I am heading off to Ukraine and Poland today. My flight is less than ideal (Dulles to New York JFK, 4 hour layover, JFK to Warsaw, Warsaw to Kiev) but whatever, that's what happens when you try and save a few hundred bucks.

We will be in Kiev from July 1-5, with a tour of Chernobyl and Pripyat scheduled for July 4. This will be the fourth Independence Day that I celebrate in the former USSR, although this one will likely be more bizarre than the others.

On July 5, Ryan departs for the Crimea, and Laura and I fly to Krakow, Poland. We'll check out the city of Krakow and tour Auschwitz and the Wieliczka Salt Mine. I'll be back in the squalid cesspool otherwise known as Washington DC on the evening of July 8.

As usual, I'll take a ridiculous amount of photos with my recently acquired Canon S3 IS (yeah, I finally decided to upgrade).

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Facebook in 40 years - will we still have Facebook profiles when we're 65?

MySpace for the proletariat, Facebook for the bourgeoise? If I have both, does that make me an equal opportunity class enemy?

Are there really no Republicans left in California? Foreign Nationals Hired For 2 California GOP Posts (this really is a hilarious story)

Uh, when has this guy ever seen the inside of a foxhole?

Tired Of Traffic? A New DOT Report Urges Drivers: 'Honk'

Music festivals all over the former Communist Bloc - It's like Coachella, but in Eastern Europe

New Cold War museum opens in Moscow - gas masks and Geiger counters optional

WSJ: Gazprom Pipeline Plan May Fuel Worry...Trust Russia on energy, Putin tells Balkan countries...meanwhile, the Nabucco pipeline project falters

Nice shades, Vlad

Can U.S. Adopt Europe's Fuel-Efficient Cars? Yeah, right.

Considered but Discarded Names for the Indie Band Someone Still Loves You, Boris Yeltsin

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I didn't really take many photos at Coachella due to my laziness, so a majority of these I stole from Kat. And yes, I realize this happened like two months ago.

This one photo pretty much sums up the entire weekend

Jack's Mannequin

Some beautiful desert scenery

Kat, Danielle, Laila

Willie Nelson

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I read a lot of news and blogs, most of it about Russia or energy. Here's what you should read, too:

World's most expensive cities? Two of my favorite, of course. Moscow takes the #1 spot while London comes in second.

Berlin hotel recreates East Germany Honecker portraits on the wall? Yeah, count me in!

Go Trabi Go! A Rattletrap East German Icon Has Its Day Again

Awesome color photos from the Russian Empire, taken by Sergei Mikhailovich Prokudin-Gorskii

Russian president says no one should seek to make Russia feel guilty about Stalin-era purge
Speaking with the teachers, Putin suggested the United States' use of atomic weapons against Japan at the end of World War II was worse than the abuses of Stalin.

Surprise, surprise, Gazprom wrestles control of the Kovykta gas field from BP. Related: Gazprom woes could hurt Putin's drive for energy dominance, Investing in Russia: A BP perspective

Retired Gen. George Washington Criticizes Bush's Handling Of Iraq War (The Onion)

Touring North Korea. Yes, I still really want to do this. Maybe in '08.

Pyongyang rollercoaster: I've been on some pretty scary roller coasters (hello, Cedar Point amusement park) but I don't know if you could drag me onto this one in Pyongyang, North Korea.

Creed Bratton's blog, www.creedthoughts.gov.www\creedthoughts, lives! (Video)

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Yesterday marked the 66th anniversary of Operation Barbarossa, the Nazi Germany invasion of the Soviet Union and beginning of Velikaya Otechestvennaya Voyna, The Great Patriotic War. In the end, an estimated 26 million Soviets were killed on the Eastern Front of World War II.

As a sophomore in college, I wrote a paper on Stalin's purge of the Red Army Officer Corps and its subsequent affect on the Soviet military's ability to counteract the Nazi invasion in June 1941. You can download it here (PDF).

Reading it over, it's a bit rough around the edges and could use a rewrite, but it's not bad for a first semester sophomore. I encountered some difficulty finding information about the military purges, as most sources on that particular time period simply devoted a paragraph (if even) to the Red Army's loss of 36,000 well-qualified officers.

I'll upload a few more of my Russia-related papers when I get a chance. Someone out there might find them useful.

