"THE THING? is The Thing!"

When your eyes can't be believed,

And your ears can't stand the ring,

That's when you will know you're in

The presence of...

THE THING?!!!

Forgive us our tress-passes...
Starting our road trip at the traditional hour of 4:30 in the morning, left no time for grooming!

Much like our visit to West Virginia's infamous "Mystery Hole," there isn't a whole heck of a lot we can divulge about our visit to The Thing?.

Except that it pays to read signs or, rather, I paid by not reading the sign.
Homeboy is only five years old, an age I prefer to call "FREE" - that's
seventy-five cents I'll never get back...

But what is The Thing?  SPOILER ALERT: We're not going to spoil it for you.  To paraphrase our good friend, Mr Shakespeare, "The Thing? is the thing."  At its current location since 1965, The Thing? is the very essence of tourist trap culture; mile after mile after mile of intriguing billboards lure travelers to what amounts to little more than a roadside souvenir stand.

But gosh darn it if even the most savvy road
warriors can't resist the call of The Thing?

Following the path marked by yellow monster footprints, the multifaceted, walk-thru experience features exhibits of dazzling variety, culminating in an encounter with The Thing?

Walk this way...

It is tradition to remain mum about the horrors/wonders of The Thing? and we intend to keep that tradition alive.  Truly, it just wouldn't feel right to deprive you of the staggering personal revelation that comes with your own visit to Dragoon, Arizona's greatest mystery.  What I can safely reveal is that if you are hurtling along the I-10, it is entirely worth the bargain price of one dollar to hit the brakes and come face-to-??? with The Thing?

"What is it?"
"It's a wonder!"

The best part about The Thing? is that its location (just past the middle of nowhere) means the only way to see it is on a road trip.  So we encourage you to get up early and hit the road for some good, old-timey adventure.  For when the desert wind goes deathly still and you see the unlikely oasis of corrugated-metal structures painted in broad stripes of primary colors, you can be sure that your brush with The Thing? is nigh.

"The Thing" - Phil Harris

The Thing?

2631 N Johnson Rd

Dragoon, AZ

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Checking-In: Hotel Congress

The finest sight that any carload of road-weary travelers can see is that of a crackling neon sign standing sentinel atop an historic landmark hotel, beckoning them in for a night of much-needed slumber.

A glowing sight for sore eyes in Tucson, AZ

"Congress" is perhaps an all-too-accurate name for a place that over the past 95 years has undoubtedly housed so many "acts of congress" within its walls that it should soon be putting a bid in for President (zing!!!).  Actually, the name of Tucson, Arizona's most famous hotel, Hotel Congress (est. 1919) comes from the tree-lined street on which it proudly stands (incidentally, Congress St took its name from a 19th-Century Saloon).

Hotel Congress - Tucson, AZ

Primarily known as the last hideout of John Dillinger's gang (a January 1934 fire, started in the hotel basement, exposed the thugs and eventually led to the capture of their leader at a nearby residence), the hotel continues to host "Dillinger Days," on the third weekend in January.  Since then, hotel guests have been of either a more upstanding or a more otherworldly variety.  Yep, as with most hotels of a certain age, rumors abound that some guests of Hotel Congress check in but they never check out; we were so tired that the only thing that we saw during the night of our stay was the inside of our eyelids.

They must have known that a terrazzo entry is always a winner
in the book of wacky tacky!  That's kind of spooky, right?

The facade of Hotel Congress is stately, if a little unassuming but...

Once the threshold is crossed, one is
treated to a Southwestern step back in time.

Decorated in the Puebo Deco style (a combination of traditional Art Deco geometry and iconic Southwestern motifs), the common areas of Hotel Congress are a wacky tacky wonderland.  A mix of pattern, color, and shape, the near visual overload is grounded by rich woods and Spanish Colonial furniture.

