A few weeks ago, Buy.com had an amazing deal on the Miami Vice TV series. For only $39.99, you could get the entire series. All five seasons! Oh, you damn well know I partook in that deal. Less than eight bucks a season? Hell to the yes. Even though I already owned the first two seasons (which I need to get around to selling), it was still well worth it for some 80s goodness.

Since I got the box set arrived — in, might I add, a snazzy little case — I’ve been watching an episode or two about every night before I go to bed, and been completely digging it. Ironically, I’ve been enjoying it for reasons I would not have expected because, for all intents and purposes, it doesn’t hold up that well. At all. But it’s still fantastic. Let me explain.

I loved Miami Vice when I it was a young teenager. Loved it. The fast cars, the flashy clothes, the downright awesome soundtrack, hell, the overall slickness of it all. This show was the absolute shit for me in its first run, and I ate up every episode.

Watching it now, having not seen not more than three episodes in 20 years, shows how just incredibly flawed this show was, but ironically enough, it stands as a perfect analogy for the  ’80s. It’s all style, but no substance. As much as I love ’80s music and movies, it was a very selfish and hollow decade, where flash and style were all important, and Miami Vice personifies that like no other TV show I’ve watched from that same era (in recent memory).

The music still rocks…I mean, the songs that show up in the show still surprise me. Peter Gabriel, Genesis, Glenn Fry, Cyndi Lauper, Tina Turner and on and on. Regardless of how you feel about those artists, these cats were HUGE in the ’80s and to have that caliber on a TV show, on a weekly basis no less, is still damn impressive. I suppose Supernatural has the same caliber of music artists, but, at the same time, the songs played on that show are from Warner’s back catalog and rarely anything current (not that I’m complaining).

Also, the guest stars that pop up on Miami Vice is impressive as hell. Some weren’t huge stars at the time, but are definitely more-than-recognizable now and some who are timeless: Michael Madsen, Pam Grier, Ving Rhames, Charles Dutton and Luis Guzman all come to mind immediately (and I’m only in the middle of the second season). And, my personal favorite guest star to date: Julian Beck. He does an amazing cameo as an evil businessman.

Now, even though the music still holds up and the cameos are a lot of fun, those aren’t the reasons I’m watching the show anew and enjoying it. It’s something else altogether…I’m convinced Rico Tubbs (the character) is a goddamn sociopath — not unlike Dexter. While you don’t see him slaughtering people (like you do on Dexter), there is something completely off about Tubbs that just isn’t trustworthy.

In the Dexter novels, and to some degree the show, Dexter talks about how he out of place he feels around people, and how he practices laughing and such to appear normal. He also talks about how he thinks his co-worker, Masuka, could very well be a sociopath like himself because he is so phony (this is more so in the books). And that is exactly how Tubbs is on the show. When he laughs, it’s uncomfortable and surreal because he always seems to laugh too hard at something, as if he’s forcing it. Same when he gets angry…he overdoes it. Now, I’m quite certain that this is just an acting issue probably more than anything else, but watching the show with the mindset that Tubbs is killing people on his days off makes it that much better.

A good example of Tubbs’ creepiness is from the first episode, where he’s at a strip club:

Okay, I can see you acting like that if you are around your goofball friends. But when you’re by yourself? Yeah. Creepy.

So I just installed the WordPress application on my new android and this post is its maiden run.

I don’t know if this will motivate me to post more, but it certainly can’t hurt.

Wow! Three months since my last update. No excuses at all, kids. None.

Since I’m sick at home, I figured I’d make your life miserable, too, with an update, and I might as well finish off the vacation from September.

So after the day of the dinosaurs, we had to make our way back to Albuquerque as we were flying out in two days. We left Gallup and got on the road. (One thing of note, the hotel we stayed in the night prior was next to a classic looking Route 66 motel. One day I’m going to take 66 through and through and stay in these motels.)

