Wreck Beach

I wrote this blog for those readers who have never visited Vancouver, B.C. People who haven’t heard of the biggest nude beach in North America. It's located right on the campus of the University of British Columbia. I know because I took every opportunity to spend time down there, enjoying the sun, conversing with other students, meditating...oh, who I am kidding? I went down there to stare at naked women.

Nude beaches in Canada are different than clothing optional beaches in California. If you can find a nude beach in Southern California there's a good chance that it's either littered with needles, used condoms or a dead body. In Canada, as in Europe, nudity isn’t considered taboo or even risque. Whole families spend a day, naked in the sun. We Americans feel nudity is better left to the privacy of your own home where people are less likely to laugh at you.

Growing up in conservative Wisconsin left me with some hang ups as to public nudity. The only time you're naked outdoors in Wisconsin is when a bear is attacking your tent and you don't have time to put on underwear.

My son, Tyson, was about six or seven years old when he came to live with me at UBC. Wreck Beach is on the other end of campus from family housing. As we walked he would pick flowers to give to the prettiest girls on the beach. Let me tell you a kid with flowers beats a puppy hands down when it comes to meeting women. No matter how cute the puppy might be.

Some of the locals make a living on the beach selling everything from margaritas to hashish. You could always tell if someone was a cop because they would be wearing underwear. Technically it's illegal to be nude in public but that hasn't stopped thousands from descending on Wreck Beach every summer. Some of them live down there all through the summer. It’s like Woodstock without the acid. Although I can’t swear to the acid.

It's not easy getting down to the beach. You've got to crawl down this incredibly steep, winding path for about a quarter of a mile before you hit sand. Walking back up is a fine workout for anyone. (Especially if you're carrying cameras around your neck) Wreck Beach lives on and always will. The arch conservative elements of Vancouver politics have always threatened to bulldoze a road down to the beach so the cops can easily patrol it but that has never happened. I hope it never will. Where else can you be naked without getting laughed at?

Sex & Sin

I was raised in a small Wisconsin farming town where we learned the two greatest sins were sex and losing to the Chicago Bears. The greatest sin would have been to actually have sex with a Bear. Vince Lombardi was coach of the Packers and I thought sex was only for Californians and Paul Horning. (He was the playboy of the 60’s Packers) I've grown up since those days and learned that sex is only a sin if it ends up on You Tube.

There was a time in my life when I wanted to be a Franciscan monk. Not because I wanted to devote my life to Christ but because I thought the robes looked so cool. What’s not to like about brown robes and sandals? That's pretty much the same reason I enlisted in the Air Force. Cool uniforms. I was a young, naive altar boy back when Latin was spoken in Mass. It's hard to believe I was ever that innocent.

As a Catholic growing up in the 50's and 60's I was taught that sex was a sin unless you were married and then only done to make more Catholics. Only Lutherans were allowed to enjoy sex. They caught all the breaks. One teacher I had told me that sex was bad even in marriage but I think she was speaking only of her marriage.

Where I grew up in Wisconsin there were only three religions: Catholics, Lutherans and Packer fans. I never met or even saw any minorities until I graduated from high school and worked as an elevator operator at the YMCA in Chicago down in the loop. Talk about culture shock. Yet in its own way I found it exciting. Haight-Ashbury would appeal to me for the same reason a year later.

I lost my virginity in the front of a '61 Falcon and to this day my knees hurt just thinking about it. Don't ask. It only brings back embarrassing memories. I don't think I would have enjoyed sex as much if it wasn't a sin. It's a lot like enjoying a hot dog on Friday back when the church considered it a venial sin to eat meat on Friday. Then one day it wasn’t a sin and I haven’t enjoyed a hot dog since.

"The DaVinci Code" hypothesized that Jesus married Mary Magdalene and they had a daughter who grew up in France. While this story doesn't offend my Catholic sensibility, I am saddened to hear anybody's kid had to grow up in France.

I suppose sex before marriage will always be a sin. I hope so. If there’s sex in Heaven I hope we get to wear masks.

Hollywood Daze

In L.A. just about everyone came from somewhere else. A growing number are from Central America and haven’t learned English yet. Many of them never want to learn. Others are from Russia, Armenia and all across Europe. The rest of us drove here from other states. I came from Wisconsin. The one thing we all have in common is that we experience homesickness. We miss not only our home land but also the culture and traditions we grew up with. L.A. becomes our home but in our heart home will always be another land. That land for me is Wisconsin. At least it was until I set foot on the Sunshine Coast.

Although I didn’t grow up on the Sunshine Coast it’s home to me now. That's because no place on the planet makes me happier. There is a joy I get from walking down Wharf Road or any other street in Sechelt that I just don't get anywhere else. Most of us live where we want to live. That’s the beauty of living in a free country. If I was allowed to work in Canada I would be packing immediately. I was born an American but I am in love with Canada. It's hard to explain. It's like being married to a woman you'll never divorce but you're passionately in love with a really hot mistress. The Sunshine Coast is my hot mistress.

The scenery from Langdale north is absolutely stunning. The people of the highest caliber. It is the closest I’ll ever get to Heaven. I am comedy writer/improv comic but my day job is giving tours of stars homes. Most people in Hollywood can't make a living in show business. That's reality. Hey, we've got to pay the bills too.

number of my blogs chronicle my memories of growing up in a small Wisconsin farm town as compared to my life chasing fame in Hollywood. As compared to my time on the Sunshine Coast. More importantly these blogs give me a chance to rave about your part of the world. The best part. I hope you enjoy them. Feel free to contact me with feedback or any questions. If you're planning a trip to L.A. and am curious about tours of stars homes I can offer you some free advice. It's the least I can do. After all, I might get lost on the Sunshine Coast someday. We can toss back a few Canadian beers down at the Lighthouse Pub. You can't beat their food and the view is to die for.

Village Idiot

There was a time a hundred years ago or more when I believed whatever anyone said in a chat room. If we all wore name tags mine would read, "Village Idiot".

My life might have turned out differently if I was born good-looking, rich, or smart. Instead I was the funny one that nobody invited to their birthday parties. I was the class clown always shy in front of the girls. While I had no problems cracking up everyone in class I would get extremely shy in front of anyone with a uterus. Do you think George Clooney is shy in front of anyone? Did Brad Pitt clam up in front of Angelina when he first met her? Is it normal to be somewhat of a clod in front of beautiful women? It is for me.

Life would be so much easier if I could just read a woman's mind. That would take all that annoying mystery out of the game. I would know whether she likes me or is just tolerating me because she can’t stand seeing a grown man cry. Maybe it's better I never know. What is a Village Idiot to do? I suppose if God meant for me to have an active sex life He would have blessed me with both testicles.

There's no question I'm a slow learner. No matter how many times I am spurned I continue to give out my business cards like they were hits of Ecstasy. Then when she doesn't call I convince myself that it's a waste of time to even flirt and vow never to hand out my card again. Never to even strike up a conversation with a beautiful woman. The first time I run into another gorgeous nymph I make an ass out of myself again. I think it’s in men’s DNA for to continue flirting despite making fools out of ourselves again and again. We’re junkies for humiliation.

Men and women play the same games. The only difference is women are much smarter than us. It's like comparing Anna Kornikova to a chimp with a racket. Getting rejected by a beautiful woman is disheartening but understandable. That doesn't make it any less painful. Just easier to cope with. It's a wonder women have put up with us this long. If genetic scientists ever create a penis in a Petri dish we men are in serious trouble.
My name is Tom.
I am the Village Idiot.

