Why is it the Super Bowl is the only event allowed to use Roman numerals?
In any case, my chock-ful-o'-sarcasm Super Bowl XLIV Timeline is now up, with entries like...
5:20pm - Carrie Underwood performs the National Anthem, clad in white stripper heels and an outfit that can only be described as "Naughty Ice Cream Truck Driver."
5:38pm - Peyton Manning throws to Pierre Garcon, which prior to this season, I thought was the guy who seats you at a French restaurant.
5:39pm - Manning throws to Austin Collie, which prior to this season, I thought was a dog breed.
6:21pm - Jay Leno appears in an ad for the Late Show with David Letterman. In other news, the Middle East opens for tourism, Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston are dating, and Batman and the Joker are recording a new version of "Ebony & Ivory" for charity.
Honest question. When you think of a bad example of an artform, who comes to mind? We used to have universal high/low points of suckage ("Ishtar", "Heaven's Gate", "My Mother the Car", The Starland Vocal Band). What are they now?
Quick examples. When I think of "not funny," Jimmy Fallon jumps to mind. With the exception of SNL's "Barry Gibb Show" and his early musical appearances, I've never found the guy funny. His SNL career appeared to be composed of reading cue cards and making himself laugh. The thought of him having his own late night talk show just makes me want to go to bed early. Musically, I think Nickelback sucks. The way he sings every song like he's crapping his pants bothers me.
On TV, I think David Caruso's style of matter-of-fact-I'm-just-reading-my-script delivery sucks, especially when combined with the slight 45 degree head turn where he looks like a dog pondering a doorknob. I'd rather watch Tony Danza tell the "Aristocrats" joke than see Caruso act.
Take the time, and use the pulpit. No right or wrong answers. This is your chance. Tell us all what sucks.
I live-blogged the Grammy Awards last night through Facebook. We had some great interaction for the entire 3.5 hours, here's the highlights from the big show.
7:00 (Central Time) - The Grammies confuse me. It's great that Lady Gaga and Elton John play the opener together. However, I don't understand why they had to make them up like they had just been pulled out of a collapsed coal mine, and cover their piano with outstretched mannequin arms. That seems a little random to me.
7:13 - Beyonce wins, but she can't be onstage because she's getting ready to perform. A sympathetic Grammy director then flushes the songwriters off stage after fifteen seconds.
7:17 - Oh look! It's Green Day...and the leftovers from Rent. This is great for me, I hear a good rock song, and I always think it needs a chorus of frustrated actors and jazz hands.
7:26 - Simon Baker appears wearing Elvis Costello glasses, a rumpled suit, and an undone tie. That's nice, it looks like he's channeling a drunken Michael Caine from 1978.
7:28 - Beyonce appears to sing "If I Were A Boy," apparently flanked by the armed guards from Rhythm Nation. Idle question, when was the last time Beyonce appeared without a fan in front of her blowing her hair around?
7:31 - Did Beyonce just give a shout-out to Alanis Morissette? Did Alanis die, and no one tell us?
7:43 - Upon further review, Pink has now officially made my Laminated List.
7:55 - The Black Eyed Peas perform. No big deal. I don't remember the last event of any significance that the Black Eyed Peas didn't show up for. Grammys, AMAs, SNL, CMAs, RNC, whatever.
8:05 - Lady Antebellum is doing "Need You Now"...touching love ballad? Nope. That's a straight-up booty-call song, kids.
8:35 - Okay, so we're cutting off acceptance speeches at the seven-second mark, but the Zac Brown Band (who appears to have Fat Jesus taking a pretty spicy guitar solo) can play a twelve-minute jam. Good to know.
8:47 - Taylor Swift performs. I don't know this song, but I'm going to go out on a limb and assume it's about the tortures of being a teenage girl.
From Barb, via Facebook: No, it's more complicated than that. It's about a teenage girl in love.
