightfully so. But today, his message is very black & white.

Some of you have really had your blood pressure soar about my black and white approach to self-improvement, finances, parenting and life in general. You have pointed out that there are several areas that really are gray when it comes to life. No kidding? Thanks for pointing that out to me. I had NO IDEA that was the case. How could I know that? I have never had a problem or faced with a challenge. I have never raised teenagers, had money issues, been married or divorced, held a job, managed people, driven down the street, eaten out, bought anything, had a bill, or had to make a tough decision. Never. None of those things. I have lived a completely sheltered life in a cave blessed with only positive thoughts and outcomes. I have attracted all of my success through The Secret and The Law Of Attraction. I have never had a real life facing all of the things real people face and I honestly had no idea that life had any gray areas.

Come on folks, I know life if full of gray areas. It’s just that I think we have all become way too comfortable living in those gray areas. Gray areas used to be little tiny corners we could escape to in order to justify our stupid actions and results. Now the gray areas are everywhere! Our homes, our businesses, our government, our society, our grocery stores, in our books, and all over our televisions. Our leaders spew gray and drape it red, white and blue. Things are so gray that when someone actually draws a line and paints one side black and the other side white, it bothers the hell out of people! We have become comfortable and embraced the gray areas way too much and shied away from the uncomfortable realities of black and white. I want people to begin to think more in terms of black and white. Right or wrong. Good or bad. People need to understand they are either doing enough or they aren’t doing enough. We need to recognize we are either giving our best or we aren’t. You are either on the way, or you are in the way. You are either living within your means or you aren’t.  It’s either the truth or it’s a lie.

It’s easier to live in the black and white world. That’s why I am so confused by those who love the gray area so much. When faced with a decision, you just make it quickly based on whether it is the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do. You don’t have to wallow in it, meditate on it, study it, consider it, hold a focus group, or take a vote. You DO the right thing.

Why? Because you can. All it takes is some guts. A backbone. A pair.

You will be criticized for it. Trust me, I know. Who cares? You will be given grief at work for kissing up by doing your job when others are slacking. Tell them to kiss off. Your friends will give you crap about being too tough on your kids. They will laugh at you for saying no to spending money when you know you can’t afford it. They will ridicule you for not taking the easy road when you know you should take the right road. Those people are not your friends, dump them. Now. And never look back.

Do the right thing in your life every time to the best of your ability. You won’t be perfect at it. I’m certainly not. I mess up every day and slip and slide around in the gray area, just like everyone else. But every day, I remind myself I can do a little better; take more of a stand for what I know is right and take action on it. That’s all it takes: a decision to do it, a willingness to take action, the humility to admit you aren’t doing your best, the honestly to confront yourself for it, and the willingness to keep on doing what you know is right regardless of the consequences.

Yep, that’s it: it’s black or white.

Visit Larry’s website @ www.larrywinget.com

Larry’s new book is available at all the major bookstores and online retailers.

Part One of this Outstanding Video Interview

Michael Gladis plays the pipe smoking copywriter, “Paul Kinsey” on AMC TV’s, Award Winning, Mad Men. Not only does his character Paul smoke a pipe on screen, but Mr. Gladis smokes a pipe in real life.

PipesMagazine.com Editor & Publisher, Kevin Godbee sat down with Michael Gladis in the private smoking lounge at Davidoff of Geneva in midtown Manhattan on November 14, 2009. They talked about pipe smoking, his role on Mad Men, and his acting career in general. Michael is charming, friendly, and witty while he enjoys smoking his pipe and giving us the inside scoop on Mad Men and telling us how he is similar to Paul Kinsey. See Part I of our video interview with Michael Gladis here and see if you can get the trivia question right at the end.

Watch Part One of Kevin Godbee’s Interview by CLICKING HERE

In the early 50’s famed artist George Petty drew and airbrushed the pin-up girls for Ridgid Tools popular calendars. According to the ASIFA Animation Hollywood Animation website:

George Petty was one of the top “cheesecake” illustrators of the 30s and 40s. He began his career with a series of cartoons featuring beautiful girls and their far from handsome beaus. His work coined the term “Petty Girls” to describe the carefully airbrushed girls with brilliant smiles and sexy poses. He left Esquire, to be replaced by Alberto Vargas who we will be featuring here soon, and became a freelance commercial artist. His girls soon ended up gracing magazine ads and calendars for such unlikely products as Tung-Sol Radio Tubes and the aptly named, Ridgid Tools.

