get out the map

Among the many interests that I share with Mrs. Pincus (my wife of nearly forty-two years), is a love and appreciation for kitsch. We like pop culture, especially roadside attractions placed along our country's interstates and throughways for the sole purpose of quaint entertainment for families crisscrossing the land and looking for a little distraction — and perhaps a place to grab a bite to eat and a needed visit to a rest room (not necessarily in that order).

While traveling by car on our honeymoon (almost four decades ago), we stopped at arguably one of the most famous "roadside attractions" on the east coast — the notorious South of the Border. Taking up roughly 350 acres across the intersection of I-95 and US 301, South of the Border has been a welcome respite for harried vacationers and weary truckers since it opened its faux Mexican door over 70 years ago. I had never been to the Hamer, South Carolina refuge before this stop with my new bride in 1984. I had only been aware of the day-glow bumper stickers I'd seen plastered on cars that advertised the campy oasis. My father, who wouldn't dare drive further south than Cottman Avenue, would never ever afford his family the pleasure of an out-of-state excursion (Atlantic City, New Jersey being the sole exception). Mrs. P, on the other hand, was an experienced patron of South of the Border, having stopped countless times on car trips to Miami Beach in her youth.

In reality, South of the Border's popularity and staying power is a true headscratcher. Comprised of crappy gift shops, crappy convenience stores, crappy motels, crappy fast food counters and a store the size of a supermarket that only stocks the most dangerous of fireworks, South of the Border has questionable appeal. However, with clever billboards placed hundreds of miles before a single neon light is visible, South of the Border has made itself a "must stop" destination — by way of appealing to your kids' sense of curiosity and ability to whine. The first time I visited South of the Border (and every subsequent time), I've had the same feeling. "What on earth am I doing here?" And, if you look around at the other folks, wandering aimlessly across the parking lots and through the various retail outlets, they all appear to be asking themselves the same thing. Yet, people have been stopping for years, so they must know what they're doing. In recent years, South of the Border has faced financial difficulty and has been forced to sell off land and property, yet, every day, cars filled with travelers flood Instagram with duck-faced selfies posed before a backdrop of brightly-painted buildings and giant fiberglass "Pedros" (South of the Border's suspiciously-racist mascot).

On the same trip, a little further south, Mrs. P and I chanced upon our very first Cracker Barrel. This corporate recreation of the old time general store was also brought to our attention by a series of homey billboards placed enticingly along the roadside of the narrower portions of I-95. Cracker Barrel was kitschy in a different way than South of the Border, but kitschy just the same. Boasting the promise of authentic Southern cooking (including pork ribs, cornbread smeared in bacon drippings, a puzzling dish called "chicken fried steak" and other selections that were off-limits to a couple of kosher-observant Yankee newlyweds), Cracker Barrel featured a retail area chockful of tchotchkes that looked as though they were absconded from Drucker's General Store or Aunt Bee's living room. Although we didn't actually eat in a Cracker Barrel until years later when we were assured that their "world famous" pancakes did not come in contact with sausages during the cooking process, we did make several small purchases from their store and did partake of their surprisingly clean bathrooms.

Just this past weekend, Mrs. Pincus and I found ourselves driving south on Interstate 81, traversing the scenic Shenandoah Valley. Our eventual destination was a lovely bed and breakfast in Waynesboro, Virginia. This would be our accommodations while we attended the wedding of Mrs. P's cousin Veronica. If you like to see trees and mountains and trees and mountains — endlessly — for close to four hours, I highly recommend a leisurely drive on Interstate 81. Personally (and I believe I speak for my spouse as well), I prefer a more interesting journey, with stuff to see and places to stop... or at least the promise of places to stop. I-81 has trees. A lot of them. However, somewhere south of Zenda (you know where the Bethel Church of Brethren is?), we spotted a billboard in a clearing behind the proverbial "white picket fence." The ambiguously risqué sentiment announced the location of a Buc-ee's just ahead... well if you call 120 miles "just."  Buc-ee's, from what I have heard, is right up our kitsch-loving alley.