Comics Life

There was a time if you wanted to be a writer you lead the Jack Kerouac lifestyle, hitchhiking and hopping freight trains across country. At least that’s what I did for years. A comic has a different path to success. If you’re going to follow in the footsteps of Bill Cosby, Lenny Bruce, Robin Williams, Jim Carey or Dave Chappelle you work open mic nights at the clubs. The problem I have with most comics is that they’re onstage 24/7. Comics are worse than actors and that’s saying a lot.In my standup comedy days I was working open mic nights at the Comedy Store, The Improv on Melrose, the Ice House in Pasadena and a few nights at the Holy City Zoo in San Francisco where Robin Williams got his start. You want the best time slot. Before everyone is too drunk but late enough so you’re working a full house. My gimmick was arriving in my ambulance and telling the MC I had just gotten a Code 3 and needed to go up next. I'd do my routine and race out of the parking lot with lights and siren blaring.
The big disadvantage of open mic night is you don't know when you're going onstage. It could be in four minutes or four hours. All the time I would be pacing, my guts wrenching. You hoped the comic ahead of you would bomb so you looked good in comparison. I once had to follow Freddie Prinze high on cocaine. I've never seen anyone funnier. Every comic’s nightmare. Following a star. After his act Freddie sat down by the bar, surrounded by people but not one of them talking to him. I thought I knew all about loneliness until I saw Freddie Prinze in a crowd.I do miss being young and naive enough to dream of fame. When you're young you've got eternity to become famous. Then as you approach 40 you keep reminding yourself that Rodney Dangerfield was a paint salesman until he was 42. Once you're past 50 the doors are all closed. If fame hasn't knocked on your door by 50 it's not even in your neighborhood.To this day I still have problems watch comics perform. Most of them aren’t funny. Even though they try so hard. Too hard. As they bomb my guts are in knots, memories freshened with that sinking feeling. If my first couple of jokes went over I would be fine. But if there was silence in the beginning of my act it would throw my timing off. Panic sets in. You feel like you’re naked at a high school reunion and can’t wait to run out of the room.
I mentioned my improv act, "Fortune Man" before but I’ll say a bit more about it now just in case you didn’t catch me at Chatelech Theatre in Sechelt last year. Fortune Man is a parody of the psychic hotlines. One of our props is a speakerphone to the After World so anyone in the audience could talk to a dead uncle or JFK. Anyone deceased. Comic backstage would play those roles. While improv is working without a net I find it’s so much more fun than standup.
A comic's brain works differently. I was over at my son’s recently waiting for the cable guy to show up. While doing dishes I spilled water on my groin. Immediately I could picture a young cable installer trying not to look at the wet spot but not able to take his eyes off it. All the time thinking, “That poor old man. He doesn’t even know he’s wet his pants.” Comics are funny because we're not good at anything else.If you or anyone you know dreams of fame as a comic I would make the following suggestions:

1) Don't think you're funny just because your parents always laughed at your jokes. They’re your parents. They’d laugh if you were shaving a yam.

2) Don't think fame as a comic will score big with the ladies. A Zomboni driver gets laids more.

3) Don't use your real name. A stage name make it’s easier denying everything later.

4) Don't write your standup routine with your clothes on. Everyone is funnier naked. At least that’s what my ex-wife always told me.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Lost Love

I had just completed my freshman year at UW-Oshkosh in 1971 and was eager to get back on the road hitchhiking. I didn’t care where. Anywhere. Just being on the road was all I wanted. My friend Don and I set out for a trek west to California but never got any further than Denver. Although many other students said they wanted to join me in my cross-country hitchhiking trips, Don was the first friend who actually showed up.The second friend accompanied me on a hitchhiking trip into Canada years later. We ended up hopping a "hotshot" (Nonstop freight train) from Toronto to Montreal. I've never seen more beautiful scenery. The only problem with freight trains is that, because of the load, there is a constant forward and backward jerking movement which makes sleeping in an empty boxcar difficult. The next time you're near a moving freight train, listen closely and you'll hear that distinctive sound of the cars banging against each other. No passenger train makes that noise.I learned the hard way you don’t want to pick an open car close to the locomotive. As the train goes through tunnels soot from the engine makes you look like a member of a minstrel troupe. With our legs dangling out of the open doors of the boxcar, we watched racoons playing in a stream, deer foraging in a clearing and people riding their horse drawn racing buggies. If you really want to enjoy the country side I highly recommend trains over driving or flying.

That trip to Denver was life-changing because I met Jessie on a cool night in Denver that summer. St. Andrew's church allowed the homeless to sleep on the church floor but the doors closed at 9:00 PM sharp. If you came in late you had only the abandoned VW van in the backyard. It still beat sleeping in the park. The Denver cops had a habit of waking anyone sleeping in the park by rapping the soles of your shoes with their nightstick. Don didn't have a sleeping bag so he brought this tattered, brown bear suit to wear at night. They never hit Don's feet. It probably had something to do with the bear suit.
I'll never forget the first time I set eyes on Jessie. Don and I were hungry and hanging out downtown when three teenagers approached us. As soon as they started pitching their Jesus schtick I turned away. I was too hungry to think about eternal damnation. Don was more receptive. My mood changed dramatically when they invited us back to their Teen Challenge headquarters for free cake and coffee. Praise the Lord Jesus! I was ready to be saved.Now I'll bet all of you can probably look back at the moment you met the love of your life and recall the chemistry that percolated immediately. Jessie and I talked exclusively with each other at Teen Challenge that night and I was impressed by her intelligence, effervescent personality and that smile. After a few hours Jessie said she had to leave if she was going to catch the last bus home.

Although she was only 17 she had already spent a year at Grand Canyon University, a Christian college in Phoenix. She was spending the summer with her parents in Englewood, about four miles up Broadway from downtown. Her father, an ex-boxer and carpenter, had built a small house in the backyard for Jessie to live in. It was beautiful. The next summer we would spend our last summer together in that toy home.It wasn't more than ten minutes before Jessie returned. She had missed the last bus and asked if I would walk her home. Of course I didn't realize how far Englewood was at the time but looking back it wouldn't have mattered. I wanted to be with Jessie from the moment I met her and would have jumped at the chance to spend time with her. I suspect Jessie missed that bus on purpose. Sometimes it's a bit embarrassing to look back at what you did as a kid. Don and I were doing our laundry at a downtown hotel when an actual resident there walked in to do his laundry. I whispered to Don that we should stage a mock fistfight right in front of this guy just to see his reaction. As Don threw me back against a white wooden door my hand flew back and to our surprise we discovered that it was painted glass. The upper half of the door shattered and Don took off running.

I had to gather our clothes out of the dryer. On my way up the stairs I ran into the hotel manager. He asked me if I had seen anything and I told him two guys were still fighting in the laundromat. When he hurried down there I ran out of the hotel and for the rest of the night whenever I heard a police siren I was certain they were coming for me.I didn't see Don for a couple of days. The next day I was crossing the street and asked a complete stranger in the middle of the crosswalk if he knew where I could get a job. He said they were hiring topographical mapmakers at the Federal Center. I took a bus out to U.S. Geological Survey and lied, telling them I had three years of Geology when, in fact, I had only one semester and topographical mapmaking was my weakness. So I crammed at the library for a few hours and barely passed the test a few days later. Within four days I was driving a pickup truck in the back hills of Buffalo, Wyoming.It wasn't easy telling Jessie I was leaving Denver. She knew I needed a job but leaving someone that just ignited your life is never easy. She cried and I regretted ever asking about a job in the crosswalk. That night I met up with Don in the VW van at St. Andrews. He told me he had met a married couple in the park after running out of the hotel. They invited him home for dinner. They told him he could bring a friend back anytime. Imagine my surprise when the front door opened to their apartment and it was the same hotel manager that I had lied to after running from his laundromat. What are the odds of that happening?Buffalo, Wyoming in 1971 was a cowboy's paradise. Maybe it still is. Many of the residents owned horses and it wasn’t unusual for people to ride their horses downtown. I was a hippie with long hair and never felt like I belonged there.

