the masterplan

Laurie Jacobson started following me on Instagram a few years ago. Just out of nowhere, based on our common interests in old Hollywood, dead celebrities, pop culture, she started following me... dumb, ol' Josh Pincus. This struck me as odd, because I'm just a nobody in the vast world of social media. Laurie, on the other hand, is a celebrated author who has appeared on CNN, Entertainment Tonight and The History Channel. She has produced high-profile television programs like Mary Tyler Moore's Twentieth Anniversary Special. She is a noted and respected authority on Hollywood history. If that isn't enough, she was enrolled in a comedy workshop taught by Harvey Lembeck. Among her classmates were John Ritter and Robin Williams. Oh yeah, and she's married to Jon Provost, the star of over 250 episodes of Lassie. And me? I'm just some yutz who draws pictures of dead celebrities and posts pictures of things that make me laugh. But, Laurie likes my sense of humor and we've enjoyed lively on-line exchanges centered around our shared passion for Hollywood trivia. However, we have never met.

But I had a plan.

Laurie and Jon make appearances at various fan conventions all over the country. Laurie talks about her books, the latest of which is an exclusive, behind-the-scenes look at the Beatles iconic performance at Shea Stadium in 1965. Jon signs photos and cheerfully greets fans who grew up watching his adventures with the world's most famous dog (no, not Scooby-Doo!) Because Laurie and I are "Facebook Friends," I saw that the couple were going to be at the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum on Memorial Day weekend, as part of the society's celebration of America's 250th anniversary. Situated just an hour outside the birthplace of America (Philadelphia, for those of you who flunked history), the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum presents a sort of mish-mash of history. Its permanent displays highlight people and events that impacted the germination and growth of our country. Some are specific to Allentown, Pennsylvania (the actual location of the museum). Most, however, are not. It's as though someone from the Lehigh Valley Historic Society visited the museums in Philadelphia and said to themselves: "Fuck this! We'll start our own museum!" Their hearts are in the right place. It's just their actual history isn't. (In their defense, in September 1777, the Liberty Bell was hidden in a church in Allentown for nine months to prevent the advancing British soldiers from melting it down for weapons. Oh, and Billy Joel sang a pretty disparaging song about Allentown.) 

I presented the idea of driving up to Allentown to Mrs. Pincus. My wife, who is also a Facebook connection of Laurie Jacobson's, is always up for any sort of long car trip. I also decided not to tell Laurie that we were coming. Again, we have never met and the pending surprise would be... um.... surprising!

My day started early. I had an appointment to have my car inspected. So there I was, in the waiting room of a Subaru dealer, scrolling through Facebook while I waited for my friendly Subaru  service representative to let me know my car was ready. On Facebook, I saw pictures of a smiling Laurie and Jon buckled into their airplane seats, along with the caption: "On our way to Allentown." This sort of excitement, of course, is the sentiment of folks who have never been to Allentown. 

With my car all serviced, I drove home. Mrs. P was getting ready for our little adventure. She gathered together a few small Philadelphia-centric items from her Ebay store stock to give to Laurie and Jon as a memento of their friends in the City of Brotherly Love. I grabbed a few "Josh Pincus"-branded pins and keyrings as a reminder of the evils of the internet. I loaded the address into the trusty Waze navigation app on my phone and we were off. We followed Route 309 North, which is a straight shot to Allentown from our house. As we got closer to our destination, Waze led us through a few small, congested neighborhoods dotted with shopping centers and housing developments — hardly the place one would expect to find a museum... speaking as a spoiled Philadelphian who is used to museums being sprawling architectural marvels placed along side other architectural marvels. But, as we turned a narrow corner, there it stood — the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum — just like it looked on its website. We found a convenient parking spot right on the street out front. I gathered up a little gift bag with the goodies we planned to present to Laurie and Jon and we headed in.

A fair amount of folks had gathered and queued up in the facility's auditorium to have a quick chat with Laurie and Jon, as well as getting some memorabilia signed. I purchased Laurie's TV Dinners book and joined Mrs. Pincus in line. Ahead of us, Laurie and Jon were seated at a long table. They were chatting and laughing and posing for pictures with a crowd comprised of people mostly around my age. There were a few youngsters (around eight or nine) who seemed bored with being dragged along on grandma and grandpa's little jaunt. The line crept along at a pretty steady pace until we found ourselves in the coveted "next" position. As Laurie was speaking with the woman in front of me, she shot me a glance and, I could tell that she did not recognize me from any picture I may have posted on Facebook. I interjected a smart-ass comment into their conversation and Laurie smiled. Then it was my turn.

I stepped up to the table and said to Laurie: "I just wanted to make sure that you've been getting my holiday cards.*"  Laurie looked at me with a half-smile and a puzzled expression. Then I spilled it. "I'm Josh Pincus," I announced and I dropped a handful of JPiC buttons and stuff  — all emblazoned with my 5-yerar old redheaded visage — on the tabletop in front of her. Laurie lit up! She jumped from her chair and exclaimed: "JOSH PINCUS! You're Josh Pincus!"... and she threw her arms around me. I introduced her to Mrs. Pincus and she gave my wife's hand a warm embrace. Mrs. P offered her Philly souvenirs and Laurie smiled and beamed with appreciation. It was so humbling to see Laurie express such excitement to meet dumb ol' me... but it was very sweet. Laurie signed my book. She told me that I keep her laughing all day with my Facebook posts. I thanked her several times and Mrs. P and I took seat at the back of the auditorium for Laurie's and Jon's presentations.