Being a huge fan of nostalgia and retro stuff, I love this calendar art and so will you. An interesting note about the artist… He grew up working in his dad’s photography studio where airbrushing was common in the business, but not at all in illustration – until he applied the medium to drawings like these making Petty the pioneer of the technique for illustrators who followed.

Scroll down and check ‘em out…just gorgeous stuff!

VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITE!

Tell us who happens to be your favorite RIDGID chick from years back. While March 1953 is incredibly suggestive for it’s day, I think November 1952 would have threaded my pipe with the most precision!

- Zman

Okay, So I Gathered a Few Photos, Below…

To call Denise Milani sexy is to say that Michelangelo was just some local guy who painted ceilings for a few extra bucks. Guys, this woman is the pinnacle in “stinkin” hot” and while I am an avid fan of cougars of the elder variety, I would gladly spend an evening or ten hanging with the woman who puts the B into buxom – and bossoms and breasts, boobs, bongos, and behemoth boulders.

Denise was born in the Czech Republic and now resides in sunny California, where at 5’ 4’’ her whopping 32 triple DDD’s can be confused for various mountains that protrude from the Golden State. Her bra is like the world’s largest piñata, filled with enough sweet candy to satisfy a party in Yankee Stadium. (I’d like to crack my stick at that.) At 29 years old it may have taken a while for her to gain recognition, but the gal is popping up (and out) all over, and we at Planet Zman just thought it was the right thing to do by sharing a few photos of this titanic topped bombshell.

Not only is Denise known for her sweater bombs, but that gorgeous face, sultry eyes, and alluring smile can cast a spell on men that no mere Siren could accomplish. Put the whole package together and this girl is stunning and will no doubt become a known name in modeling. I really don’t know why I’m writing this drivel as there is no doubt that you are glomming at the photos and have actually forgotten how to talk for a few brief moments.

Hey Denise… careful over there, you’re gonna put somebody’s eye out.

- ZMAN

Shwing! What more can a guy really say?

As my son has just hit 14 year’s of age – on his way to earning his Mancard – I’ve noticed his interest in girls getting more and more obvious. Each morning before school he hoses himself down with AXE body spray, and when mixed with Fritos for lunch it makes for an interesting middle-school aphrodisiac. Plus he’s doing a lot of Myspace messaging back and forth with the young ladies, which I say, “kudos little dude.”

I was trying to remember my earliest feelings for the opposite sex and it was probably in first grade where I sat in front of Kathy Werbin’s house one Saturday morning for about four hours waiting for her to come outside. I remember my heart pounding, wondering what I would say when we’d hook up. (It’s uncanny how woman make guys do brutally stupid shit – even at six years old.) Finally my patience paid off as she appeared from her garage – and man she was hot – even back then I was particular about looks. I remember she was into GI Joe’s and asked me to play. (It’s funny that GI Joe’s were actually dolls wrapped in testosterone so boys would be tricked into playing with them.) But my little heart was soon plucked from my ribcage as she had to go – a play date with Robert Sandler was scheduled and that was the first time I realized what cruel harlots the opposite sex can be.

It was definitely movies and TV that helped to arouse my nubile senses in the early years. I didn’t know why, but at ten years old I couldn’t take my eyes off of Barbara Eden’s stomach when she donned that genie costume. I used to get warm all over when she pranced around her Cocoa Beach habitat. And even at ten I wondered what the bloody hell was wrong with Major Nelson - I mean for crissakes, come on, man! Forget the fact that she was sizzling hot and was sworn to his every command – the bonehead could have anything he wanted – gold, jewels, cars, homes – but it was always, “Don’t use your powers, Jeannie.” What a friggin ass-tro-NOT.

Those cavorting cougars always had me more worked up more than Laurie Partridge or any of the Brady chicks. Girls my own age didn’t do it for me. I can’t explain it, but I always had a penchant for the older gals. Now I know most guys loved Dawn Wells as Mary Ann, but I was always a Ginger guy, and when Tina Louise strutted about in those slinky nightgowns, I was glued to the tube. (And it wasn’t until I was around 15 that I came to the conclusion that Gilligan, the Skipper, and the Professor were all raging poofters.) I’ve never really dug the “girl next door” type, but more the sultry, buxom bombshell. And as a lad, no one had me standing at full attention more than the incredible Raquel Welch. I was just a kid but I had an amazing appreciation for her killer body, complete with swollen appendages. You can blame God or nature, or the earth’s primal forces, but I was not in control of certain bodily reactions when Raquel appeared on a TV talk or game show. I used to scan the TV Guide when we got it to see if the starlet was appearing anywhere. That same era had the likes of Ursula Andress, Elke Somer and Gina Lolabridgada, Sophia Loren, Bridget Bardot, and Margaret Nolan - incredibly voluptuous goddesses I couldn’t take my eyes off!