8:49 - Uh-oh. It's bad duet time as Stevie Nicks joins Swift for "Rhiannon." No matter how high Stevie Nicks was (which was astronomical), she was never as flat as Taylor Swift on that song. Swift's a great songwriter, but she's just flat as a hammer on this one.
8:51 - Ladies and gentlemen, on the banjolin...Butch Walker. Swift is doing her own song in the style of his cover, check it out here.
8:56 - Usher is doing a tribute performance to Michael Jackson. Isn't every Usher performance a tribute to Michale Jackson?
9:07 - Cheryl Crow appears, wearing earrings so large that Nicolas Cage takes them from her, shines a light on the Declaration of Independence, and solves a mystery.
9:09 - Did Bon Jovi just say "pile of cheese" in one of the lyrics? I liked this Bon Jovi song better the first time I heard it, when it was "Born To Be My Baby."
9:12 - Jennifer Nettles from Sugarland is onstage with Bon Jovi, and she's wearing Sandy's pants from the last scene of "Grease."
9:14 - Man, I hope Tommy and Gina have made it by now, at least. That was twenty years ago, I hope she's still not stuck at the diner all day.
9:26 - Wyclef Jean introducing Mary J, Bocelli and David Foster, singing a Simon and Garfunkel song in Italian. The poor people of Haiti couldn't be more confused right now.
9:40 - We are all scolded by a record executive for downloading music illegally, like it's 1999 and we're all drunk on Napster again. Seriously, how are our musicians going to afford drugs and hookers if you steal their music, before the record industry gets a chance to steal it? This guy makes me want to steal albums, and bootleg them out of the trunk of my car.
9:42 - I know Dave Matthews Band is a jam band, but shouldn't they have some kind of limit to the sheer number of people who are allowed to be on stage with them? There's about fifty people up there right now. Any freeform musical experiment that needs a fire code exemption should probably be rethought.
David (from Facebook): I love Dave but he needs to lose the Ernest T. Bass facial expresssions.
10:03 - Jeff Beck plays with Imelda May in a tribute to Les Paul. If she's actually singing that song, I'm a toaster. Did we really need to make a tribute to the guy who invented the electric guitar by a lip-synched performance?
10:11 - Travis Barker on the drums for Lil' Wayne because, as Louis Black would say, why the ^$#@ not?
10:13 - Hmm. Those gentlemen aren't getting much use out of their belts. The busiest man in the industry right now is the guy working the seven-second delay to keep profanity from spilling
10:22 - Pearl Jam...for Target. Make your own jokes here.
10:27 - Country singer Taylor Swift wins Grammy for album of the year. In other news, this year's CMA awards will feature a salute to Lil' John's gold teeth.
CAVE CITY, TN -- I like a motel without delusions of grandeur.
How many stars? Five? Four? Nope. Set your sights a bit lower.
I think a single star will be plenty. No need to spend more than twelve bucks on room and board. Those extra stars cost money, you know. Just take a room at the Star Motel, lay back, and shut up.
Enjoy our unheated showers, the black-and-white TVs, and the incontinent-al breakfast.
Nothing's too good for you, and that's just what you get at the Star Motel!
Over the last year, I've discovered something. Dante's Divine Comedy? Not very funny. Looking back on what passed for comedy back then, that book really could have used a wacky sidekick for comic relief.
You know, let Dante explore the afterlife with Urkel, or something. Anything to break it up.
Actually, if he wrote it now, he'd probably have extra characters just so they could sell action figures.
Today is the 75th anniversary of the birth of Elvis Presley. That means if Elvis hadn't died in 1977...he'd still be dead today.
Let's face it, the man wasn't exactly the picture of health. Even if he'd faled his death back during the Carter administration, he was living on bennies and fried sandwiches. His odds of making it another thirty-two years, even with Sonny and Red watching out for him? Not so good.
If you haven't seen it yet, here for your uncomfortable amusement is Mariah Carey's so-out-of-it-she's-got-to-be-drunk acceptance speech at the Palm Beach International Film Festival.
