Whitfields Revue

Wanna camp w/ gators, snakes and skeeters the size of your hand, all w/ 99 degree heat and 99% humidity? Join us then. I do make some damn good food and drink some beer along the way though.

Nostalgia is a h3LL of a drug. If I had to describe the neon decade in one word it would be : VIBRANT. If I had to throw in another word it would most definitely be EXCESS. Excessively Vibrant. To describe it in text does the 80's, itself and the reader absolutely no service. If one was not there in person and currently has no access to a time traveling machine of sorts, aided by a flux capacitor(of course) then the only way to fly is via visuals. Hyper color visuals that have been downgraded by time and deteriorating polyester/oxide particles. AKA VHS. This is when something rather magical happens. It remind us of a time past, but different. It becomes a nostalgic dream dangerously teetering on the edge of nightmare. While experiencing something again for the first time 30 plus years later. it feels surreal. I was there!!! But... I don't remember it being QUITE like this. It's Mandela X 100. The Berenstein/Stain bears ain't got squat on this mind trip. Tangent aside now. In this episode we traverse the glow in the dark seas of Pizza, games and bears (Oh my!). A match made in heaven. Or was it? Pizza that was on par w/ the bad pizza day in school. Remember that? There were two types of pizza they offered. One was a gift from the gods of cheese and dough. Beautifully crispy and melty. Kids would dive over tables attempting to reach that lone soul who inexplicably didn't "like" pizza and would trade it for a chocolate milk. What a weirdo. Around 11 am, a smell would waft through the halls in search of noses to tempt, like a ghost haunting a castle looking for someone to scare. W/ glee and vigor. You would anticipate it. Absolutely nothing was learned that morning because your brain was far too filled w/ thoughts of that greasy slice of happiness to wedge anything "educational" in. Then you'd walk into the cafeteria and see not joyful shiny faces being pummeled by this glutenous triangle. Nope. It was sponge-slice-square-crap pizza day. Scotch Brite could've made a more palatable vessel for such glorious toppings. The old switcheroo. Why though? Because they hated us. I think. Damn. I did it again. I digress. It was that level quality of pizza. Video games that laughed at your money. Only tokens here my friend. Classic games that were so rigged it would make a carny blush. Yet. They offered these little rectangles of hope. Tickets. Lest we forget about the real reason one walked through those doors. T1000's disguised as friendly animals... who also played songs. WIll you ate. They watched you play your little games. Knowing you'd eventually come a knocking. We all did. We watched this Isaac Asimov Project rock of... Rock-Afire out, I should say to tunes we would never in a millions years have listened to if it weren't for the herky jerky escaped zoo critters belting them out. I think what I am trying to say in a non-pithy way. This is about my life and times, and THE life and times of the one and only Showbiz Pizza Place. Join me won't you?