One day I was going for a walk when I noticed four or five kids standing around a white horse in their huge front yard. They asked me if I wanted to ride their horse. I jumped at the chance even though it didn't have a saddle or reins to hold onto. The kids said when I wanted the horse to stop to just squeeze my legs. Now you horse-smart people know that squeezing your legs only makes the horse run faster. That was the joke on me. It's a shame cars can't stop as fast as horses. As the horse ran faster I squeezed harder with my legs. When we hit the end of the yard the horse planted its front hooves and I flew over its head and into the fence. I never thought those kids would stop laughing.

One day I returned from the rolling hills of Buffalo to find Jessie waiting for me in the rooming house I lived in. She had hitchhiked in the middle of the night from Denver to Buffalo! Jessie was fearless. Three days later I quit the best job I had and hitchhiked back to Denver with her. That's what true love is all about, isn't it? I wish now I had stayed in Buffalo because it could have meant a career with U.S. Geological Survey. Jessie transferred to my school in Wisconsin. Four months later we were married in Green Bay.

Our first summer break I made the mistake of living with the in-laws in Denver. Jessie and I argued about where we were going to spend the summer. I wanted to go to California while she insisted on living with her parents. When I got home from finals she was gone. I jumped in the car and headed towards Denver, finally coming across her hitchhiking on Interstate 80 near Omaha, Nebraska. We spent that summer in the toy house her father built in his backyard. Less than a year later we were divorced.

In 1994 I was traveling from Wisconsin back to Los Angeles when I stopped by Denver to see how the old neighborhood looked. That entire section of Englewood was filled with boarded up houses. It looked like a ghost town. I didn't recognize any of the homes and after walking up and down the street I had to guess which one was once Jessie's. I knocked on the front door not really expecting anyone to answer. Slowly my head turned to the house on the left and I could see what was once a beautiful toy home in the back yard. Seeing something from your past in such rotting condition makes you feel a thousand years old. I wished I had never stopped.

Two years ago I received an email from Jessie. I hadn’t heard from her in over 30 years but now she’s emailing me to say she had found my high school class ring. God bless the Internet. Of course I had lost my class ring long before meeting her but she had to have an excuse for writing after all those years. She had read some of my blogs and decided she would write a blog about us as well. Only after reading her blog did I learn that her father was dying of leukemia the entire time we dated and throughout our marriage. No one said a word to me. I learned she had flunked out of college in Arizona but she never said a word about that to me. What kind of relationship did we really have? What kind of marriage? Life is full of surprises.

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

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Fort St. John

Most of you on the Sunshine Coast have probably heard of Fort St. John. You know it’s an oil boomtown located over a thousand miles north of the Canadian border. Fort St. John was the only town I ever lived in that could legitimately boast of having more moose than drunks. Barely. In 1980 I would learn it was right out of a John Wayne western. Disputes settled in large bar fights every night and grudges were never held for long. Broken tables were leveled off with an ashtray.

I was a cabaret DJ trying to earn enough money to attend the MFA program in Creative Writing at UBC. The University of Iowa turned me down. UBC and the University of Oregon in Eugene accepted me into their creative writing programs. UBC offered writing workshops in a wide diversity of genres while Iowa was interested only in novels, poetry and short stories. Kurt Vonnegut taught at Iowa and that would have been so cool but Canada was the adventurous option and in the long run a much better move for me.

Shortly after arriving in Vancouver I discovered that to get a student visa I would need $3500 in the bank which I didn’t have. After talking with Dr. Jake Zilber, Chairman of the Creative Writing Department, it was decided that I would attend the MFA program the following year. While going through the classified section of the Vancouver Sun in the student union I found an opening for a cabaret D.J. in Fort St. John. When I asked a nearby student where Fort St. John was all they could say was, “Pretty damned far!” It was worlds away from Vancouver. A universe from L.A.

Now I should mention here that as an undergraduate student in Radio-TV-Film at the University of Wisconsin in Oshkosh I had been fired as a nightclub D.J. Prior to that job my only experience had been in radio. Suddenly I’m in a club surrounded by people watching my every move. I was trying to learn more about the equipment the first night and the second night I found another excuse not to speak. I was stuck right in the middle of a mental block. After not talking for four days they fired me. So going to Fort St. John for a job I had already been fired for seemed a bit insane. It’s not as if I had many options. Fort St. John didn’t care about work visas and everyone else in Vancouver did.

The drive from Vancouver to Fort St. John is one of the most scenic trips you’re ever going to take, especially as you near Jasper Park. If you drive into the city of Jasper late at night you’ll find stray elk roaming the side streets and alleys looking for a free meal. It is both surreal and exciting. The people of Jasper think nothing of seeing an elk stroll down one of their streets. In L.A. we’re pulling out camcorders if we just see a coyote eating a squirrel.

The Northland Inn in 1980 was a cabaret, bar, lounge, and hotel all in one. Let me just say it wasn’t exactly the Hilton but it was a job. As soon as I arrived I went straight to the elevated D.J. booth and talked on the microphone. It broke the ice and I went on to become the most profitable D.J. in the 75-year history of the Northland Inn. At least that’s what my boss, Hector, told me when he wanted me to stay instead of attending UBC.

A different stripper would arrive every Monday from Vancouver on their dancer circuit through B.C. and Alberta. I would play their music while they danced in the bar during the afternoon. Those strippers taught me how to play backgammon. Most of them couldn’t dance. A few were creative. One stripper used hand puppets in her act. To this day I can’t watch Kermit without thinking of her. It was a fascinating place to work. The cook and I made the radio commercials for the cabaret in the DJ booth and for a brief period of time we were Fort St. John celebrities.

The guys working on the oil rigs would come into town every two weeks with a wad of cash and little time to spend it. There were only a handful of hookers in town but they made out like bandits. I knew all of them because they hung out in my cabaret. I never did any business with them because I was saving for graduate school. Tweety offerred me a discount rate of $99.95 one night but I never took her up on the offer. You can’t even rent a scooter for that much. How dumb was I?

Back in 1980 hockey wasn’t that popular in The States. Canadians, on the other hand, loves hockey more than sex. Even good sex. If you had a game show that combined both sex and hockey it would be a ratings gangbuster in Canada. I was standing around a small group of locals one night when the conversation turned to Wayne Gretsky, who was playing for Edmonton at the time. I asked who Wayne Gretsky was and you would have thought I had asked who Jesus Christ was! If you want Canadians to know you’re an American ask a dumb question about hockey.

All the apartment buildings in Fort St. John have electric outlets mounted on small posts in the parking lots. With temperatures dipping far below freezing every night you would not be able to get your car started in the morning unless you had a heater installed in your engine block. I’ve never seen that anywhere else. Not even in Wisconsin where the temperatures could get to 70 below zero.

The cabaret played hard rock until I arrived at which time the manager felt disco would be more profitable. The roughnecks, in town for only a few days, continually threatened me if I didn’t play rock. Who dances to the Doors? I even had to be escorted to parties by bouncers because it wasn’t safe outside the cabaret. Although those guys off the oil rigs complained, most of them loved to dance to disco although they would rather die than admit it.
The TV show, “Northern Exposure” reminds me so much of my life in Fort St. John. Located right off the Alaska Highway, Fort St. John had much in common with the fictional Cicely, Alaska. The people were genuine and sincere. Unique and fascinating. It was a time and a world I’ll never see again. To this day I wonder what ever happened to all those people. Maybe it’s better I never know.

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

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Fort St. John, B.C.

The Sunshine Coast

The Sunshine Coast

If you're like me and don't think you're ever going to see The Pearly Gates you have to check out The Sunshine Coast of British Columbia because it's the closest you'll ever get to Heaven. Those of you living there should wake up every morning and thank God you're not in Calgary. Or L.A.