The lobby, the landings, and the hallways are all decked out in Pueblo Deco finery.
Southwest design schemes tend to walk a very fine line; when it turns into that
flute-playing silhouette and those giant, metal lizards above the fireplace, I'm out. 

Hotel Congress falls decidedly on the SAFE side of that style divide!

Spare by contemporary hotel standards, the guest rooms are actually a treat for full-immersion vintage lovers looking to escape the modern world.  I was shocked to enter a room devoid of a television; and yet the absence of televisions and other modern amenities truly enriched both the overall experience and my sleep!

Black and white tiles and a pedestal sink make the bathroom feel perfectly old-timey.
Simple iron beds made up with white chenille bedspreads, modest furnishings,
and patterned, flat-weave carpets, made the whole experience period perfect!

The third-story sun deck, with its scenic mural of a stunning Southwest vista, looks
incredible and incredibly eerie bathed in the blood-red glow of the hotel's rooftop sign. 

If you find yourself in Tucson, AZ without a place to stay, why not hide out like an all-American hoodlum or haunt like an all-American ghost, and check-in to Hotel Congress.

Hotel Congress
311 E Congress St
Tucson, AZ
(520)622-8848

hotelcongress.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Signs of the Times: Kingman Club

Kingman Club- Kingman, AZ

Giving new meaning to "Dirty Martini," the sign for the shuttered Kingman Club (in Kingman, AZ of all places), had us once again sauntering down imaginary lane.  In its earliest days, did the club serve as an exclusive hot spot - "Where Kingman's elite meet?"  The glowing martini glasses and the neon script with its curlicued "b" had us believing that the club's origins were quite glamorous.  On the other hand, the flickering bulbs and addendum offering such plebeian pastimes as shuffleboard and darts had us rethinking our position.  Instead of Gimlets and Brandy Alexanders, "$1 Well Drinks" were the order of the day (and the morning, the afternoon, and the night for that matter).  With just a moment longer to reflect on the history of the sign, we were left with the feeling that the more-recent patrons of the Kingman Club (decidedly rougher than our romantic visions of Cary Grant and Constance Bennett as George and Marion Kerby) probably gave the stink-eye AND the middle finger to anyone uttering the words "Shaken, not stirred."  

Speaking of middle fingers...
The "Kingman Salute" is a reminder to all who
leave town that Kingman is number one!
(Finger Rock is between Kingman and Bullhead City on I-68)

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Out of This World: The Space Orb House

Most people refer to the solitary "Geosphere" along a lonely stretch of Arizona's I-40 as the "Golf Ball House."  I can understand; in very general terms it resembles a giant golf ball.  Given that it is raised from the ground by a tower, I will further concede that it does appear to be perched atop a tee just waiting for a 340-foot golfer to come along and whack it across the continental fairway and into  the great water trap that is the Atlantic Ocean.  However, this place shares neither the color nor the telltale dimples of a standard-issue golfball.  And, really, when was the last time anyone saw a golf ball with windows?

I like to believe that I am above striking the typical "tourist" poses, but
when one goes to Pisa, one must hold up the leaning tower.  When one
goes to Yucca, AZ, one must cup the space orb.  One cannot,
however, be expected to make like Atlas and keep one's eyes open.

This "golf ball" is an inspired bit of roadside architecture.  Given its prominence in the vast desert scape that could easily be taken for the wastelands of an alien planet, I think the house deserves a name with more dignity, more mystery, and more intergalactic drama.  I will henceforth refer to it as the "Space Orb."

Clearly, the owners are on the same page, as the grounds are a friendly landing
field to a fleet of small-scale spaceships, flying saucers, and UFO's.

As a private residence, the Space Orb is not open for exploration but the location makes for a great place to stop and take some out-of-this-world pictures (next time I think we will wear our moon suits).  Respecting the gate on the staircase that restricted access to the home, we definitely made use of the onsite convenience store's facilities and replenished the road trip snack reserves.

