At first I thought they'd given me the best mug in the joint today, but when I look back, Knott's Berry Farm was my least favorite of the Southern California amusement parks. The train robbery used to scare the shit out of me, and the fake '49-ers would get snippy with me for my lack of gold panning skills. It's like, buddy, I'm five years old, give me a break, maybe when I'm a grizzled old alkie like you I'll befriend a mule and get really good at this.

I was much more interested in the alligator farm across the street from Knott's. My grandmother kept pointing at the big gators, and I was sure one would leap up and chomp her arm off.



***

And while I'm feeling nostalgic, Malls of America has a nice post about Old Towne Mall, formerly of Torrance, California. It was a goofy place, really, styled like a turn-of-the-century Main Street, USA, but I loved it.

In the late 70's, a big Friday night for my family might involve a trek out to Old Towne, with dinner at the food court (pizza for me), a trip through the cheesy dark rides, some smash'em up in the bumper cars, and if I was really lucky, a foray into the comic book shop, the only one I knew of at the time. I remember spending birthday money on Warlord #1. At ten bucks, it was easily my biggest purchase to date. (Later I'd buy the Rankin-Bass illustrated version of the Hobbit for an astronomical $30. Fortunately, I had bookstore gift certificates.)

Dad's payday meant we'd either go to Sizzler in Marina Del Rey, or Shakey's Pizza at Brockton and Santa Monica Boulevard. I loved to stand on top of the platform in front of the window by the kitchen and watch the pizza chefs spin dough. I loved all the antiques they hung from the walls and the ceiling to give the place an old timey feel. I loved the turn-of-the-century newspaper pages on the table tops featuring men with huge, waxed mustaches and ads for artificial limbs. I loved air hockey and Pong. I loved the player piano, always loaded with ragtime rolls.

The chain got its name from co-founder Sherwood "Shakey" Johnson, who got his nickname from nerve damage he suffered while serving in World War II.

You gotta love a pizza place named in honor of one of the founder's tremors.

All of this I mention because an elderly gentleman at the coffee joint is banging out "Put Another Nickel In" and "The Entertainer," and, damn, now all I want to do is eat pizza and play Pong.