The following blog was obviously written for those who have never visited the Sunshine Coast. For those of you living there I'd like to give a Shout Out to Tanya at the Upper Deck hostel in Sechelt. I had so much fun staying there last year. You meet the coolest people in a hostel. Some of the college kids staying at the Upper Deck were almost as cool as me. Tanya is great and I highly recommend her hostel to anyone visiting Sechelt.

The Sunshine Coast is a 45 minute B.C. ferry ride from Horseshoe Bay in West Vancouver to Langdale. You won't see a single piece of ugly scenery the entire trip. I first visited Sechelt on the Sunshine Coast while a graduate student at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, which, incidentally, boasts the biggest nude beach in North America. I’ll devote a blog to Wreck Beach another time. Wreck Beach isn’t why I applied to UBC’s Creative Writing program but it didn't hurt.

The family of my girlfriend (M.R. Paine) at the time owned a beach front home on Redrooffs Road between Sechelt and Halfmoon Bay. Dr. Joe Paine, M.R.'s father, died a couple of years ago. Maybe some of you in Sechelt knew him. If you did consider yourself very lucky. That man could tell a story better than a drunken sailor. I couldn't have loved him more if he were my own father. Doc represented the finest qualities of the Canadian spirit.

The locals on the Sunshine Coast find it entertaining to pick out the tourists as they first set foot off the ferry at Langdale. It’s an easy game. The tourists are the only ones staring at the eagles flying overhead. I've been vacationing there for over 20 years and still can't help looking up at those majestic birds. Locals don’t give them a second glance.

While I was attending UBC the Creative Writing Department invited all of their students to submit scripts for a popular TV show on CBC at the time, “The Beachcombers”, which was taped at Molly’s Reach, a restaurant in Gibsons; the first town after leaving the ferry in Langdale. I’m usually in a hurry to Sechelt or rushing back to catch the ferry on time so I have to confess I’ve only visited Gibsons a couple of times but I highly recommend spending more time there. They’ve got a thriving artist community with some of the more fascinating people you’ll meet on the Sunshine Coast. There's always the Yuks Yuks comedy tour returning to Gibsons Cinema in June of 2009, often MC'd by the talented Norm Blair of Sechelt. The Heritage Theatre hosts many activities and performances.

In Roberts Creek you can study improv in the scenic surrounding on Earth. Viviane Houle teaches workshops near Roberts Creek on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia, and is available to lead workshops around the globe. For more information, contact Viviane at info@vivianehoule.ca

Sometimes even Heaven has a few reality checks. Whenever I vacationed up there I always enjoyed tossing back a few pints at The Wakefield, which unfortunately, no longer exists. I met a young man there who asked me if I wanted to meet any local women. My enthusiastic answer probably had something to do with the four pints of ale but I would have been eager even if I was sober.

I drove my van a couple of kilometers south towards Roberts Creek and stopped outside this house sitting atop a hill. The kid suggested I wait in the van until he could talk with the women first. I pulled over to the shoulder and turned my engine off. I waited. And waited. Suddenly the ale was having its effects and I wished I hadn't left the pub. It was probably no longer than 30 minutes but feeling more like hours when I decided to drive back home. My back tire started to spin in the muddy shoulder and it was obvious I was going nowhere soon.

As I stepped out of the van the R.C.M.P.'s cruiser's flashing lights lit up and I knew the jig was up. Startled, I fell against my van. The officer asked me if I had been drinking and I wasn’t about to lie to him. He asked me why I was parked there and so I told him about the kid who was going to introduce me to some local women. He laughed and asked me if I knew what that house on the hill was. He told me it was a Crack House. In Sechelt? It's like finding out there's a brothel at Disneyland.

I try to keep in touch with the few people I still know from Sechelt. I email Laurie McConnell, the webmaster of BigPacific.com. There’s Tanya at the Upper Deck hostel. Norm Blair who invited my improve act up to Sechelt last year. Bree Carlin is the hottest professional diver in the world. I continue to look for creative work up there but being an American without a work visa makes it's doubtful I'm going to be living up there anytime soon. I guess that’s what dreaming is for.

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

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Big Pacific

Thanksgiving

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. Beautiful homes. Maybe even a Lamborghini in the driveway. What about those of us who may not be doing all that well this year? Especially with the economy the way its been. What have we got to be thankful for? It takes more of an effort every year but I always manage to come up with a couple of things to be grateful for. This year I’m going to be thankful I’m not in prison and I don’t live in Calgary. All of you on the Sunshine Coast can be thankful for getting to live in Paradise.

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 most of my life home was Chilton, Wisconsin. That small town where I grew up and where most of my dreams were born. But it’s been Sechelt ever since my first visit on the Sunshine Coast in the early 80’s. It truly was love at first sight. I can’t think of any place that tugs on my heart strings more than your part of the world. From Langdale north it’s all the closest I’ll ever get to Heaven.

Watching football on Thanksgiving Day is the only tradition we have in L.A., which is odd since we’re the only large city in the country that doesn’t have its own NFL franchise. There are tons of Raider fans here but only by default. Why else would any rational human being be a Raiders fan? Of course growing up in Wisconsin automatically makes me a Packer fan for life. In L.A. you hardly ever see anyone playing football. It’s 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 screaming in Spanish. You know they’re having the time of their life. Like the hockey fans at the Lighthouse Pub. Good times. Good times.

Some of us are left to create our own individual Thanksgiving traditions. My son and his buddies played rough and tough tackle football in the park every Thanksgiving Day. The "Turkey Bowl" was an annual event for years until one of his best friends, Chad, became a father. Children change our lives in so many ways and forever.

Although I never admitted it to anyone, I found it took longer and longer to recover from the injuries of each Turkey Bowl. Getting older can be a brutal process. Aging has no consideration for our dignity whatsoever. It was only a matter of time before the Turkey Bowl would go the way of the dodo bird. While our Thanksgiving in this country is to commemorate the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock, I understand you Canadians are celebrating the landing of John Molson on the banks of the St. Lawrence River in 1786. Or so I’ve been told.

Last week I was reminded once more why I miss small town life. Terry Fluhr, one of my high school friends, emailed me that at his house on Thanksgiving Day all the children are responsible for making the side dishes. Isn’t that the coolest Thanksgiving tradition you’ve 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 nothing but carnitas and beans. I can’t help but envy Terry and the rest of you living in small towns like Sechelt. You’ve got real traditions. Traditions that will never die. 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. You might hate your job, or worse, not even have one. That place you call home might be run down and need of repair. Maybe the roof leaks. 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. If you’re living on the Sunshine Coast you’ve got plenty to be thankful for. You all live in Paradise.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Halloween

Chilton, the small Wisconsin farm town I grew up in, pretty much spoils you for Halloween. It was a town much like Sechelt and perhaps that is why I love the Sunshine Coast as much as I do. The fine people on the Sunshine Coast are so much like my Chilton neighbors. People with character and honor. People with a story to tell and the time to tell it. That was Chilton years ago and that’s Sechelt today.

I still cherish memories of Trick or Treating in a small town. Up Main Street and down Breed Street, the street my family lived on. My mother was always embarrassed whenever the sales clerk at Sears would ask for her home address. Breed street. As a child I didn’t get the joke. Halloween meant knocking on the doors of every neighbor, all the way down to Gravesville, the only part of town without sidewalks. None of the children ever had to worry about poisoned candy or razorblades in candy apples.

Lately I’ve been feeling nostalgic and started perusing the Chilton Times-Journal. I suspected that Chilton isn’t as innocent as it was when I lived there. The biggest headline announced that in the early hours a few weeks ago someone boosted a heifer calf that was 60% white and 40% black (Color not race.). Now that’s a photo that really belongs on a milk carton.