The convenience store sells UFO parachuters at the counter as an impulse buy.
Clearly, I have mastered my impulse issues; ordinarily, at twenty-five cents apiece,
I would have bought the whole barrel.  A master of self-control, I bought only two.
Do you know how many tokens and how games of skee-ball it takes me to earn enough
tickets to get just one parachuter at the Family Fun Center?!  A quarter was a steal!

Call it a golf ball, a UFO, or a space orb, this house is more fun than anyone else is providing in Yucca, AZ.  It is so remote that it would make an awesome set for a photo shoot, video, or film.  I might pitch the idea for my next project, "Mr. Tiny versus the Orb Women" to the owners and see if we can launch that into orbit.

The Space Orb "Golf Ball" House (and convenience store)
Alama Rd exit off of I-40
Yucca, Arizona


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Giganticus Headicus: Why the Long Face?

My brother and I are Yugoslavian twins.  It's kind of like Irish (ravaged by civil unrest and ideologically divided) twins but born a little further apart (less than two years).  When we were young we couldn't go anywhere without people mistaking us for carbon copies of one another; yes, the word "twins" oft escaped the lips of these presumptuous people but behind their eyes I could see the same nagging thought, "obviously fraternal."

As the alpha twin, it is easy for me to recognize that there are a certain amount of similar features shared by all the children in my family - the most striking of these, perhaps, being our large heads.  My brother's head, however, was always especially giant.  Luckily, at this point in his life he has grown into it, but as a child he developed the dubious nickname, "Lemonhead."

Depending on the haircut he was sporting, my brother
could've easily been the model for the candy mascot.
(Source)

A recent adventure weekend landed us quite literally face-to-face with a rare specimen that left my brother's head looking, well...average.  

"Giganticus Headicus"

Giganticus Headicus is an enormous, green, cranial statue fashioned very much in the Easter Island tradition (chicken wire, cement, and green paint) that stands sentry along old Route 66 at Antares Point in Kingman, Arizona.  Standing in this mock-Moai's presence is very humbling - especially for folks whose already-oversized heads are further swollen with the pride of winning "big head" contests.

The wacky tacky adventure team - Mary, Jesse, Emily, Cynthia,
Nick, and Mr. Tiny (the last two being possible descendants
of Giganticus Headicus).

In the forecourt of the Kozy Korner Trailer Park, Giganticus Headicus reminds us exactly why we love road trips and exactly why we love the desert.  The desert's sweeping vistas and broad expanses offer a seemingly-endless landscape in which one can not only explore but create wacky tacky!

Mary and Jesse go in for the pick as Mr. Tiny basks in both the desert sun
and the knowledge that there are heads in existence that are blissfully
bigger than his own...and old Lemonhead's.

A product of Gregg Arnold's own head (figuratively speaking, of course), Giganticus Headicus is the tiki-themed centerpiece to a greater roadside experience.  Just one part of a large installation of desert art and roadside novelties, Giganticus Headicus is the reason to stop; the rare sight of Baby Rattlers is the reason to stay!

CAUTION!!!
Babies can be more dangerous than adults!

(Insert rim shot or sad trombone here) wah-wah...

If you find yourself along Route 66 in need of some kicks, be sure to stop by and compare noggins with old Giganticus Headicus - you'll feel positively puny!

Giganticus Headicus

Antares Point on Route 66

Walapai, AZ

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Signs of the Times: Starlite Motel

When Mr. Tiny was young, I was quite the water baby.  Joyfully swimming at every opportunity, the deep end of any pool still seemed menacing and probably would have remained so if my mother hadn't believed in the full-immersion approach to shallow-end aversion therapy.  One sunny, summer day in my fourth year, my mom carried me down the street to our well-populated community pool and, filled with the strength that it would take to remove a wailing, flailing, crying child that is trying his darnedest to claw his way to the top of her head, she heaved me into the deep end and told me that I would have to swim to the edge.  Needless to to say, I did make it to the edge but I never swam again...  Okay, only the first part of the story is true; I actually continued to swim and became a contender in backstroke and freestyle - thanks, Mom.  Not only did I overcome my fear of water more than three-and-a-half feet deep, I also learned to love the diving opportunities that only the deep end could afford.  Who knew that the desert of Mesa, AZ would offer the most exciting diving I've ever seen?