After some brief introductions, Laurie delighted the room with stories of Hollywood acquaintances. She revealed secrets of what it took to stage the Beatles show at Shea Stadium at a time when rock concerts at a ballpark was just not a thing.  She talked about meeting and marrying Jon and then spooked the crowd with an eerie tale of the last days of Marilyn Monroe. Laurie was followed by Jon Provost's account of life as a working child actor in the 1950s. His compelling stories were both informative and amusing, as he spoke of working with the likes of Jane Wyman (his mother's idol), Natalie Wood and Robert Redford. He offered heartfelt memories of the late June Lockhart and humorous anecdotes concerning Kurt Russell. At the conclusion of the presentation, my wife and I made our way down to the front to say our "goodbyes." before leaving for home.

Laurie was cornered by three women who were gabbing non-stop about classic television. They weren't having a conversation as much as they were droning pointlessly. They peppered their dissertation with memories of long-forgotten stars of black-and-white series, some of whose names slipped their minds. But, they weren't headed towards any apparent conclusion. Mrs. P and I politely hung back, waiting for these ladies to wind down their time. But, they showed no sign of stopping. Laurie smiled politely and offered me a wink and silent plea of "help!" Finally, she courteously attempted to bring their filibuster to a halt by saying she had to say goodbye to some friends. The women would not relent, so Laurie just stepped past them to greet Mrs P and me. We said our farewells and Laurie posed for a quick picture before reiterating how happy she was to finally meet us in person. It was truly sweet. We waved to Jon, who was busy with a couple of fans. He smiled and gave us a wave back.

My plan was successful. 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com.

* A few years ago, Laurie asked for holiday cards to cheer up her friend, actor Jay North (of Dennis the Menace fame). Jay was ill and she thought some cards from fans would brighten his spirits. I sent one and also sent a separate card specifically for Laurie and Jon. Sadly, Jay passed away in 2025.

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

crazy game

My son has become enamored with all things Japanese. He recently visited the Land of the Rising Sun and it only heightened his admiration and love for the country and its culture — especially its pop culture. And Japan is brimming with pop culture. A lot of it is a happy amalgam of traditional Japanese lore mixed with a skewed interpretation of American influence and iconography. This produces an interesting blend that is compelling and flashy, but uniquely Japanese.

My son recently enjoyed? endured? experienced? a screening of a 1985 Japanese cult science-fiction musical comedy called The Legend of the Stardust Brothers. The movie — all 100 confounding minutes of it — started life as a concept album by a non-existent Japanese pop group called The Stardust Brothers. Inspired by the quirky The Rocky Horror Picture Show and the even quirkier The Phantom of the Paradise, Japanese singer-songwriter-producer Haruo Chicada wrote a dozen songs and released the album in 1980. A few years later, filmmaker Makoto Tezuka (son of manga legend Osamu Tezuka, creator of Astro Boy, Kimba the White Lion and a zillion other beloved Japanese animated properties) adapted Chicada's work into a live-action, big-screen presentation.

Although my son got to watch The Legend of the Stardust Brothers in a proper theater, I managed to track down the film on one of the free streaming services available though my cable television provider. On a Sunday afternoon, after watching the Phillies drop an early season game to the beleaguered Washington Nationals, I spoke the magic words — "The Legend of the Stardust Brothers" — into the voice-activated search feature on my cable box remote control. My TV screen came alive with several options on which I could view my son's cinematic recommendation. With a few quick navigations, I settled back to watch The Legend of the Stardust Brothers.

The film is about.... um.... it's about... well, it's sort of.... I mean.... it's kind of.....

Honestly, I don't know what it was about. I watched it. At its conclusion, one hour and forty minutes after it started, I wasn't quite sure what I had just seen. Admittedly, it was filled with catchy songs. There were two main characters who seem to be just as bewildered as I was. There was a girl and there was a guy with dark glasses and thick sideburns. There were two bumbling inept security guards. There was a guy who looked like David Bowie. There were girls in shiny jumpsuits. There were monsters. There were gangsters. There was a little cartoon. It was colorful and fast-moving. It featured a lot of jumpy camera work and quick cuts. Did I mention that the songs were catchy? 

Was it bad? No, not really. It held my interest, from a curiosity standpoint. Was it good? No, not really. It was cute, but nearly plotless. The budget for this movie looked to be about 261 yen. (That approximately $1.80 American). But, the songs sure were catchy.

a dedication

I saw The Phantom of the Paradise in its original theatrical release in 1974. I loved it. It was the coolest movie I had ever seen. Granted, I was 13 and it was replaced on my "Gauge of Coolness" just a few moths later by the Who's silver screen adaption of  the rock opera Tommy. I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show after its midnight showing buzz reached me in my sheltered Northeast Philadelphia cocoon. I ventured down to the exotic world of Philadelphia's notorious South Street to witness the rice-throwing, talk-back-to-the-screen spectacle for myself. Years later, I could definitely see the influence both of these films had on the filmmakers in bringing The Legend of the Stardust Brothers to fruition.

After the final credits scrolled to darkness, I called my son. When he answered the phone, I merely said: "What did you just make me watch?" This echoed my son's own retort after I made him sit by my side to view my newly-purchased DVD of The Phantom of the Paradise approximately two decades ago.

I guess now we're even.

The songs were catchy, though.

The Legend of the Stardust Brothers is streaming for free on Freevee and Tubi.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com