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June 21 is International Surfing Day. You're supposed to skip work, go surfing, and help clean up your local beach. Unfortunately I was unable to participate in this unofficial holiday as I am three hours from the nearest beach and my surfboards are back home in SoCal. Luckily, the good people of WaveWatch have installed web cams throughout the US so that you can watch everyone else surf at your local break. Whatever. I need to move. Working in a surf shop would be fun, don't you think? Much better than Office Depot, anyways.

Today was also "Dump the Pump" day in which you are supposed to ride public transit in order to help save the environment or whatev. I did celebrate this day, albeit unwillingly, by riding in a metal tube that sped through the underground hell that is Washington. And while I feel all warm and fuzzy inside for doing my part to save the environment (those polar bears are oh so frickin' CUTE), quite frankly I prefer driving my gas guzzling SUV to being crammed under someone's deodorant-less armpit for the duration of Gallery Place-Chinatown to Columbia Heights. Oh, the things I do for this earth.

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This past Sunday marked the 35th anniversary of the Watergate burglaries that subsequently led to the downfall of President Richard Nixon. I wasn't alive in 1972 (and thank god for that, because life without cell phones, e-mail, google, and wikipedia must have been downright boring!) but the Watergate burglaries hold a special place in this former GW polisci major's heart.

The view from room 419

If you read through this incredibly detailed Wikipedia article on the burglaries, you will see many references to room 419 of the Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge, which stood directly across the street from the Watergate building. This was the room that members of the "Plumber's Unit" used as a monitoring post during the May 1972 break-ins and phone-tapping of the Democratic National Committee's headquarters on the sixth floor of the Watergate:

Alfred Baldwin had been hired by James McCord, and on 26 May 1972 was the "monitor," or lookout, in room 419 of the Howard Johnson's. According to both [G. Gordon] Liddy and [Howard] Hunt, one of only four walkie-talkies available that night had been allocated to Baldwin for use in room 419. Another walkie-talkie had been allocated to McCord, who, according to some of the conflicting accounts, also was in room 419 with Baldwin throughout the entire dinner.

[...]

Hunt has said that there was a "guard change at eight o'clock," after which McCord had taped the locks. He then states that "a little after ten o'clock" word came from McCord—who was in room 419 of the Howard Johnson's—that the DNC headquarters were empty, so the Cubans "made ready to go."

[...]

According to Hunt, McCord came from "the Listening Post"—room 419 of the Howard Johnson's across the street—to report that there had been "little activity" in the Democratic headquarters that day. Hunt says, "the blinds had been conveniently raised, permitting observation from the Listening Post, and as matters stood, only one employee was in the sixth-floor offices" of the DNC. Liddy, though, has said that "to see into the DNC offices", a room was needed on a higher floor of the Howard Johnson's than room 419, and such a room was not rented by McCord until the following day, 29 May 1972, when records show that McCord rented room 723.

Fast forward 28 years later, to the Fall of 2000, when a young Californian arrived at the George Washington University with her freshman year housing assignment in hand: Room 419, The Hall on Virginia Avenue dormitory (or HOVA, as we affectionately called it), formerly the Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge until it was purchased by GWU in 1999 and converted to student housing.

Old HoJo's

It was bizarre living in a hotel room for an entire year, but I loved it. Compared to other college freshman, we were incredibly spoiled: private bathrooms, spacious rooms, HBO and Showtime, A/C, and weekly maid service. And yet, while living there my roommate and I had no idea that our room played a minor role in the scandal that brought down an American President. I didn't find out about this until a few years later, when my friend (and fellow HOVA resident) Will came across the room 419 link while researching the Watergate break-ins for a college paper.

As history goes, though, room 723, the monitoring post on the night of the June 17th arrests, stole all the glory, leaving room 419 to languish in obscurity.

Laura and I visiting the old room during Grad Week 2004

I can guarantee you, though, that the room 419 of May 1972 was not decorated as awesomely as it was when I lived there:

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do they really need a police officer there to open the deodorant case for customers (yes, the deodorant and bodywash, etc are kept behind a locked case) and to search through the packets of developed film? Surely, in this neighborhood, there are better uses for an armed officer of the law?