Starlite Motel - Mesa, AZ

If there was a star attraction of our recent Arizona adventure, it would have to be the Starlite Motel.  We didn't even end up staying at this 1960 roadside landmark, but the wacky tacky impact of Starlite's beautiful sign was still paramount to us and the residents of Mesa.  The marquee, extending a welcome to visitors and the availability of a jacuzzi room, was pretty nice and definitely worthy of inclusion in our previous post about Main Street's amazing signs, but the sign for which the Starlite Motel is most praiseworthy is its famous diving girl.  

The diving girl is the story of a comeback kid; nearly obliterated by a powerful windstorm in 2010, the sign was blown down and left to the elements when the funds to restore her could not be raised.  The gods of wacky tacky were smiling on her when community leaders and Americana enthusiasts rallied to raise the $120,000 that was necessary for her rehabilitation.  This year, just a few short days before our visit, the reinforced sign's restoration (using the original plans) was complete and we were able to visit the surprisingly-fit, 53-year-old, 78-foot-tall diving phenomenon.

Awe struck by the majesty of it all.
Ostensibly, the sign was erected to advertise the motel's sparkling pool.
Ironically, the sign has been restored, but the pool is long gone.

As per usual, we found the sign in the glaring light of the noonday sun.  However beautiful she was, it was the least optimal hour to view the animated neon sign.  Although time was short and the Starlite's Mesa address was quite a distance from our hotel and any of our mandatory itinerary items, I vowed to return after dark to witness the diving lady in all of her neon glory.

Not just a dive, but a jackknife!

I have a strong bias towards animated neon; nevertheless, I give her a perfect 10!

It is a loosely-guarded secret that a dream of mine (one of many) is to own an historic motel and restore it with an awesome pool, a delicious coffee shop/diner, and a venue for hosting special events.  Having been bit by the same bug as Bing Crosby in Holiday Inn, it sounds like I would be treading in some pretty deep and treacherous water.  I guess I won't know until I dive in.  Speaking of diving, here is the Starlite Motel sign in action; I somehow managed to add sound effects and music to the video (far beyond my normal skill level) but, believe it or not, it wouldn't upload onto YouTube with them!  I guess once you're flagged, you're flogged!

Thus, in the beautiful hum and glow of neon, we end our Phoenix adventures; we always like to go out with a SPLASH!!!

Starlite Motel
2710 E Main St
Mesa, AZ
(480)964-2201


Cheers,

Mr. Tiny

p.s.  As a reminder, we are creeping up on 200 followers.  Lest you forget, we are marking the occasion with an unprecedented GIVEAWAY!!!  Please join in the fun!

Pulling Out All the Stops: Organ Stop Pizza

Giddiness is probably the least attractive posture a fully-grown man could take.  When faced with the world's-largest Wurlitzer theater organ, however, there really is no other posture to assume.  Southern California is a veritable hotbed of wacky tacky - thriving in spite of a culture of looking "cool" at all costs;  never having been cool, I am blissfully free of the burden of maintaing a "cool" reputation.  That, combined with the fact that we were in Arizona, left me free to be a giddy as a schoolgirl over the thundering sound of the world's largest Wurlitzer theater organ (insert world's largest organ joke).

Capital G-i-double d-y!

The only place to get this excited over the world's largest Wurlitzer theater organ is at its home, Organ Stop Pizza in Mesa, AZ.  Organ Stop Pizza began its life in Phoenix in 1972.  The brainchild of  William P. Brown, who was intent on combining his love of pizza with his love of theater organ, Organ Stop Pizza quickly outgrew its first two locations.  Proving that wacky tacky can be found in any era, OSP broke ground and opened the doors to its current location in 1995.  The facade of its permanent residence is nothing to write home about.  In fact, it is decidedly un-wacky tacky, but once inside the Mesa eatery/organ spectacular, the building itself is reduced to inconsequential background noise.