Chilton is a smaller town than Sechelt. Our biggest event was the day we got our first traffic light. A year later we got a Dairy Queen. Progress was rearing its head in Chilton. Until the Dairy Queen was built we had only the A&W, which was clear across town. All cheerleaders worked as car hops there. Some of my fondest high school memories were of Rosie Pfeffer on roller skates in her short A&W skirt.

Chilton Metal Products decided to tear down our house after my family moved to Appleton. I was in the Air Force at the time but I heard later a local minister actually salted the earth. Three of the four homes I grew up in have been razed. Is someone trying to tell me something? I loved living on top of Breed street. After all, May Kay Keuler lived across the street. I wonder what she looks like today. Probably better I not know.

One common trait most of us in L.A. share is a homesickness; especially around the holidays. Halloween is no different. While I always miss snow at Christmas time Halloween leaves me with cherished memories of hay rides through farmer’s fields looking for that perfect pumpkin. The air was cold and crisp and the candy apples the stuff fond memories are made of. It was almost as memorable as a Sechelt Halloween. I been in Sechelt for Halloween and I must say you people know how to celebrate it as well as anyone on the planet.

Hardly anybody goes Trick or Treating in L.A. without a bulletproof vest. Rather than walk the city streets with your kids parents go to the malls where the children walk from store to store never breathing the outdoor air. It’s Halloween, L.A. style. Los Angeles store owners post signs the day before Halloween expressly forbidding customers to enter their store on Halloween wearing a mask. Considering L.A. is the bank robbery capital of the world you can understand why a mask-wearing customer is rarely welcome.

A number of years ago on a Halloween afternoon, I was driving my retired police motorcycle (Safest bike to drive because people look for you) in Westwood Village, a couple of blocks from UCLA, when I noticed a man just down the street trying to crawl through the open passenger window of a slow-moving car. I thought at first the car had slipped into gear and taken off without him. As I finally pulled up next to the car I could see a driver behind the wheel. Suddenly there was the distinct crack of a handgun down the street. I looked to see a bank guard shooting into the back of the car I was now standing next to! That almost never happened to me in Chilton. Has that ever happened to you in Sechelt?

The driver started to speed away from me with the passenger’s legs still frantically dangling out the window. The guard, thinking I was a cop, asked me to pursue the car. I asked him if they had guns. When he nodded, "Yes" I decided it was probably not in my best interest and drove in the opposite direction. Weird things like this have always happened to me in L.A. Life here is a mental hospital without the padded walls. They say there’s nothing like Christmas with children around but I say the same goes for Halloween. The kids don’t even have to be your own. Just watching kids ecstatic to to get candy at every door is a thrill to me. My son, Tyson, grew up Trick or Treating in so many cities. Two Rivers, Manitowoc, Seattle, Los Angeles and Vancouver. Vancouver rain was cold that time of the year but at least it was safer than L.A. Especially out on the Endowment Lands by UBC.

Although I live in L.A. for now, I will always embrace small town Halloween memories. Sechelt Halloweens. The memories I cherish the most are of Halloween parties down at Cooper Park near Halfmoon Bay. The same fine people in all small towns but the scenery on the Sunshine Coast makes Chilton look like Calgary on a bad 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/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Western Costume Company

August Makes One Year

A year can be a long time.

365 generations of fruit flies are born and die in a year.

That’s, coincidentally, also the number of boyfriends Brittany Spears goes through in a year.

It's also how long I’ve been writing blogs. Every month a new blog and before I knew it a year had passed. I don’t know what’s sadder. People taking the time out of their busy day to read a blog I’ve written or 365 generations of fruit flies "kicking the bucket".

It’s the last few days of August. In Wisconsin football season has finally returned. In Sechelt blackberries are ripe for picking. Soon there will be bone chilling weather everywhere north of Portland. In L.A. we’ll be frying eggs on our hoods. We live in such different worlds. For the past year I’ve been writing about life in L.A. wishing I were on the Sunshine Coast. Somewhere close to Halfmoon Bay. Maybe as far north as Pender Harbor. A land where the blackberries are free and the air smells like Christmas morning.

August in Hollywood is when all of the shows come back from summer hiatus. I’ve been to at least a dozen sitcoms being taped. Hey, they’re free. If you plan on catching a show next time you’re in L.A. I highly recommend comfortable underwear. You'll be sitting for at least 4 or 5 hours.

The scripts are autumn crisp. The actors fresh out of rehab. Take some show biz memories back home. See a few stars up close and personal. Just remember that as a general rule actors are much shorter in person and movie actresses are never as beautiful in person as they are on the big screen. If they were beautiful in person they’d be hookers.

I met Charlie Sheen in a Culver City gun shop about 15 years ago. My son pointed him out to me because I didn’t recognize him. He’s not much taller than a croquet mallet and wore running shoes held together with duct tape. His body guard went out to the car for something so I walked up to him. He had this terrified look in his eyes that screamed, “Please don’t hurt me!” I met his father, Martin Sheen, a couple of months later and he had the same look in his eyes. Of course that might have had something to do with my starting the conversation by saying I had met his son in a gun shop.

Last year I talked with Charlize Theron in a Hollywood gas station. Charlize ran in to buy four packs of cigarettes and get out before anyone recognized her. She had obviously just stepped out of the shower with wet hair and wearing an old T shirt. While she’s stunning on camera I’ve seen hotter waitresses at the Lighthouse Pub. Much hotter. (Especially that redhead) When I told her she was a brilliant actress she lit up and I saw that megawatt Charlize Theron smile.

I suppose my feeble claim to fame is appearing on "The Dating Game" as Biff Nerd, a character I was doing in my standup comedy routine at the time. I won a week’s vacation in Bogota, Colombia. To this day I can still ask for directions to the bathroom in perfect Spanish. At least it seems perfect to me. There was also my comic strip in Larry Flynt’s "Hustler Humor" but it was printed only once and they took out my best lines. Editors are the devil’s disciples. You can quote me on that.

For now I,m working on “Fortune Man”, the same improv act I performed at Sechelt’s Chatelech Theatre last year, thanks to Norm Blair who invited me up. To pay the bills lately I’m giving tours of stars homes to tourists from all over the world. Even a few from Campbell River. If there is a God I’ll be living on the Sunshine Coast by year’s end. I say that every year and another year goes by.

We all make career decisions and mine brought me out to L.A. a hundred years ago. Maybe that was a bad decision but it was my decision. The way I look at it is if God didn’t trust our judgment He wouldn’t have created Free Will and the Spice Channel.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Hollywood Tickets

July Fireworks

While I realize my Canadian friends don't celebrate July 4th. I thought I would submit this blog anyway. In Hollywood you know the 4th of July is just around the corner when the L.A.P.D. starts running their public service announcements in movie theaters and on television imploring people not to fire their guns into the air. They won’t admit it but I suspect some of these same cops, bored and angry at working the holiday shift, are firing their service revolvers into the air as well. Probably just down the block from the gang bangers who are doing the same. My son and I used to stand out on his back porch and try to guess what kind of gun was being fired after every loud bang. Now and then you would hear a shotgun.

All the L.A. city and county parks are filled on the 4th with large Mexican families. The sweet smell of carnitas and beans fills the air. Metal tubs of Corona (Beer of choice) in ice are next to every picnic bench. Drunken men in cowboys hats struggle to stay on their feet long enough to play soccer with family and friends. Some bring their portable TVs so they won’t miss out on any of the holiday high speed car chases. These are so popular in L.A. that you can actually subscribe to a service that calls you whenever there is a high speed car chase so you can watch it on your cell phone. Only in L.A.