Generally speaking, your acceptance speech for an award shouldn't be longer than your role in the movie. However, Mariah makes it work. She's got the full array of drunken behavior here, the "I love you," the stuttering, the long pauses while she tries to focus, the blurry eyes. She's right there at the level of intoxication where your next step is either to vomit, or try and kiss Suzy Kolber.
This is one of those moments when you're expecting the orchestra to play her off, or the Sandman to come out with his cane, or a power outage, or anything else to save her. Nope. Not at Palm Springs, baby, where uncomfortable moments are the name of the game.
Saw this at Wal-Mart tonight. I didn't even know you could buy safety orange shirts and bright yellow dayglo vests. I thought they issued them to you when the warden unhooked your ankle cuffs and put you to work on the chain gang.
Are you supposed to buy your own safety gear to work on the side of the road? And if not, who's buying these things? Kids already take great joy in dressing like vampires and whores, is the next big thing just getting decked out like a celebrity forced into public service?
Happy New Year to all. It's been a pretty draining couple of days, and I'm currently stranded for New Year's Eve with my beloved family. As usual when I'm back in this enviroment, I get pretty introspective.
To be honest, 2009 was a pretty awful year in many ways, but it's ended very well for me. I have a great marriage, a beautiful daughter, and a new job I love. I've got people around me that are supportive, and a team at work that gets me, and takes the pressure off of me so I can be creative.
Normally here I'd be throwing out some resolutions for the year, which of course I would promptly ignore. None of that this year. There's too much life to enjoy to waste time on quickly-forgotten to-do lists.
Happy 2010, everybody. May we all get what we never even thought to wish for.
Christmas Shopping Excursion: Tear Down The Wal-Mart
Hope everyone has had a Merry Christmas by now, and I wish you many happy, easy returns. A few days before Christmas, I went to Wal-Mart for a couple of things and found both some gift ideas and some questionably comedic fashion. It was well worth the trip.
This t-shirt was on a rack at the front of the store, emblazoned with the slogan "If You're Naughty, I Won't Tell Santa." However, take a good look at the shirt. I'm not sure if it shows up in the picture, but the "Naughty" on the shirt appears to be smeared with red streaks. That's not chocolate, folks. It appears to be blood.
I have to disagree with this one. "Naughty" at Christmas should be mischievous and playful. "Naughty" covered in blood is not playful naughty. If I find you blood-stained at Christmas time, I will not call Santa. I will immediately dial 911, then get around to filling your stockings with coal later on.
At the front of the store was this sign, tagged to the bathroom door. I saw it said "Wet Floor," so I was ready for the bathroom to have been freshly mopped and slippery.
Nope. It was every bit as filthy as you would expect. It couldn't have been more disgusting if Courtney Love had been getting a Pap smear in there.
I guess from a legal disclaimer standpoint, by "Wet Floor" they mean that the floor is always going to be wet, and that wetness should not be interpreted to be dependent on the cleanliness of the floor. They mean "Eternally Wet Floor, Perpetually Covered In Urine And Other Disgusting Fluids."
Finally, a fashion question. When did it become perfectly okay to wear pajamas to Wal-Mart? I mean, I know Wal-Mart is not exactly a runway in Milan, but shouldn't you at least wear something purchased as outerwear to the store?
Look at this woman in the pink soft pants. She's dressed like she just fell out of bed and realized she needed to purchase baby formula, dog food, and douche, and knew there was only one store in the world where she could knock out every item on her shopping list.
No need to put on jeans, or even sweatpants. Just get up, grab your keys and your smokes, and go to Wal-Mart.
At least she was wearing shoes. While I was still reeling from finding the first woman clad like she was about to lay down for a long winter's nap, this woman in the black PJs sidles by me. She's not only clad in pajamas, she's also wearing a pair of Tazz slippers.
