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

September Blues

My blogs are a way for me to chronicle my life. Whether that’s going to college in Wisconsin, Canada or trying to make it in show business here in L.A.. Through more than 400 jobs and two ex-wives. The rejection, humiliation and failure. And that's just the first marriage!

I graduated from Chilton High School way back before personal computers and palm pilots. Back when you didn’t have to take out another mortgage to gas up your SUV. You didn’t have to sell a kidney to pay for a movie ticket and popcorn. Growing up in Chilton was very much like working as an extra on "Happy Days" without Food Service. It was a world free of drugs and violence. Okay, we did have this bully who pretty much terrorized anyone under 140 lbs. which, unfortunately, included me right through my last year of high school. I am trying to remember his name now but if I have any problems I’m sure Wisconsin’s Department of Corrections can help me.

My high school diploma had only three weeks of dust on it when I took off cross country hitchhiking. Chicago was my first stop where I spent a month working as an elevator operator at the YMCA hotel in The Loop. For a small town Wisconsin kid who had never seen a gay or transvestite that job was quite an eye-opener. My goal was to eventually end up in California. While growing up I envied the kids in California because they had both the beaches and Disneyland. It wasn’t until years later that I learned the California kids envied me because I could go rabbit hunting or fishing after school. The grass really is greener, isn’t it?

I was hitchhiking somewhere around Oklahoma in the summer of 1969 when I stepped into a van of hippies and fellow cross-country hitchhikers. They invited me to an outdoor rock concert in New York. I laughed at the notion of actually heading east when even I knew everything cool was happening in California. I left them somewhere on an interstate highway eager to see the beaches of California while the rest of the van headed east towards Woodstock. I couldn’t help but laugh at their folly as the van faded into the horizon.

Sometimes we meet people who change our lives dramatically. Even now I can look back and remember those pivotal moments when someone else influenced the direction of my life. Right up until my second year at Chilton High School I wanted to be a biologist. Then I walked into my second year English class for the first time and met Mrs. Rybicke. To people my age I would say she looked like Joey Heatherton in her prime. Not only a gorgeous blond but the finest teacher I would ever know. The day she entered my life biology left it just as quickly. Now I was to be a writer. After all these years I still keep in touch with Mrs. Rybicke.

They say the President of the United States is the powerful person in the world. He’s not. They say doctors are the most important people around. They’re not. Teachers are by far the most powerful and influential people on Earth. Without overstating it, they’re simply vital to the future of any civilization. They are our future. Yet how many times do we cut school spending and pay them less than the average apprentice plumber? Look back at your own lives. Who really did more for you than your teachers? Yet in L.A. an usher at a movie theater gets paid more than a teacher. It’s crazy. Somehow I’ve got to believe Canada treats their teachers better. Everyone here knows your schools are better. Your teachers appreciated.

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

Chilton, Wisconsin