The same unexplainable force that changes the tides and pulls plants towards the sun had me more jacked up than ten Milky Ways and a jug of Bosco. I vividly remember watching Goldie Hawn dance in a bikini on Rowan and Martin’s Laughin, and thinking, “Now that sure as hell beats playing with GI Joe’s.”

Even though she wasn’t provocative, I always dug Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha Stevens on Bewitched. Again, at an early age I recognized her beauty and just being a witch carried a sexiness all of its own. And again, with the ability to have anything he wanted, her retarded husband Darrin suffered from Major Nelson syndrome: “Don’t use any witchcraft to get what we want or need, Sam.” Whether it was York or Sargent, both Darrin’s were most definitely a couple of real “Dicks” when it came to Samantha’s powers.

No doubt today’s TV is a hell of a lot more sex oriented and I realize that my son is subject to those same unexplainable forces that his daddy was driven by. Plus with the internet and its 12,000 naughty sites, my kid doesn’t have to go rooting around my bedroom for pop’s “half-assed” hidden Playboy magazines (sorry dad, but you’ve gotta know I would have found them even if you buried them two miles under the goddamned septic tank.)

Listen, my intent here wasn’t to write a sexist piece and I’m certainly not advocating my kid look at porn or anything like that. I just know at 14 what my son is feeling as I think back to my early days of youth. And there’s no doubt everyone of you guys have similar memories and stories of your own – hopefully to share in the comments section below (and please do so because I’ll most likely need to convince my mother, wife, and daughter that I’m not a raging perverted psychopath, after they read this.)

Glad I could share such nice mammaries.

And hey, if you love the chicks from the sixties and seventies, there’s no better magazine to get your nostalgic dander up than Cinema Retro, published by my good buddy and film (and James Bond) aficionado, Lee Pfeiffer @ www.cinemaretro.com

- Zman

1958 was a big year for Tuscaloosa. Not only was it the first year that Paul “Bear” Bryant starting coaching at Alabama, but it was the year that John “Big Daddy” Bishop opened his first Dreamland Café. Big Daddy was a mason for many years, which is some hard work. One night he got on his knees and prayed for another way to make a living. That night, he dreamed of opening a café and he made that dream a reality.

The original Dreamland Café is located about two miles from the intersection of Hwy 82 and Interstate 59 just south of Tuscaloosa . In the beginning, it wasn’t just ribs and white bread. Big Daddy cooked a lot of different things, but what made the customers keep coming back was not only the warmth they felt every time they passed through the door, but Big Daddy’s ribs and secret recipe bar-b-que sauce.

Dreamland is still eminently known for bar-b-que ribs. The décor inside the original café is warm and inviting with a big bar, a few tables and booths and a pot bellied stove. It feels like you are attending a family picnic indoors and the ribs are delicious, cooked the same way for the last 50 years. Inside you will meet customers whose family has been coming to Dreamland for generations. Big Daddy always said, “You should be good to the grandparents” and his own children would help customers to their cars and open the door for them. The point is that John Bishop didn’t just open a café- he made a place that was home to his children and his family and extended that feeling of love to everyone that came by.

RIBS & PORK THRU MAIL ORDER? HELLS YEAH!!!

If you are unable to visit one of their 8 Alabama restaurants, you can still enjoy the legendary taste of Dreamland Bar-B-Que ribs, pulled pork, bar-b-qued chicken, hickory smoked sausage, and baked beans delivered right to your door. They ship their USDA inspected ribs and sauce most anywhere. Order online or call them 1-800-752-0544 for more shipping information.

Check This Out…

50th Anniversary Package!
Celebrate Fifty Years of BBQ greatness with asampling of all their products! You’ll get 1 slab of ribs, 1 lb of pork, 1 lb of hickory smoked sausage, 1 quart of our legendary sauce and 1 bottle of dressing. Also included are wet naps, bibs, a loaf of Sunbeam bread and heating instructions.

Good god, I’m ordering five of these. Now what is everybody else gonna eat?

Visit www.dreamlandbbq.com and get some of your own, dammit!