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Pity the poor office workers who slave away in the buildings surrounding Union Station. Come lunchtime, they are faced with a depressing choice of food options. Do they brave the hellish atmosphere of the Union Station food court, a seething pit of rowdy out of town school groups and tourists who think nothing of forking over $8 for charred burgers and greasy pizza? Or perhaps one of the nearby delis, ruled by the soup nazi's soulmates, angry ladies who delight in charging you 55 cents for a measly slice of avocado for your BLT?

All these wonderful choices, and yet some days I still aimlessly wander the area, unable to decide what vendor I would like to hand over my hard-earned $8 to in exchange for poor to mediocre "food." Many a time I just give up and head to McCrackhead central for a McFlurry. Ice cream for lunch. Yeah, I'm still a kid at heart.

Well, my dear Union Station worker comrades, I am here to spread the news of an amazing recent arrival to the lunchtime landscape. TAQUERIA NACIONALE. Yes, a taco shop near Union Station.

On Tuesday, Elisabeth and I ventured over to this shining taqueria on the Hill to determine if it would meet our lofty expectations. She's a Texan, and I, of course, am from the Great State of California, so our standards in regards to Mexican food are much higher than someone from the East Coast. Yes, we are Mexican food snobs and proud of it.

Taqueria Nacionale is located at 400 North Capitol Street, right next to Johnny's Half Shell. As this building also houses Fox News, you might have the unfortunate luck of running into Ann Coulter, but that's the price you pay for delicious tacos. The taqueria itself is rather small (no seating) and the line is out the door for the lunch hour rush. The simple menu is tacked to the wall, large jars of agua fresca line the counter, and the refrigerators are filled with bottled Coke straight from Mexico (made with real sugar).

So far I have tried the beef taco, carnitas taco, fish taco, refried beans, rice, fried yucca, pineapple agua fresca, and chips and guacamole. I did not eat all of this in one day, but rather have eaten there three days in a row. This should give you an indication of how deeply I have fallen in love with this simple taqueria.

My personal preference is the beef taco, with its double tortillas, tender pieces of quality beef, and a smattering of onions. With a bit of guacamole and salsa, it's really the perfect taco.

(I should note, however, that my boss, who is from neither California nor Texas, wanted to know why all the lettuce and tomatoes and "stuff" was missing from his taco. People, please - this isn't Taco Bell. These are simple, authentic tacos that mimic those found on the streets of LA. This is truly the working man's taco - the taco of the proletariat, if you will. We don't need any of that fancy sour cream and lettuce.)

The carnitas taco was delicious, and has become Elisabeth's taco of choice. The fish taco was decent, but could have used a bit more sauce. The guacamole was chunky, as guacamole should be, and the portion was VERY generous - enough for the included chips and your taco. I prefer mine with a bit more spice, but it is nevertheless delicious.

The side dishes do not disappoint either. The fried yucca has become my personal favorite, especially when paired with the salsa verde. You have to eat it relatively quickly, though, as it tends to get pretty cold and gummify.

As for drinks, the pineapple ague fresca is refreshing (especially during the humid DC summers) and a welcome break from the standard soda and bottled water. And yes, they do have horchata, which I will most likely be trying tomorrow. I intend to eat there as much as possible. As in, every day. I have a feeling this will be the D.C. equivalent of El Vergel, that wonderful London establishment that provided sustenance to a Californian living in a city where the burritos were stuffed with sweetcorn and onion rings were considered to be the "Best of Mexico".

Taqueria Nacionale Round-up:

Location: 400 N Capitol St. NW, Washington, DC (Hall of States building)

Service: Employees are friendly and fast. Although the line might be out the door, the wait is short. There are cute animal stamps on the cartons to denote your taco style (pig for carnitas, cow for beef, etc.)

Pricing: Compared to the other food around joints around Union Station, it's cheap. $2-2.50 for a taco, with sides running $1.50. Agua Fresca is $2. The chips and guac will set you back $4, but as I said above, it's a good portion of guac.

Bottom line: Californian and Texan approved (read Elisabeth's review on the Washington Post site)...and that's all you really need.

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Here's an interesting, and somewhat timely, AP article on the "thriving" wildlife population in the radiation soaked area surrounding the former Chernobyl nuclear (uh, "nucular"?) plant:

Two decades after an explosion and fire at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant sent clouds of radioactive particles drifting over the fields near her home, Maria Urupa says the wilderness is encroaching. Packs of wolves have eaten two of her dogs, the 73-year-old says, and wild boar trample through her cornfield. And she says fox, rabbits and snakes infest the meadows near her tumbledown cottage.