We had our complimentary breakfast and jumped on 40E for 100 or so miles, when I started noticing billboards for a place we just had to stop. Fortunately for me, my uncle was a big proponent for stopping at this particular establishment. My dad was ho-hum about it, and my aunt was cool as long as we didn’t stay too long. I can’t really blame her, these joints are all over the place, but this particular version of it was a must visit for me.

Yeah, I might have lost $100 at the Route 66 Casino, but it was worth every penny. Plus, I got a couple trinkets for signing up for the player’s club, which also guarantees frequent post cards asking me to come back. Totally worth it.

After about an hour or so at the slots, we piled back in the SUV and kept heading west until we arrived at our next destination: Madrid, New Mexico.

Madrid is a quaint little town about an hour northeast of Albuquerque. Populated by artists and hippies, there is a lot to see in this small town, as it seems every house on its main street is an artist’s shop. I’m not big into art, by any stretch, but Madrid had enough variety to keep me interested.

We had lunch at the Mine Shaft Tavern. I think I might have had a burger to go along with the green chili I had to try. I found their green chili to be okay, but it was no contest for the bowl I had at the Church Street Cafe. Say this, though: The Mine Shaft Tavern had one of the coolest atmosphere’s of all the restaurant’s I ate it on the trip. This is exactly type of bar you expect a cowboy to walk in, and everyone gets quiet. It probably helps that it has the longest stand-up bar in New Mexico.

Oh, and parts of the film Wild Hogs was filmed in Madrid. I hadn’t seen the movie before I went to the town, and I have seen it since. Skip the movie and visit the town.

Like I said, while artsy fartsy towns really aren’t my thing, I’m glad we stopped at Madrid. Hell, I even picked up a cool ass picture inspired by Dia de los Muertos.

We left Madrid and drove about an hour north for our final destination of the day: Santa Fe.

Santa Fe is another big art town in New Mexico. Apparently, this little town is second to New York for art sales in the U.S. (according to the trolley tour we took the next day, anyway).

The thing I liked about Santa Fe is there was more to it than just art. As an obvious tourist city, it had a little something for everyone. There were art stores next to dime stores, and architecturally, it was a pretty slick city just to wander around in.

I don’t remember much about Santa Fe at this point except for three things: The awesome deal my uncle got for us on what was basically a town house ($100 for all four of  us, and everyone got a room — except me who took the couch), the various hats my aunt and uncle were trying on at the dime store and the blowjob Indians being passed off as “art.”

Aaah, good times.

We spent one more day in Santa Fe, but that is another blog. Hopefully one that won’t take three months to get here.

If you are just joining us, Day One of the Southwest vacation is right here.

Day two of the Southwest vacation started a lot earlier than I would have wanted. The old folks I was with wanted to be on the road by 7, by I managed to talked them up to 8ish. My ideal time would have been closer to noon, but my father explained that old people know that they they don’t have much time left, so they appreciate the time they do. Whatever. When I’m old I’m going to sleep longer because I can.

We decided on Wednesday (day one) that on Thursday we would hit a place I always wanted to go to — Roswell (cue X-Files opening). It was the furthest east of any place we were going, so my Aunt Fame made the plan to do that first, then loop back around to our next destination (which was still up in the air) stopping whenever we felt like it. Sounded like a plan to me.

One place I love stopping at on road trips is truck stops. I don’t know why, but there’s something about a place where you can get fudge, coffee, t-shirts, jerky and other assorted tchotchke’s just appeals to me. Maybe it’s the whole Americana thing, maybe it’s just a place to get cool shirts. Either way, I stop when I see them, and I liked the look of this particular truck stop’s sign. Very ’50sish.

We were on interstate 285, which is just one long stretch of road between Albuquerque and Roswell. There aren’t many towns along this highway, nor there were many rest stops. We did see one, though, and while it was very clean, I suddenly didn’t need to go as bad as I thought I did.

After about four hours, we finally reached our my destination. Roswell, New Mexico. The Motherland of Geeks everywhere.