This is it!  The glowing void in the middle of the picture is the place where the organ console and organist are hydraulically lifted from the ground to perform everything from cinematic masterpieces to polkas to national anthems.  I had to pause a moment when I recognized one of the tunes as "Oh, Canada," the Canadian national
anthem.  I quickly remembered that much of Arizona's seasonal populace is made up of Canadian "snowbirds."

The afternoon's feature organist
OSP has multiple organists on a rotating schedule;
I kind of wanted to stay and hear them all.

I tried to upload my videos so I could share them with you, but apparently, YouTube has incredibly sensitive filters and muted all of my videos, citing copyright infringement.  Really?!?!?!  How does everyone else on YouTube upload EVERY SINGLE SONG in the entire world with no problem?  I am really bad at computers, so after a few tries, I gave up in frustration.  Let me tell you, the descent from overwhelming giddiness to bitter frustration is not nearly as long a fall as one might imagine.  Nevertheless, there exist some videos of the OSP organ in action (although how they managed to get by the YouTube censor bureau, I will never know).

"Chattanooga Choo Choo"

Maybe "Chattanooga Choo Choo" is in the public domain???

The sound quality isn't spectacular but you can definitely

 get a sense of the organ's instrumental capabilities.

Petty, internet-related frustrations aside, I can't quite fully explain the level of elation one is capable of achieving when two of the world's most perfect offerings come together - organ music and pizza (plus a fully-loaded salad bar)!  It is wacky tacky nirvana.  Much credit is due the sensational musicians that lend their talents to the Organ Stop Pizza.  But how can we overlook the real star of the show here - the organ!

Look at that beautiful console!
Designed and built in the 1920's for the world-famous
Grauman's Chinese Theater in Hollywood, OSP's organ
is a total show-stopper before the first stop is even pulled out! 

Compartments loaded with thousands of pipes and clear,
 hinged dampers are controlled entirely by the organist.

Castanets, horns, tambourine, and the wacky tackiest of all instruments - the accordion!

A player piano, bongos, a conga drum, and just about
everything else for which one could wish.

A fanfare is imminent when a fan of horns is always poised at the ready.

"Stars and Stripes Forever"

Take that "Oh, Canada"....only joking, Canadians...

Oh yeah, did I mention that the organ console rotates

during the performance - IT ROTATES!!!

As is evidenced by the above video, dramatic points or particularly-
patriotic moments in a song change the room from relative darkness
 to a glittering spectacle of electric light.
Could an organ concert get any more incredible?  Well, maybe it can...

Once every set, the organist played a rousing, little ditty entitled "The Alleycat."

"The Alleycat" - Bent Fabric

Imagine this being played by the world's largest Wurlitzer theater organ.

Then imagine the thrill of the curtain rising to
reveal a chorus line of feline marionettes!!!

Organ Stop Pizza is more than theater in its most rarefied form; it is an interactive experience.  At the base of the organ platform, there are cards on which the audience members can fill in requests for tunes and notate special occasions that they are celebrating at the restaurant.  While the organist did not play our request (how awesome would it have been to hear The Munsters theme song played on the world's largest Wurlitzer organ), he did honor Mary's request to wish me a happy birthday.

"Happy Birthday Mr. Tiny"

Can you see how crestfallen he is when he realizes 

he's wishing the fat guy in the front row a happy birthday? 

Well, the joke's on you OSP, it wasn't really my birthday!!!