"I've seen a lot of wild animals here," says Urupa, one of about 300 mostly elderly residents who insist on living in Chernobyl's contaminated evacuation zone.

The return of wildlife to the region near the world's worst nuclear power accident is an apparent paradox that biologists are trying to measure and understand.

Many assumed the 1986 meltdown of one reactor, and the release of hundreds of tons of radioactive material, would turn much of the 1,100-square-mile evacuated area around Chernobyl into a nuclear dead zone.

It certainly doesn't look like one today.

Yeah, we'll see.

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Welcome to my neighborhood:

D.C. police have responded in force around Columbia Heights since last weekend's fatal shooting of a teenage boy there.

But for many residents such as Nancy Miranda, drug dealing and gunfire are the norm for Columbia Heights, particularly after dark, and D.C. police have not been doing enough to stop it. Drug dealers "pump" product on the 1400 block of Girard Street, where Miranda's 15-year-old daughter Kaylah walks home after school. Because of the crime, Miranda is wracked by fear whenever her 9-year-old son, Alex, walks to the neighborhood recreation center.

Two shootings happened on her block last weekend.

"That block is hot as hell," said Miranda, 33, a real estate consultant who grew up just a few blocks away, at 13th Street and Park Road. "There are crackheads around here everywhere at night, walking around like zombies."

[...]

In recent weeks, the nights have been punctuated by gunshots, some fatal.

About 10 p.m. June 2, gunfire killed Terry in front of his apartment building on Girard Street NW. The night before, a teenage girl was shot and wounded on the same block.

The shootings in the neighborhood stretch back months, even years, leaving many neighbors angry and afraid. In the past 60 days, nearly 50 violent crimes have pierced the Columbia Heights area with staccato regularity. Among them were two homicides and five assaults with guns.

[...]

"There is no sense of lawfulness in this neighborhood," said Paul Whatling, who bought a condo on Fairmont Street 2 1/2 years ago. "We've gone back to the old days. That's what we're upset about. This in the last week, this is the worst it's ever been."

Discomforting scenes reminiscent of the old days are common, residents say. Drug buyers cruise in cars with Maryland and Virginia license plates. People brazenly smoke marijuana on the sidewalk. Crack addicts light up in alleys.

Residents say they are living in a danger zone. On the Thursday night before last week's shootings, alarmed residents called police when 50 neighborhood toughs battled in a street brawl. It was the latest in what neighbors believe are squabbles between a Fairmont street group and another crew located a few blocks to the north.

This has all happened about a block or two from my house. Say, when is that Starbucks on 14th Street opening?

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"Duck Hunt", Soviet style

Yes, just like their American counterparts, some teenagers in the Soviet Union spent their weekends playing arcade games:

From the late '70s to the early '90s, Soviet military factories produced some 70 different video game models. Based largely (and crudely) on early Japanese designs, the games were distributed -- in the words of one military manual -- for the purposes of "entertainment and active leisure, as well as the development of visual-estimation abilities."

Production of the games ceased with the collapse of communism, and as Nintendo consoles and PCs flooded the former Soviet states, the old arcade games were either destroyed or disappeared into warehouses and basements.

It was mostly out of nostalgia that four friends at Moscow State Technical University began scouring the country to rescue these old games. So far they have located 32 of them and are doing their best to bring them back to life.

Last month, the four officially opened the Museum of Soviet Arcade Machines in a Stalin-era bomb shelter under a university dormitory. Packed into two rooms are dozens of Soviet-made video game carcasses in various states of repair. Some work perfectly; others last for a few minutes, then fade. One common feature among them all is a lack of a high-score list.

"That kind of competition wasn't encouraged," explains Alexander Stakhanov, one of the museum's founders and engineers. "If you got enough points you won a free game, but there was no 'high score' culture as in the West."

"Sea Attack"

Check out the rest of the games here.

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This afternoon, while leaving work, I hopped into an elevator headed to the ground floor. It was completely full of furniture that a guy was moving to another office, but there was just enough room for me to wedge myself into the front corner. As the doors were closing, a taller, older gentleman in an impeccable suit thrust his hand through and looked around.

"Got enough room for one more?"