July 4th is a holiday when celebrities leave the city and tourists flock to Hollywood and the Walk of Fame. Some of the tourists will never be seen again. Hollywood is not the Tinsel Town many people think it is. You don’t want to stray far from the major streets, especially at night. Bad neighborhoods down here can get you killed. I was visiting a friend in Echo Park (The movie, "Training Day", was filmed there) and decided to sleep in my van rather than drive home. In the middle of the night I woke up to find a crack head sitting in my passenger seat trying to steal my radio. Trust me, it’s not a good way to wake up.

Conversely, hanging out in the right neighborhood can make a career. Jamie Kennedy (Scream, Malibu’s Most Wanted, Ghost Whisperer) was a tenant of mine in an apartment building I managed across the street from the Hollywood Bowl. I should have exploited that relationship. While managing an apartment building in West Hollywood I found out one of my tenants worked for ABC Television. That got a Roseanne script I wrote into the right hands at ABC. They didn’t buy it but just getting your script read is a major accomplishment.

I don’t go to public fireworks displays in L.A. anymore. The gangs have ruined that for many of us. It’s also hard to find a place to park. The best fireworks show is at Disneyland. While working as a tour guide to the stars homes I often took passengers down there and stayed long enough to watch fireworks from the parking lot. Only a tourist can afford the $63 to get into Disneyland. I can remember when it was $20. I must be getting old.

The clock is ticking.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

June Weddings

A June wedding is to die for. At least that’s what they say. Why do so many couples prefer to "Tie the Knot" this month? Sociologist Keith Farrington of Whitman college in Washington State measured the changes that occur each month in 31 social indicators, such as marriages, divorces, hiring, firings and suicides. Surprisingly, December, long thought to be a month ripe with suicides, was one of the least stressful while June ranked either first, second or third in stress in 18 of the 31 categories. So why get married in June? Call me cynical but I suspect even the most romantic of us doesn’t want to waste a good month like June on a marriage that’s probably doomed from Day One anyway.

I graduated from St. Mary’s Elementary School and Chilton High School in the month of June. Both times barely. I also graduated from UW-Oshkosh in June. I married twice in other months, both which ended up in disaster. It’s not that I didn’t try to get married in the cherished month of June. I did. I really did. I just couldn’t find anyone who would waste this month on me. You save June for that someone special.

Hollywood is, for the most part, Milwaukee in withdrawals. Imagine yourself blindfolded in your car out in the garage with the engine running for say…a couple of days. Suddenly a lunatic strung out on methamphetamines starts tossing firecrackers at your gas tank. That’s L.A. If the air doesn’t kill you someone else will. So why do I stay here? Where else can you watch a celebrity buy condoms? Stars are everywhere and then suddenly they're not.

Some of you might be planning summer vacations for June. It’s beautiful out here this month, especially down by the beaches. Huntington Beach is my personal favorite. It’s the birthplace of the thong. The good news is that L.A. mosquitoes are far and few between and only a tenth the size of Wisconsin mosquitoes. The bad news is some of them carry the West Nile virus and you might be going home in a body bag. Look at it this way. At least you won’t be getting air sick on the way home.

Hollywood is truly the show biz capital of the world. You could run into a celebrity on any street, in a grocery store, a race track or out buying condoms. Be prepared for a bit of a shock, though, because stars never look the same in person as they do in moves or on television. Not even close. You might have trouble recognizing them at first. I know I always do.

Here are just a few guidelines that might come in handy should you find yourself face-to-face with a star:

1) Famous movie actresses are never as beautiful in person. As absolutely gorgeous as Nicole Kidman is on the big screen, a friend of mine saw her at a mall and mistook her for Carl Reiner. I met Barbra Streisand, without any makeup, in a Westwood yogurt shop and to this day anything in a cone sends me into cold sweats. (She was, contrary to tabloid fodder, very friendly to everyone in the shop.) Rule of thumb: Famous movie actresses are famous because they’re beautiful on the screen. Not in person. If they were beautiful in person they’d be hookers.

2) Famous actors are much shorter than normal people. Not Munchkin short but shorter than your average Wisconsinite. So if you’re close to six feet tall or taller and try approaching a male star shouting enthusiastically while waving your arms over your head in circles, there’s a good chance you’re going to get this look on their face that just screams, "Please don’t hurt me!" I got that same exact expression on both Martin and Charlie Sheen’s faces. I ran into Charlie Sheen in a Culver City gun shop and was surprised to find out he wasn’t much taller than a kid’s broomstick. One of his Nikes was held together with duct tape. True story. I tried to comfort Martin Sheen, whom I met in a movie theater a couple months later, by telling him I had met his son in a gun shop but that seemed to scare him only more.

3) Don’t ask for autographs in public restrooms. While this will infuriate most stars it might put you on the unwanted Christmas lists of others. A neighbor of mine was still getting Christmas cards from Liberace six years after his death!

They say people are the same everywhere. Who ever said that has obviously never been to L.A. If people were the same everywhere there wouldn’t be any reason to vacation in Wisconsin. Sure you have the county fairs, getting drunk in a beer tent and pigging out on Johnsonville brats and corn on the cob but in the end it’s you people that make Wisconsin well worth the trip. It’s you people that I miss the most about home. I'm sure it's what everyone misses the most about their home town. Have a fantastic June. I heard it’s a month to die for.

Now if any of you fine ladies out there are interested in marrying a comedy writer there's always next June.

I can always be reached at

Hollywood Daze

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Small Town Summers

It’s May and summer is hiding just around the corner. Out of sight but not out of mind. I imagine those of you lucky enough to live on the Sunshine Coast are probably putting up the screen windows and dropping the boat back into the water. If you haven’t already. In L.A. we’re dusting off our ammo and grinding down the serial numbers on our handguns. Ain’t summer grand?

I don’t know about you people, but some of the best memories of my life percolated out of a summer’s heat. A cherished childhood memory of stock car races at the county fairgrounds. My first job was selling soda in the stands. A demolition derby to a child’s eyes was far more exciting than anything Vegas could come up with today. Swimming at Koffer dam. Playing baseball with the Keuler family across the street, especially since I had a huge crush on Mary Kay Keuler. Bratwursts and corn on the cob. Soaking the lawn in late afternoon so we could gather night crawlers that night, armed with only a flashlight in one hand and a bucket of dirt in the other. Catching fire flies in a bottle. Those are my summer memories. What are your favorite summer memories?

My grandparents owned a home on Big Island Lake halfway between Mountain and Lakewood. The best summer vacations of my childhood were spent on a boat there fishing for Northern Pike and Muskies. All the boys slept in a bunk house. My grandfather carved a character’s name from the TV series, "Bonanza" at the head of each bed. I was the oldest cousin and so became "Adam". My brother was the portly one so he was "Hoss".

It’s mid summer when Hollywood television productions starts returning from hiatus. There’s film crews all over town. You might ask why I came to L.A. in the first place. It was summer and I hitchhiked out to become rich and famous. My plan was to have my own sitcom by the time I was 30. So much for dreams. Even after all these years show business is still one of the reasons I remain here. Not the primary reason anymore. The main reason I’m still here is because I can’t get a Canadian work visa.

After all these years I still enjoy walking the back lot of the studios, especially the older ones rich with history like Paramount where the buildings are all named after celebrities. My favorite is the Lucille Ball building where some of the most important office suites are located. I don’t think we should expect to see a Tom Neuhoff building anytime soon.

There are lessons to be learned about fame and fortune that can only be learned only by living in L.A. I had heard for years that Dick Clark was not friendly in person. I was told he would fire people at the drop of a hat. A monster. Yet when I met him in Encino one afternoon he was the friendliest celebrity I’ve ever had the privilege to talk with. I told him I was in a number of college film classes with one of his producers; Larry Klein. Larry produces the “American Music Awards” among others shows. I used to visit Larry at Dick Clark Productions in Burbank. He had a barbers chair in the middle of his office. If only I had known he was going to be famous and powerful I would have made it a point to be his best friend in college.