These are fuzzy slippers, but by this point they're fuzzy in a way that a HAZMAT team should be investigating.
When I leave Wal-Mart, I already feel like I should bleach myself for worry that the Andromeda Strain has attached itself to me. I cant imagine taking the clothes I wear for comfort at putting them in harms way like that.
It's snowing in East Texas. My favorite part of the day has been watching the little emo kids shivering and running from the snow. They're all hair dye and skinny jeans, and have no fat to give them resistance to the cold.
All they do is smoke and mope. They're just not ready for a challenge in the temperature.
Hope all is well with you! Merry Christmas from our family to yours!
Chaddrick finally got his promotion this year! After starting off ten long years ago as a mailroom intern, Chaddrick has worked his way up to mailroom co-supervisor! We're all proud of him, and the extra money he brings home is plenty enough to finally let him stop selling blood three times a week.
With his promotion, I was able to make the transition from self-employed exotic dancer to happy stay-at-home mom. However, after a little while I really missed the gals at work! I went back to work part-time, I only work weekends and an occasional weekday when the Shriners are in town.
Fitzpatrick is doing well, he's currently a senior at Missapeakwa Community College majoring in Apathetic Anthropology. His lawsuit involving the misspelling of that extensive back tattoo ("MOOM") is still taking longer than it should, but he feels that if he can just get an audience with a judge and show him, and explain he doesn't know anyone by that name, it'll be settled quickly.
We hope you'll continue to pray for our idiot son, Jeffrey, who is once again a guest of the state. Jeffery was caught sharing crystal meth with a circus geek, and violated his parole. He is taking advantage of the opportunity to expand his horizons, though, and is taking correspondence courses in Ice Cream Truck repair.
No one could be prouder than the two of us that our youngest, Leia, has finally found religion. She joined the church from Channel 39, the Southern Sword Of Jericho Gospel Assembly And Jamboree, and she can be seen on Sunday mornings playing tamborine in the band! (And she was never even musical before, I know!) Leia moved out of the bus station and into the church, where she's working as a "Special Assistant" to Pastor Billy Don Dupree. She says he's super nice, and is very "hands on" in bringing her to the Lord. He works it mighty ways!
Our niece Hildy has done very well for herself! Hildy was accepted to the West Side College For Incompehensible Interprative Dance. Hildy's signature piece, "Ponderings On Man's Inhumanity To Plants," was very well received by the board, and they were able to open their doors for her as soon as she cleared up the chili stains on her high school transcript.
Grandma Tanner is still alive and kicking, and rowdier than ever! She's staying out at Shady Daze Nursing Home again, after serving 60 days in county for Breaking and Entering of a Bloodmobile. She's met a wonderful man out there. I don't remember his name, but he's the one who insists he's Kaiser Wilhelm. He's so sweet!
Glad tidings of comfort and joy to all this holiday season!
You know which Christmas carol really bothers me? "We Wish You A Merry Christmas". Think of it, it's the rudest, pushiest carol ever. Examine the second verse.
Now bring us some figgy pudding Now bring us some figgy pudding Now bring us some figgy pudding
Screw you, random carolers. Who are you to be making dietary demands of me? And to then threaten me, as heard in the third verse?
We won't go until we get some We won't go until we get some We won't go until we get some
Rather insistent, of course, not to mention cloying and needy. But the next line really ticks me off.
So bring it right here!
Get your lazy ass off the couch, and get thine own figgy pudding. Don't order me around, and then expect me to deliver. Don't make me break this yule log off and wear you out with it.
I'm a buffoon. A cretin. I freely admit it. I try to have a modicum of culture, but there are somethings that just don't register with me.
I just don't get the ballet.
I went to a junior college production of "The Nutcracker" this weekend. I try and get all of my culture in small doses, by the way. I'm also going to attend a high school one act play rendition of "Rent", and my Kiwanis Club version of "Glengarry Glenross."