I paused my iPod ("I'm Shipping Up To Boston" by Dropkick Murphys), gave him a kind of "Dude are you serious? Look at all this goddamn furniture in here" look, shrugged my shoulders, and replied "Uh, yeah, I guess so."

And that's how I ended up crammed in between a desk, several filing cabinets, and Senator John Kerry and his aide (room for one?) for seven floors. Up close and personal, for real.

Apparently he has some sort of office on the same floor as mine. No idea why, but he does. This inevitably means that I will run into him again. A seven floor elevator journey involves a decent amount of time, so I am devising a list of questions to ask him the next we partake in aforementioned trip. Possible questions include:

- How do you manage to maintain such a great tan while living in Boston and DC?
- Why wind-surfing? Be a man, lose the sail.
- What is you favorite Jimmy Buffet song? (I am hoping he answers "Fruitcakes". "Margaritaville" is so ridiculously cliche)
- Is Manny Ortez on your fantasy baseball team?
- HOW IN GOD'S NAME DID YOU LOSE TO GEORGE W. BUSH?! (Note: this may involve me assuming a fetal position and breaking down in tears)

I will, of course, report back on future oh-so-incredibly-exciting elevator trips.

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This article wouldn't be out of place in The Onion, but sadly it's true:

Democratic presidential hopeful John Edwards took on the oil companies Thursday while campaigning in Menlo Park, with the help of a San Jose teenager who says his friends can barely afford to fill up their SUVs and a Hummer.

Edwards called for the U.S. Justice Department to conduct an "aggressive and thorough investigation" of oil companies, contending the industry exerts too much control over gas production and distribution. Antitrust laws need to be enforced or strengthened to bring down gas prices, the former senator said.

"The oil companies basically own the entire process from refining all the way to sales at the gas pump," Edwards said during a stop at Stacks restaurant in Menlo Park.

He brought along Brandon Li, 18, and his mother, Wendy, to underscore how high gas prices are hurting average Americans who need short-term relief. The Lis own MCI Manufacturing, a San Jose sheet metal company.

As cameras rolled, Li complained her profit margins were being eaten into by fuel costs to run her company's four vehicles. And in her personal life it "means we have a little less to pay the basic bills."

"You can't just really say drive less because it's not a function of our daily life." Li said. "We need more immediate relief."

Brandon, an Edwards supporter who persuaded his mother to participate in the event, said he shares his parents' pain.

"My gas comes out of my dad's pocket. My friend has an SUV. It cost $100 to fill up a whole tank," he said. 'It's hard for teenagers to get enough money to put in their cars."

I think my brain just exploded. All California high school students are required to take an economics course in order to graduate, but it appears that Mr. Li hasn't completed that requirement yet. Supply and demand? WTF is that?

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Straight outta the pages of Sports Illustrated!

In honor of today's rain out (horrible weather in DC?! I'm just shocked!) I have uploaded some photos from our two seasons playing wiffleball with the Potomac Wiffleball League. Most of these are from the League website.

Summer 2006 - Ballers for Jesus

Even though we only won ONE game the entire season, we had the best t-shirts in the league. And that's what really matters, right?

There were plenty of people who didn't "get" our shirts. Our team name was "Ballers for Jesus", which might lead you to believe that we were a group of Bob Jones University grads playing Wiffleball in the name of Jesus Christ. The Jesus on our shirt, however, is not Jesus, the Jewish carpenter of long ago, but rather Jesus Quintana of "The Big Lebowski." If you are a newb and have not seen this movie, go out and buy it, as it is quite possibly one of the greatest movies of all time ("Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man").

Back of my shirt

Mike at bat

Starr gets a piece of one

Ryan pitching

Someone probably hit a home run off of me prior to this picture being taken

Spring 2007 - DC Wifflehouse

We decided to ditch Ballers for Jesus and, after much debate and a thousand long message thread on GMail, finally settled on DC Wifflehouse for our new team name.

DC Wifflehouse after a win: Geoff, Mike, Ryan, and me

Mike at bat

Ryan steps up to the plate

Me

My double to right field

Ryan zombie runs to home, scores

A few more are available here.

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What kind of people decide to bring up children in Palm Springs anyway? As the resident satanic charmer explains to the newcomer in town, "It's all retired grays, gays and streets named after dead people," he says. "People come here to die." - some lame NYTimes critic (Gee, what kind of people decide to bring up children in New York City anyways?)