Security was far more laidback in Hollywood before 9/11. There was a time when you could easily sneak into any major studio and watch rehearsals or even live tapings. My gimmick was to walk around backstage with a telephone book under my arm. After all, why would someone be carrying a telephone book unless they worked there? That trick 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 at CBS Television City to watch the Sonny and Cher Show. In the same building I stood next to Rob Reiner (without his toupee) during rehearsals for “All In The Family”. “Roseanne” was the only sitcom I ever attended where there was a metal detector at the entrance.

Sometimes I would tell people I was a Canadian comedy writer. They respected that. I don’t know why but they did. Jerry Van Dyke, backstage at “Coach”, was so friendly and loved to ask my opinion on his performance. He loves Canadians. I was treated with respect at almost every show I snuck into except for “Roseanne”. Nobody was treated with respect there.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

April's Fools

This is the last blog I'm ever going to write. ......................April Fools!

April Fools Day is such a wonderful day when you think about it. Go ahead. Think about it. It’s the one day when it okay to lie. It’s also an opportunity for honest people to practice. I spend all year practicing. I’m practicing right now. It’s also a day chock full of unexpected surprises. I’ve always thought that if I ever had a daughter by an unplanned pregnancy I would name her April Fools Neuhoff.

I would like to talk more about the unexpected surprises in life. Both the good ones and the bad ones. We all have them. Some of them we give names to and work a lifetime saving for their college tuition. We try to teach them right from wrong and wish for the best. Then there are the good surprises. Meeting a soul mate who brings that much needed light into the darkest corners of our loneliness. You know the kind of person I'm talking about. The one person who makes you happy just by being in the same room.

Falling in love is one of life's most beloved unexpected surprises. Some people will meet the love of their life on the Internet. Statistically though, you stand a better chance of getting struck by lightning....with a winning lottery ticket tightly clenched in one hand. But there are always those lucky hearts who will find love hiding somewhere between Facebook and Twitter. Some of you might get lucky reading a blog. Not this blog but a blog nonetheless.

Divorce is always an unexpected surprise. Unless you’re Donald Trump. I’ve been divorced twice. My first wife didn’t even ask for alimony. She just wanted her maiden name back and any written record of her ever being with me destroyed and the ashes cast to the four winds. She even petitioned the court to create a fifth wind. A lot of people dread a pending divorce but, being a "glass half-full" kind of guy, I figure the sooner you get divorced the sooner you can make the mistake of getting married again.

I’ve been divorced for more than 30 years now. Not that I haven’t been engaged more than a couple of times. The problem with relationships is that the longer you hang around someone the better the chance they’re going to catch on to who you really are. My life would have been far more romantic if it wasn’t for restraining orders.

Winning the lottery is the ultimate unexpected surprise. I never miss buying a ticket. I figure where else can you guy hope for a buck? California now has both Super Lotto and Mega Bucks so I can lose twice as often. Some lottery winners blow their money on the dumbest things. We’ve all read about the winner who buys his ferret a new Ferrari or builds a golf course for ground hogs. I’ve thought this through thoroughly. If I ever win enough the lottery I’m going to invest in some personal improvements. Like buying an extra thumb for each hand. That way when I am a klutz I can always say, "I’m all thumbs." What else are you going to do with that much money?

Since I haven’t won the lottery yet I’d have to say the greatest unexpected surprise of my life so far has been my granddaughter, Angel. Who would have guessed that being a grandpa would be so much fun? You grandparents know what I'm talking about. I remember my grandfather telling me that being a grandpa was the single greatest joy of his life. But then this is coming from the same guy who thought it was funny to play checkers with his dentures. Last week my son told me whenever he gives Angel the choice of going to Chuckee Cheese or visiting Grandpa she always picks me. That’s the greatest compliment a kid can pay you. How come our grandchildren turn out so much better than our own kids?

Another one of life's unexpected surprises is military service. I wasn’t drafted but enlisted three months after graduating from high school. Terry Fluhr and I both enlisted in the Air Force under the "Buddy Plan". We both liked the uniform, which was the same reason I once wanted to become a Franciscan monk. (What’s not to like about brown robes and sandals?)

We were told by the Air Force recruiter that we would be stationed together throughout our tour of duty. So, of course, Terry and I were both sent our separate ways immediately after being sworn. I didn’t see him again until after I was discharged. The Air Force sent me to Hamilton Air Force Base, tucked away in the rolling hills of bucolic Marin County 26 miles north of San Francisco. It was 1968 and the height of the hippie movement. I would work as an air traffic controller for six days on the base and then spend my four days off hanging out in the Haight-Ashbury district. The "Jefferson Airplane" and "Mamas & Papas" would play for free in Golden Gate Park while jugglers and mimes entertained us all. Terry served his time in Little Rock, Arkansas where, on a good day, he got to visit the city zoo. I was the one who convinced Terry to enlist with me. Sometimes life just isn't fair. To some people every day is April Fools 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/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

St. Patricks Day

St. Patrick’s Day at the University of Wisconsin - Oshkosh was so wild in the 70’s that students came from across the country to celebrate. As I look back at my college years I can’t help but reminisce about those wild times. We all looked forward to March 17th when the bars would 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 that the police found it easier to just put up barricades and direct traffic around them. As hard as it is to believe, on that single day there were actually more drunks in the city than at a Lisa Minnelli brunch! Eventually the university scheduled Spring Break to coincide with St. Patrick’s Day so the college kids would be out of town. I’ve never enjoyed St. Patrick’s Day quite as much anywhere else since then. Is it a big thing where you live?

I now spend St. Patrick’s Day at home reminiscing of those college days. 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. We’re all free to change our lives at any time but yet how many of us do?

While most of the populace in L.A. is Hispanic on March 17th. we all lay claim to having some Irish in our blood, no matter how little that might be. Most people here celebrate St. Patrick’s Day at a handful of Irish pubs in Santa Monica and Venice. I went there a few years ago. A glass of Guinness costs you a months rent. Maybe next year I’ll go back. After all I am 25% Irish.I left Chilton four days after graduating from high school and hitchhiked out west to become rich and famous. My plan was to have my own sitcom by the time I was 30. So much for dreams.

Not that I’ve become jaded. I still enjoy walking the back lots of the studios, especially the older ones like Paramount which is rich with history. The buildings there are all named after celebrities. My favorite is the Lucille Ball building. That’s where the most sought after office suites are located. I can't help but dream about the Tom Neuhoff building.

There are lessons to be learned about fame and fortune that can be learned only in L.A. I had heard for years that Dick Clark was not as friendly in person, despite his personae on camera. He fires people at the drop of a hat. Yet he turned out to be the friendliest celebrity I've ever had the privilege to talk with. I told him I was in a number of college film classes with his top producer, Larry Klein. He lit up and talked with me for more than twenty minutes which is unusual for any celebrity.

Larry Klein was producing "American Bandstand" only 6 months after graduating from college. Now he produces the "American Music Awards" among other major awards shows. Larry had a barbers chair in the middle of his office at Dick Clark Productions in Burbank. I’d sit in it and we’d talk about the old days in Oshkosh. 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. Everybody wants to be your best friend once you’re famous. The real friend has been your buddy all along.

Security in Hollywood was laidback before 9/11. There was a time when you could easily sneak into any major studio. My gimmick was to walk around backstage with a telephone book under my arm. After all, why would someone be carrying a telephone book unless they worked there? That trick got me into "The Tonight Show" in New York City the night before Tiny Tim married his Miss Vicky. It got me into CBS Television City in L.A. to watch the Sonny and Cher show from backstage. At the same CBS studio I stood next to Rob Reiner (without his toupee) during rehearsals for "All In The Family".