Buc-ee's is the new trend-setter in the competitive world of interstate travel stops. Leaving old stand-bys like Stuckey's, Flying J and Love's in the dust, Buc-ee's has emerged as the place to stop on your way from here to there... especially if your "here" and your "there" are in Texas. Currently, there are 55 Buc-ee's in the United States, with its Luling, Texas location deemed the "World's Largest Convenience Store," taking up a whopping 75,000 square feet. In 2018, Buc-ee's expanded outside of Texas, with its Rockingham, Virginia location (the one we were 120 miles from) welcoming excited travelers in the summer of 2025. We decided to stop at Buc-ee's on our way home... and we did.

After a weekend of nuptial-related activities, Mrs. P and I said our familial "goodbyes," loaded our luggage into our car and headed home — with a stop at Buc-ee's in our near future. Taking the Frieden's Church exit on I-81, Buc-ee's is located on 74,000 square feet on — of all places — Buc-ee's Boulevard (what are the chances?!?) We drove past the 120 gas pumps and selected an unoccupied space in the lot of 600 available spaces. The place was bustling with activity. Groups of leather-clad bikers hovered around their cycles as they enjoyed various edible offerings from Buc-ee's extensive menu. Families with kids in tow breached the entrance and scattered in all directions — Mom perusing the crafty housewares, Dad eyeing up the fresh carved brisket, bro and sis gazing hungrily at the hundreds of flavors of fudge made fresh in the store. Buc-ee's is a happy combination of South of the Border, Cracker Barrel, Walmart and Wawa — all the best of each establishment, but with a decidedly redneck appeal. (That's not an insult. That seems to be exactly the way Buc-ee's likes it.) Under Buc-ee's enormous roof, you can find practically everything you'd want to eat, wear or give to someone to prove you were there. They have shirts, playing cards, bottle openers, stickers, postcards, hair ties, frisbees, dog bowls, party decorations (who wouldn't want a Buc-ee's-themed birthday?), pajamas, socks, license plates, drink bottles, plush characters, key rings and so much more. Hungry? Buc-ees makes sandwiches, tacos, chicken, potato chips, candy, as well as pre-packaged snacks — all emblazoned with the friendly Buc-ee's beaver mascot right on the label. Plus, there's a whole section of national products arranged in easy-access aisles and cooler after glass-doored cooler filled with water, soft drinks and beer. And the place was hoppin'! Everywhere you looked, folks were filling shopping carts with dozens of Buc-ee's branded items. Families were selecting piles of foil-wrapped sandwiches from the massive self-serve stock, debating whether to get the pulled pork with or without sauce. There was an entire wall covered — floor to ceiling — with every possible configuration and flavor of beef jerky imaginable. The restrooms — the self-proclaimed "world famous" ones — were also bustling centers of movement (No pun intended. Well, maybe a little.) Attendants hustled their sparkling, cleanser-laden carts in and out of the discreet entrance as dozens — nay, hundreds — of travelers answered the call of nature with the chain-wide pledge of "the cleanest bathrooms in the world!" 

I stood and marveled at the operation unfolding before my eyes. It was positively fascinating. Everywhere you looked, someone was buying something, There were dozens and dozens of cashiers busily ringing up purchases. There were employees wearing Buc-ee's vests stocking Buc-ee's products on Buc-ee's shelves. It was like watching a ballet being staged by the local Chamber of Commerce.

Mrs. P and I sampled their store-made roasted peanuts. We posed for a photo with Buc-ee himself and tried to remember where we parked our car.

Interested in seeing a spectacle? Buc-ee's is a spectacle.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the first time ever I saw your face

I have always loved stand-up comedy. I remember seeing forgotten funny men like London Lee (not particularly funny), Jack Carter (not particularly funny) and others on the Ed Sullivan Show. I was sometimes permitted to stay up late to watch George Carlin or Albert Brooks on the Tonight Show. One summer, my family was vacationing in Atlantic City. ("Vacationing" for the Pincuses was a weekend - about all my father could take.) One night, my usually disagreeable father followed my mother's lead and we all went to see Totie Fields at Steel Pier. My mom loved Totie Fields and my father sort-of feared my mother.

In the early 1980s, a couple of entrepreneurial guys opened up a small comedy club on the second floor of a pretty popular restaurant in Center City Philadelphia. They were open practically every evening with featured "big name" headliners reserved for weekend performances. The roster of comics boasted a number of budding Philadelphia-based folks mixed with performers who had graced the stages of similar comedy clubs in New York and Los Angeles. For around eight bucks, a weekend show offered an emcee, three warm-up comics and a headliner. All ages were welcome, but the drinking age of 21 was strictly enforced. I didn't turn 21 until the summer of 1982, so it was Cokes for me and my friends until then.