As you can see, the above sign is in divider of a relatively busy highway. That did not stop me from pulling over to the side of the road and getting pictures. I suspect the locals are use to jackasses like me, but I still got a few stares regardless. Not that I cared.

A lot of people have asked me if I enjoyed Roswell, because they all, well, know me. And I really did enjoy finally going there, but I also mentally prepared myself for what I was going to see, so I wasn’t at all disappointed, even though I could have very easily have been.

Here’s the thing about Roswell: It’s exactly what you expect it to be. The best way I can describe it (at least for some of you Marylanders) is imagine you’ve always wanted to go to the beach, and you finally got your chance in your mid-to-late 30s…when you went to Ocean City, Maryland.

Yes it’s cool and all and yes you will have a fantastic time, but if you had gone 10 to 15 years earlier, you would have had the time of your life.

That sounds bitter, but it’s not intended to be. I am incredibly happy that I finally got to see the town where the infamous ‘weather balloon’ fell, and after my father and I went through the town museum, I spent a lot of time poking around in the souvenir stores while my family waited patiently in the car (God bless them).

Roswell is a very cool small town, and if you are in the area I suggest you swing by it, if only just to say, “Yeah, I’ve been there.” The town completely embraces the mythology (no doubt to keep tourism business), the museum is pretty cool with a lot of newspaper articles and pictures and the lady that runs the welcoming center is top notch. Once she found out it was my first time to Roswell, she gave me pens and buttons and a goodie bag with all sorts of dorky things.

Even Walmart and McDonalds got into the game.

The aforementioned museum was (as said) pretty damn cool, but one of the best exhibits had to be the setup they had at the end. It was basically a big diorama of a doctor operating on an alien while a man-in-black stood watch.

Okay, so I’m painfully aware of the dork level this blog is at right now (CODE RED, BITCHES!), so we’ll move on.

Eventually, I saw everything I was going to see and bought everything I was going to buy, so it was time to hit the road. And with destinations unknown, we got in the car with a halfass plan.  For me, this is always the best kind of plan to have when you are on vacation. Without a firm plan, you are open to see more than you may have originally had in mind. To be honest, I can’t even remember exactly where we were headed. We just jumped on 70 west, in the general direction of Arizona.

There are two things I loved about driving this trip. The first is the scenery. While there is a lot of brown (as far as the land) in both New Mexico and Arizona, I noticed that just as I was getting board with the view, something would slightly change (a mountain or hills would bust out, for example) to keep things from other getting boring.

The other thing I loved were the drivers. Hands down, no contest, New Mexico and Arizona drivers are the best I’ve ever seen. Period. For one simple reason: The know how to properly use the left lane. Not once in my week trip did I have a problem with some dumbass in the left lane pacing the car on its right. Not once. And I drove a LOT that week.

Somewhere along the line, we got off 70W and onto 380W to head through Capitan and Lincoln.

Capitan is where Smokey the Bear was born (and now rests) and Lincoln was the last jail that held Billy the Kid.

Most of the joints were closed by the time we arrived in town, but we did creep through at a slow pace and I did see the Lincoln Count Courthouse. We didn’t stop, though. If they were open, they probably would have. I plan on watching Young Guns again here pretty soon to make up for not stopping.

We did, however, stop at the Smokey The Bear Memorial. It was a shockingly small little thing just off 380, but it was a picture opportunity.

It had a plaque with a bunch of words on it, but I didn’t take a long time studying that. That’s school stuff, and I wasn’t really interested. So I got my picture and I left. We had places to go and things to see.

I can’t remember where we ended up staying the night on day two. I think it was another small town, but I don’t remember for sure. I’m pretty certain that was the rest of  the cool stuff for that day, because there aren’t any more pictures.

Oh yeah, there are two more. Some cow gave us the stink eye.

Oddly, while this was the first time a cow gave us a dirty look, it wasn’t the last.

Day three will come eventually.

