Ghetto Bidness

Whenever possible, I will take my business to shady areas....
As I've indicated in previous entries, I like cheap things, and the worse the neighborhood, the cheaper the crap you can buy. In particular, this applies to food. I prefer run-down, ghetto party stores because you can find the weirder, more obscure snack foods of doubtful nutritional value there. The second-tier manufacturers, as I call them. For example, Vitner. I loves me the Vitner. It's a snack food company in Chicago that makes the same stuff as Frito-Lay, only cheaper and with more "zang." You usually can't find Vintner stuff in the larger chains, but you can in dumpy party stores in run-down neighborhoods. Heck, often times, you can even get them little 25-cent bags, which are my FAVORITE. I like to seek out convenience shops that offer a large variety of cheap munchies in those tiny snack bags, so I can buy a whole bunch of them and have my pick of what flavor I want with each salty bite.


(**Incidentally, I hope to open my own second or third-tier snack food company one day. It will be called the "Damn Good" line of snacks -- as in "Damn Good Pretzels", "Damn Good Pork Rinds", and "Damn Good Cheesy Bites", etc. We will operate out of an abandoned warehouse, and collect our ingredients from the Better Made factory's dumpsters. Anyone who wants to invest in this venture can send me an e-mail.**)

Another thing I like about ghetto business is the people. You take your money to a place that doesn't look so "nice", and the staff are usually more upfront with you. If a guy working behind the counter at some ramshackle bodega in Detroit doesn't want to deal with your crap, he'll make it obvious immediately. He'll give you cold eyes, and answer all questions in monosyllables. I like that kind of treatment. Lemme know where I STAND! Better that than dealing with some dude who makes me think he's interested in helping, but secretly wants to shoot me (which is actually the attitude of 91 percent of all retail people you'll encounter). Some guys have the ability to be both rude AND polite at the same time, and I hate dealing with that sort of passive-aggression.


I'm reminded of a story. A few years ago, while living in another town, I got a flat tire one day. Now, there were two tire shops within the vicinity -- one, quite respectable in appearance; and the other, rather dumpy-looking. These two tire joints were only a few blocks away from each other, and yet they couldn't have been more different. Location A (found on the outer edge of an affluent suburb) was nicely landscaped, had well-dressed and groomed staff, and sported freshly-painted signage. On the other hand, Location B (just a few blocks into the ghetto) practically looked abandoned. The parking lot was crumbling, none of the employees spoke English, and the paint on the windows was mostly peeled off. Plus, there was a banner hanging outside advertising "20 Dollar Used TIREZ!!!".

Anyway, when I got my flat, I headed to the "nicer" tire place first to see about getting a plug put in it. A well-built guy with a mustache and a firm handshake greeted me. I could tell right away that he was going to be of no help. He pretended to be friendly, but I knew from the look in his eyes that he didn't give a flying weasel what I had to say. Upon inspection, he quickly dismissed my tire, and told me that it couldn't be fixed.

"The hole is HERE, where a plug wouldn't hold," he said pointing at the edge of the tread.
"Whatever," I thought.
He only seemed irritated when I asked him to put in a plug, anyway. Then, he looked at the rest of my tires, and proclaimed that I needed a whole new set. "These aren't very safe. The tread's worn low!"
"Oh, what-freaking-EVER!" I wanted to say out loud. "Look, mustache. I'm not here to talk safety. I'll worry about the tread on my tires later this winter, when I'm sliding across the parking lot in a quarter inch of snow. For now, I just want this one plugged."


The guy told me I could get some new tires for, like, 300 dollars or something, and I made a vague commitment to come back after I'd hit an ATM. I then drove over to the OTHER, more crappy-looking tire place for a second opinion. A greasy dude who looked like he hadn't slept in a week wordlessly put in a plug in my old tire, no questions asked. And he didn't give me any crap about the tread on my other tires, either (hey, even if he had, no biggie -- they sold used ones there for twenty bucks!). I'm guessing that's because he assumed I was too broke to do anything about them, and I appreciate that sort of consideration. I was in and out in 15 minutes, and the whole visit cost me ten dollars. With my savings, I drove deeper into the ghetto and bought a bag of Vitner's cheese corn at my favorite gas station.

It's been two years, and I've had no additional problems with my tires (of course, now that I've said that, I'll get a blow-out the second I leave the driveway tomorrow). Thanks, ghetto tire place!

Anyway, speaking of things that are cheap, here's a lovely movie from 1959.

Island of Lost Women (1959)
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0052932/



"Crash-landing on a deserted island turns out to be a boon for a radio broadcaster (Jeff Richards) and his pilot (John Smith) when they're greeted by a trio of sisters. But the gals' father (Alan Napier), a mad scientist, is none too pleased with the new visitors. After all, he sought refuge from society by moving his brood away from humankind -- and would like to keep it that way. Venetia Stevenson, Diane Jergens and June Blair co-star."


I actually rented this DVD by mistake. See, I thought that it was the 1956 film, The Women of Pitcairn Island (which, you may remember, would have gone well with my entry about Pitcairn Island a week ago). Sadly, it appears as though the Pitcairn film is one of the few titles NOT available at Netflix, a glaring omission from the service's library which I have already e-mailed them about. It's OK, though, because Island of the Lost Women was a real hoot!

This film was born to be screened by the folks at Mystery Science Theater 3000. It's about two guys who must make an emergency landing on an uncharted Pacific island when their plane runs into engine trouble while en route to an international conference. Once on the ground, they discover that the island is owned and populated by a scientist and his three daughters, who are, of course, highly attractive and scantily-clad. Seems that the mysterious scientist -- Doctor Paul Lujan -- once worked on the atom bomb, and has since become convinced that the human race is headed for annihilation. SO, he packed up the wife and kids to hide out in a little tropical compound.

Understandably, Doctor Lujan is not happy about the arrival of our two heroes, but being a basically decent man, he lets them stay, even inviting them into his underground complex. The place is impressive -- powered by a solar furnace and an underground NUCLEAR REACTOR (can you guess how this will end?). When the two visitors figure out who Lujan is, they openly announce their plans to tell the world about where he's hiding, so the good doctor blows up their airplane with a deathray, and forbids them from ever leaving.


Island of Lost Women is so deliciously campy that the only thing it's lacking is a guy in a gorilla suit (although it DOES have a scene featuring a shark attack). Nearly every bit of dialogue is laughable and loaded with cliche's, and I admired the film's subversive level of sexual innuendo. At one point, one of the men whittles a piece of wood as he watches one of the girls take a swim. The harder she splashes, the faster he whittles. Heh heh. Another scene features an implied menage-a-trois as another guy takes two of the daughters on a walk through the jungle....Suggestive content like this provides plenty of fodder for anyone who might want to make smart remarks while watching the film, which I strongly encourage.

Now, had this been MY movie, the whole thing would have ended with the men sneaking off the island, and all three daughters discovering that they've been knocked up (HA!); but of course, that's not what happens here. In a climax that could have been spotted from a nautical mile away, everyone escapes as the place is blown to smithereens. Don't worry, though -- that's not really a spoiler. In fact, nothing in this film could REALLY be spoiled, since it's ridiculously predictable. Island of Lost Women is packed with every cliche' in the book, and any pedestrian movie viewer should be able to call everything before it happens.

Horrible sound, editing, and writing aside, there is still some value to be found in Island of Lost Women. It's one of those B-movies that is so bad it's funny, and at a mere 70 minutes, the joke never wears off. For that, it deserves at least a LITTLE credit, right?

2 out of 5.

b.