I don't remember how many times I attended performances at the Comedy Works, but it was a lot. I saw dozens and dozens of comedians. Some were young, anxious souls hoping for a career making people laugh. Others were weekend comics, who went to regular jobs during the week. Still others were "old pros" at the trade, grinding out the same routine on a different stage in a different town, wishing one night a talent scout would approach them after the show and invite them to perform on the stage next to Johnny Carson's desk.

I saw a lot of comedians who went on to bigger and better. Native Philadelphian Tom Wilson was a regular at the Comedy Works and I saw him often. He'd bring his trusty tuba on stage and punctuate portions of his routine with blasts from the big brass horn. After a few years as a familiar face at the Comedy Works, Tom announced that he was leaving the Philadelphia area for a Hollywood destination. I was in the audience for his final Comedy Works performance. Several years later, the opening credits of Robert Zemeckis's Back to the Future listed one "Thomas F. Wilson" as the villainous knucklehead "Biff Tannen." Sure enough, his first screen appearance revealed it was "our Tom."

My friends and I secured front-row seats for headliner Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling, a well-known comedy writer and then-sidekick for a pre-"World Domination" Howard Stern. Jackie's delivery was rapid-fire and his off-the-cuff observations were targeted at the audience before him. My friends and I decided to provide Jackie with a little inspiration. As soon as Jackie was announced and took the stage, we all donned large cowboy hats in full view of "The Joke Man." He got an eyefull of us and let loose with some of the most vile, disgusting.... and hilarious material I'd ever heard. We asked for it and he delivered.

Over the years, I was treated to early career sets from Bob Saget, Craig Shoemaker, Todd Glass and a very unmemorable set from late comedian Richard Jeni. But that wasn't Richard's fault.

The first weekend in April 1981, Richard Jeni was the scheduled headliner at the Comedy Works. In the tiny ad that appeared in the entertainment section of the Evening Bulletin, only the headliner's name was listed, along with the phrase "and support" or "and others," but never their names. In 1981, I recognized the name Richard Jeni, so I contacted my regular "comedy club" friends and we headed down for the show.

The line for admittance wasn't anything out of the ordinary. We paid the small admission fee and were escorted to a table about four or five rows back from the stage — about midway in the 300-seat venue. At showtime, the regular emcee (club co-owner Steve Young) made a few jokes before introducing the first comic. I don't remember who it was — probably someone local. Soon the second performer was welcomed... and I don't remember who that was either. Steve came to the mic and announced the next comedian as a "young man, just coming up in show business and making his Comedy Works debut... oh and you might have seen him on Saturday Night Live." 

Honestly, in 1981, nobody I knew was watched Saturday Night Live. The original cast of "Not Ready for Prime Time Players" were replaced by a cast of unknowns and there was no longer a reason to stay home to watch. So, the young comedian that was just introduced bounded up to the microphone and proceeded to immediately knock the audience. on its collective ass. He was hysterical. Hysterical, like no one I had ever seen. Hysterical, as in laughing so hard that you could not catch your breath. The room was so filled with loud, raucous laughter that half of the guy's material was missed because it was drowned out with laughter from the previous punchlines. People were literally crying from laughing so hard. I have seen a lot of comedians. I had never seen a reaction like this.

Eventually, the young man's set ended and the emcee introduced Richard Jeni, the evening's headliner. At least I assume that's what happened next. In reality, I don't remember hearing another introduction and I do not remember seeing Richard Jeni come on stage and I certainly don't remember a single topic that Richard Jeni talked about. I don't even remember a single word Richard Jeni said. I'm not so sure he was even there.

What I do remember is that everyone — everyone in the entire room — was talking about how unbelievably funny the previous comedian was. Everyone was ignoring poor Richard Jeni, as the discussion of the previous act grew louder throughout the venue. At the evening's conclusion, the emcee thanked everyone for coming and, as the crowd made its way towards the exit, lively chatter about comedian number three could still be heard.

The young man who was announced prior to Richard Jeni and stole the spotlight right out from under him was Eddie Murphy.

It was his only Comedy Works appearance.

He went on to bigger and better.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com