Hidden Palms: a shill for the wind power industry?

When "The O.C." first premiered back in 2003, my friends from Orange County couldn't wait to rip it apart for its ridiculous portrayal of life in their hometowns. Who the hell calls it "the OC" anyways?

Well, now it's my turn. A new teen drama has hit the airwaves, this time set in Palm Springs, California, the lovely resort area where I was born and raised. It premiered Wednesday night on the CW (you know, that network you never watch that was a merger of UPN and the WB, those two other networks you never watched?)

The show revolves around Johnny, a young fellow clad in preppy attire who lives in depressing as hell rainy Seattle. While Johnny is trying to study trigonometry, his drunk father rambles on about poetry and numbers and then proceeds to blow his brains out right in front of the poor kid. Johnny spends some time in alcohol and drag rehab and one year later finds himself moving to Palm Springs with his recently remarried mom and seemingly harmless stepfather (although Johnny dislikes aforementioned stepfather because his mom was having an affair with the dude which partially led to Johnny's dad's suicide, natch).

Johnny still seems rather depressed, or maybe he's just a typical, brooding teenager with a penchant for always carrying his camera everywhere (a "creative outlet", he claims). Look Johnny, you got a huge new house! And a pool! You live on a golf course! Your stepfather has a Mercedes! Palm trees everywhere! Sunshine! Your mom has amazing interior decorating skills! It's 115 effin' degrees! Welcome to Palm Springs, man!

From there, the show devolves into typical melodramatic teenage BS that is too painful to describe. It's like "The O.C.", but without a beach.

A few things in the show that make say WTF?:

- The characters constantly complain about the blazing summer heat ("it drives people crazy"), yet continue to wear jackets and multiple layers of clothing. HELLO?! You are not in Seattle anymore! Ditch the army surplus jacket, long sleeved shirts, and sweaters!

- Cliff, the first local kid who Johnny meets, is the epitome of (l)east coast prep. With his pink Ralph Lauren polo shirts (and oxford shirt worn over polo shirt - WTF?), popped collars, and boat shoes, the dude looks like he just stepped off a sailboat in the Hamptons. No flip flops? No Quicksilver or Hurley t-shirts? Does this show take place in Connecticut or Palm Springs?

- The men at the country club party are wearing suit jackets! In the summer! You rarely see men in Palm Springs wearing suit jackets, much less in the middle of the summer. WTF is wrong with these people?!

- The show takes place in Palm Springs, but any desert native can recognize that Johnny actually lives in the rich enclave of Indian Wells. Palm Springs is old and busted. Go to the east end of the valley, young man. Palm Desert and Rancho Mirage are the new hotness.

- Johnny does not have a driver's license and thus must ride a bike everywhere. I am especially impressed that Johnny managed to bike the 15 miles from Indian Wells to downtown Palm Springs in the 115 degree heat.

- We're supposed to believe the mayor's daughter works as a waitress at the country club pool? Yeah, right.

- None of the characters appear in a Starbucks, the epicenter of teenage life in the Coachella Valley. And no iceblocking? Come on, it's the summer and you live on a well-manicured golf course. WTF else are you supposed to do? (Ice blocking, for you newbs out there, is when you head to the local 7-11, purchase several large blocks of ice, find yourself some nice grassy hills aka golf course, sit on said block of ice, and race your friends down to the bottom. In other words, the perfect night time summer activity).

- A main character lying down on a golf course and crying? Jesus, D-R-A-M-A. And she wasn't even crying over a horrible drive on a par-4...she was just...crying...in the middle of the golf course.

A few things the show gets right:

- "It's all retired grays, gays and streets named after dead people." True. I can't really tell you what Dinah Shore, Buddy Rogers, and Fred Waring did, but they were famous, are now dead, and have streets named after them. I do know who Bob Hope and Frank Sinatra are, though, so I am not completely ignorant (Frank Sinatra was a singer, right?!).

- It is truly a bizarre place to grow up. Did you run around a lot of golf courses when you were a kid? We did. They were everywhere. I was particularly fond of the sand traps. They were like giant sand boxes. The groundskeepers at the Marriott Rancho Las Palmas were not so fond of us, however, especially when we would steal balls from the driving range and ride our bikes down their really step hills screaming at the top of our lungs. Ah, those were the days.

The show didn't garner very positive reviews or pull in large viewership number