I am a hitman, an assassin for hire — although who it is that is my boss is unclear.

I am in a parking garage drifting on the ceiling using some sort of ancient ninja magic, when I spot my target pull up below me in a black sedan with his bodyguard. The target is Asian, with long, black wavy hair. His bodyguard is also his driver, bald and also Asian. I am not Asian.

Still below me and unknown of my presence, they exit the vehicle at the same time, both wearing sunglasses and both carrying weapons. I choose to pounce on the target first, which I do, effectively disarming him and shooting him with his own weapon. The bodyguard quickly rolls under the vehicle, but that is no problem, as I simply aim the gun under the car and kill him too. I grab his gun, as well, jump in the sedan — I can hear approaching sirens — and take off, searching for the exit of the garage.

I find the exit, but it’s a manned exit, and I just can’t bust through like the movies, as the only way out is blocked by steel gate that only opens after you pay. It is here I discover that I must be in Japan, as the Asian manning the exit is Japanese, only speaks Japanese and there is only Japanese Yen, a garage ticket stub and my target’s driver’s license on the visor above me. After some brief discussion, I hand the employee the stub and some money, the gate rises, and I tear off so fast out of the garage, the car leaps from the exit ramp (I see the vehicle launching in front, then rear and finally side angles, all in slow motion, of course).

After the car is on solid ground, I drive through the city avoiding the police that are after me. I see this all transpire far overhead, as if I’m a bird. Or helicopter. It’s easier that way. It takes me a few tries, but I finally understand that mowing down hundreds of pedestrians and police officers is not the way to get me out of this trap, I need to change vehicles. So, after about the third attempt, I dump the black sedan for a white one and when that gets too hot, I get myself a red coupe (which I jacked from some poor pizza delivery guy who had left it running on the curb). That is the one that will get me to safety, I’m sure of it.

Shortly after I swipe the red sports car, the cops are hot on my tail again. I cut a right off a busy street and spot my chance for escape: A ramp. I see the ramp will launch me to a busy five lane highway below, but I know I’ll be okay. I’m a good driver. I floor it, hit the ramp at God knows what speed and launch into the air, again in slow motion, again with various angles.

But things get fuzzy, wavy, watery. Whatever you want to call it. A voice says: Where you want to go and where you end up are always two different things.

Another scene starts to come into focus. I am on a huge bed, possibly king size. The sheets — which I belive might be silk or satin, though I’ve never had the urge to want such sheets — are in a disarray, shuffled by the obvious act of sex that is happening. There is an Asian girl on top of me. I don’t know if I’m a hitman still or not, but I believe at this point that is irrelevant.

The voice repeats: Where you want to go and where you end up are always two different things.

And just before what’s happening becomes clear, I hear something else: the sound of someone walking up my steps.

My eyes bolt open, I am suddenly awake. I had fallen asleep watching Sister Street Figher. Everything before was a dream, but now there is potentially real danger.

I jump out of bed, grab the only four foot post that is not secure to the frame and check out the house. It dawns on me that at some point during the night I had shed my boxers, and now I was walking around the house naked with a bedpost-for-a-weapon in hand. I imagine this is a site to behold.

After determining everything was secure (aside from the basement which I did not check, fuck that) I reward myself with some lemonade and a handful of razzberry M&Ms from the last bag that I had hoarded when they were still available.

As I head back upstairs to try to go back to sleep, I am tempted to kick Mr. Jingles who sits at the top, staring at me. It is no doubt his fat ass that was creeping up the stairs, awaking me from my dreams of assassinations, fast cars and Asian women. But I don’t. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. So I give him a hard look, which he barely acknowledges before turning his attention to the wall, grab my laptop and get all of that dream down before I forget it. The first song I hear when I turn on the radio is Lunatic Fringe by Red Rider. That’s some kind of sign that things are a little tweaked this late night / early morning.

I learned a lesson here, kids. That lesson is to fall asleep watching female kung-fu. There is a potential of having some stellar dream action.