Citing the "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all" rule, I can't say anything about Organ Stop Pizza's pizza.  Well, I guess I could...but I won't.  It really wouldn't matter what they served there - Organ Stop Hot Dogs, Organ Stop Sushi, Organ Stop Hamster - a rose by any other name would certainly sound as sweet.  We've been to the Spreckel's Organ in San Diego, CA.  We've heard the Avalon Theater's beautiful Page Organ accompany some of the finest films of the silent era.  Now we've been to Organ Stop pizza's mighty Wurlitzer.  The hunt is on for the world's best organs...just don't be surprised if you wake up tomorrow in a bathtub full of ice!

We loved it so much that we couldn't leave without a souvenir.
Organ Stop Pizza rigorously maintains the organ and often
 has to swap out spent pipes; we got a "D."

I truly can't recommend a visit to Organ Stop Pizza enough.  If you have even an ounce of wacky tacky spirit in the recesses of your doubtful mind and cold, cold heart, you will definitely get a thrill out of the mighty Wurlitzer and those crazy, dancing cats!

Organ Stop Pizza

1149 E Southern Ave

Mesa, AZ

(480)813-5700

www.organstoppizza.com

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: MacAlpine's Soda Fountain

What do you call a happy picketer?  Is there a title for the exact opposite for protestor?  A contestor, maybe?  Whatever his job description, this guy refused to be ignored as he took the concept of a sandwich board to new heights.  It was a good thing that we were already on the side of this proud ensign bearer; in fact, the very first thing we did when we pulled into the city limits, was visit one of Phoenix's most-beloved watering holes (and the reason for his masterfully hand-painted sign), MacAlpine's Restaurant & Soda Fountain.

A tad premature (and immature), Mr. Tiny arrived before the neon "Open" sign was illuminated.  PHOTO OP!

Opened in 1929, MacAlpine's isn't just a static relic of its more-than-eighty-year history.  Instead of being a period-perfect museum, it is the genuine article - a living document of depressions, recessions, wars, and advancements of society and technology.  The restaurant is filled with memorabilia reflecting every one of the ten decades through which it has operated.  Heck, they even have a Facebook page! 

Pardon me, do you have Prince Albert in a can?*

It was still early in the day, but after having driven
for five hours, we were ready to get our grub on.

It being a soda fountain, we opted for counter service right where the mix magic happens. 

But the booth seating offered some pretty stiff competition.  Beautiful!!!

The mirrored bar back was the resting place for the myriad flavors of MacAlpine's
famous fountain specialties, not the least of which is the old-fashioned ice cream soda.

Not content with the extensive menu, Mary invented

 a new one - pistachio ice cream and rum-flavored soda.

She said that it was delicious...

The cheeseburger and homemade coleslaw.
The secret to MacAlpine's signature slaw is pineapple!

As seasoned road trippers and inveterate junk-food junkies, we can say that we have definitely enjoyed a tastier burger (it looked much better than it tasted).  However, we've never done so with such superior service in a facility that has been operating since the dawn of the Great Depression that also happens to be a VINTAGE STORE!!!

That's right, combining two of my most abiding passions, MacAlpine's is both a hash house and a rich repository of vintage clothing, accessories, housewares, and furniture.  A combination of road trip weariness and an overexcitement at the prospect of stuffing my face AND shopping for used goods all under the same roof left me too frazzled to take many pictures!

I wish I could've afforded to bring
this guy and his sister lamp home!

I am always swept away by the romance of vintage kitchen tools but can
never get past the idea that they're old and rusty and probably not
particularly sanitary...or maybe I'm just Howard Hughes-ing.

If you're ever in Phoenix, then hop in the old jalop' and head to the malted shop!  Make sure that you stop at MacAlpine's to get yourself a treat - of the frosty or fabric variety - or both!

"All the Cats Join In" - Benny Goodman

MacAlpine's Restaurant & Soda Fountain

2303 N 7th St

Phoenix, AZ

(602)262-5545

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

*Then you'd better let him out.  I couldn't let the joke go unfinished.  

Remember, we are dangerously close to 200 official followers.  When we reach that pinnacle of success, we will be hosting a major giveaway!  Spread the wacky tacky word, won't you please?  THANKS!!!