"Roseanne" was the only sitcom I ever attended where there was a metal detector at the entrance. "Coach", on the other hand, had the most relaxed set. Jerry Van Dyke loved to ask for my opinion on his performance. I told him I was a Canadian writer. I told everybody I was a Canadian writer. That bought me respect at most of the shows. Except for "Roseanne". Nobody was treated with respect there.March is a time of joy. In Wisconsin winter has departed and the air is crisp and fresh with the smell of melting snow. I imagine in Sechelt you're getting out the hiking gear. In L.A. we start worrying about West Nile virus. Our two worlds couldn’t be more dramatically different.

One of the fondest memories I have of the Sunshine Coast is getting off the ferry at Langdale and smelling that fresh scent of pine trees. Memories of the Sunshine Coast never fails to take me away from the smog and crime of L.A. Show business was why I came out here years ago. The only reason I’m still here is that I can't get a Canadian work visa. As I've said many times the Sunshine Coast is the closest I'll ever get to Heaven.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

UW-Oshkosh

Valentines Day

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. Or anything that will have them. I have to confess that I’ve never really been all that lucky in love. Not many comedians are.

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 small town women. She was also the first Mormon I ever dated. There were a couple of things I never understood about her 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 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.

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 Denny’s for 4 hours. She never showed up. Weeks later she called and confessed the photos she emailed me were 15 years old. She had gained a “little weight". Eventually I learned "a little weight" meant over 160 pounds! I should have figured something was amiss when she let it slip during one of our phone conversations that she was having trouble 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. The VW Jetta was nowhere in sight.When it comes to the Internet nobody is who they say they are. 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. That hot young blonde from Miami you’ve been swapping email with is 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 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? I’m not even that stupid. Well, maybe.

They say you never forget your first love. Mine was Sandy Steffes. We were both students 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.

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. What boy does? I walked on the other side of the street the entire way to her 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?

You might find this difficult to believe but that tactic still doesn’t work today.Kids and dogs love me. Women don’t have much to do with me. The life of a comedian. I envy those of you who can look into your lover’s eyes every day and still feel that magic? For you lucky people every month is the month of love. Life isn’t fair. Not only do you people get to share your lives with the love of your life but the two of you get to do that on the Sunshine Coast.

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

Tom Neuhoff
World Humour
"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

New Years Eve

If you can read this you’re not dead. Congratulations! You made it to see 2009.

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 means.I became an EMT in L.A. for Schaefer’s Ambulance Company in the beginning of a new year but ended up a shark fisherman by the end of that year. (I’ve had 417 jobs)

It was Schaefer’s that picked up Marilyn Monroe. Rumor among the Old Timers was that Marilyn Monroe was alive when Schaefer’s first picked her up. They were on their way to the hospital when the dispatcher instructed them to take her back home. She was pronounced dead when they returned hours later. Did this really happen? Who knows? Hollywood is rich with celebrity rumors. I talked to a plastic surgeon a couple of months ago who is convinced Michael Jackson is a thawed out Walt Disney. 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 two hours of a giant shark wolfing down people 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 fishermen in Sechelt 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 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. My friend brought along his Mexican gardener who didn’t speak a word of English. He had never been in a boat before nor would he ever again. We were chumming (Dumping buckets 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 down below to sleep.

Now the last thing you want to hear when you’re sound asleep on a boat is a Mexican screaming into your ear, "We’re sinking! We’re sinking!" And he said he didn’t speak English. I ran to the deck and lifted the cover to the engine. Water was gushing into the bilge. I looked up at my friend who to this day swears he wasn’t crying. Then I looked down into the bilge to see the water was coming from a pipe in the saltwater cooling system. Suddenly there were sparks and all the lights went out. The gardener dropped to his knees, sobbing wildly and praying in Spanish. At least it sounded like Spanish. I was too busy screaming. 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 near Huntington Beach the next morning. I learned that night never to go into a business without either working in it for years or doing a great deal of research first. I didn’t know anything about commercial fishing. Or boats. Or sharks. Two days later I sold the boat and haven’t been shark fishing since.

New Year’s Eve in L.A. has always been pretty much like your typical Palestinian funeral. A lot of gunfire into the air at midnight. Unfortunately those bullets eventually come down and hit innocent bystanders. L.A. is the only city I’ve ever lived in where just before July 4th and New Years Eve 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.

New Year’s resolutions are a lot like gym memberships. You stick to them for a month or two then drop them like a date with head lice. That’s why I never come up with more than three resolutions.

These were my New Year’s Resolutions for 2009:

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. (Note to myself: Stop taking stun gun to the movies.)

2) Stop giving my business card out to beautiful women. 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, likethe ones 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 suggest you all make a resolution to never move from the Sunshine Coast.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360

Christmas

Christmas in L.A. is like deer hunting season in New York City. It just isn’t the same as in Wisconsin. Or on the Sunshine Coast. Nothing about Christmas is the same in L.A.. Not that the stores aren’t decorated and the city streets all lit up with brilliant holidays bulbs. Even Rodeo Drive is decorated for the season. 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.

Here’s some Christmas trivia for you fresh out of Hollywood. "It’s A Wonderful Life", arguably the most famous Christmas movie ever made was shot in Encino, California on a day when it was 103 degrees in the shade. Encino is about 20 minutes northwest of Hollywood and where Michael Jackson grew up. 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. It all looked so real. Even the trees were fake. That’s Hollywood.

Over the years I've found methods of getting into the Christmas spirit despite the heat. Working as a department store Santa never failed to raise my holiday spirits. (Except when a parent drops their screaming baby with wet diapers onto my lap.) These days they have schools to train Santas. When I started we were handed the costume and told where to change. The very first job I had I changed in the basement of a shoe store. They had a sleigh located right out in the blazing heat of the sun. I must have sweated away ten pounds a day in that sleigh. My first day I walked up into the sleigh and while standing gave my very best, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" Waving to all the parents and children, I couldn't understand why no one would look at me. I was a complete failure as Santa. Then I looked down and noticed my Santa pants had fallen down around my boots. No one told me to safety pin my pants to the pillow.

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. 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 and said, "Santa, I don't want any toys for Christmas. Just bring my daddy back!" 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. I hope she got her wish.

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 decorated front yards. (In L.A. if you cruise around someone else's neighborhood it's called a "drive-by".) Hardly anyone decorates their homes or yards in L.A. Christmas parties have a touch of Hollywood. My favorite party 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 33 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. So I worked as a maintenance man while pitching my script to cast members. I met everyone except Loni Anderson, who pretty much kept to herself. Howard Hesseman (Johnny Fever) was always friendly and eager to talk with anyone, especially if you knew of his work in "The Committee", a comedy improv group of the 60’s & 70’s. I brought up my favorite sketch of his called, "The Blind Date". Howard picks up his blind date at her home when she tells him she is literally blind. All the time they’re sitting in chairs having a conversation, Howard is making faces at her, looking up her dress and down her blouse. Finally at the end of the sketch she confesses she was lying and can actually see. Howard told me he co-wrote that bit.

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 planted firmly in my shirt breast pocket. That 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" but "would I kill it one last time?" Now I have to tell you I never sing. Never. Not in the shower. Not even at birthday parties. 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 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 same hotel Pablo Escobar’s family lived in while he was on the lam. The villages surrounding Bogota were a lot like most American towns without the sidewalks and indoor plumbing.

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. It’s a Mexican tradition for families to cook up a large batch of tamales for Christmas Eve. The whole family gathers around the Christmas tree to open presents precisely at midnight. Not quite the same in Canada where I enjoyed wearing paper hats and eating this rich black pudding. Now that’s a Merry Christmas.

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

Tom Neuhoff

World Humour

"Funnier Than You"

Hollywood Daze/Blogstream

Hollywood Daze/Yahoo 360