Anyway, it was my first experience with ballet. I sort of knew the story from its many appearances in pop culture and cartoons, so even without the appearances of the Carebears, I could sort of follow the story. Here are some of my notes from the performance.
Everybody's at a party, including two cats and two maids. The maids dance, apparently overcome with the ecstasy of cleaning.
Everyone drinks, and time stops. We can't go on until it starts again. Please let it start again.
Little boys dance in puffy pants. I can almost hear the therapy bills pile up for the kids' fathers.
The party is crashed by a stranger in black, who I kept expecting to sing "Ring Of Fire".
The stranger brings out a giant present, with two life-size dolls coming out to perform. Unfortunately, neither one is a stripper.
Clara gets her Christmas present, a nutcracker. Which by the way, sucks as a gift. Even if it's anatomically correct.
The nutcracker takes on the mouse king. Since this is Texas, the battle takes place in a steel cage. A squad of soldiers chase a horde of mice around the stage. Strangely enough, the two cats are useless.
Intermission. I go to the concession stand for frito pie and nachos.
The Sugar Plum fairy dances. A side note in the program indicates the Sugar Plum Fairy is low-carb, and Atkins friendly.
A chorus of kid angels come to the stage. Angels who are children unnerve the Hell out of me. If Angels are the souls of the deceased, and the angels all appear to be children, there's a bit of unsavory backstory there that I don't want to know about.
At this point, I lost interest. Luckily, a woman behind me had appointed herself the designated ballet translator, speaking in a loud tone to her family for the entire last half hour of the show.
"Yeah, that's the Sugar Plum Fairy, She's dancing around to show something. I think she's hungry. And the guy with the spandex pants is her boyfriend. Although if it were really cold, I don't think he'd have that bulge. And now this is where all of the candy dances around. This is some old, funny looking candy. Why don't they have some dancin' Twizzlers, or some big orange guys dressed up like cheez balls?"
I figured at that point I should probably just take a nap, and wake up for the ovations.
It seems that these days some people get upset when you say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." Because, you know, that's what Jesus would have done.
I'll admit it. I usually say "Happy Holidays" for a variety of reasons.
I say "Happy Holidays" because I'm lazy, and I don't want to have to remember to switch to the next holiday.
I say "Happy Holidays" because I don't really mean it, and I only want to tell you one big lie, and then you hand me my hamburger and I walk away.
I say "Happy Holidays" because I don't want to offend Christians because true Christians shouldn't get rip-roaring, knee-walking, commode-hugging drunk for New Years, and thus don't have much fun. Ergo I don't want to mention it specifically, and bring them down.
I say "Happy Holidays" because quite often, people who demand that you mention Christmas specifically are also screaming racists, and will be upset when I mention Kwanzaa.
I say "Happy Holidays" because those same people have the same reaction to Hanukkah.
I say "Happy Holidays" because Christmas is a religious holiday in the same way that the Super Bowl is a football game. It may have started that way, but now that's only a small part of the event.
I say "Happy Holidays" because there's no need to be specific. I'm not going to delve into the background of the guy handing me my Chick-Fil-A sandwich, and try and figure out if he's Christian, Jew, or Muslim. "Happy Holidays" covers all backgrounds. Hell, even atheists appreciate it, because they get the day off work.
To my Christian friends, merry Christmas.
For my Jewish friends, happy Hanukkah.
My African-American friends, have an enlightening Kwanzaa.
To my Canadian friends, have a great Boxing Day, eh?
For my OCD friends, good Hand Washing Awareness week to you.
My musically experimental friends, enjoy your two December parties celebrating the birth and death of Frank Zappa.
For my Athiest friends, have a good Monday.
And to all of my agnostic friends...whatever, dudes.
5:20pm - Carrie Underwood performs the National Anthem, clad in white stripper heels and an outfit that can only be described as "Naughty Ice Cream Truck Driver."
I live-blogged the Grammy Awards last night through 
