Episode III: Play "Higher" At My Funeral

Getting T to this concert has became an obsession greater than Ralphie Parker's quest for a Red Rider BB Gun. The right thing to do would of been to skip the concert and be there for my family, but this is me we're talking about. I'd like to think that if someone asked me to not go, I wouldn't of. Thank goodness my family knew me well. I decided to drive to Indy. Go to the concert. Drive home. 12 hours tops. In case anyone had any doubt, my wife is a saint. Off we went.

8/14/2010 - T and the band.
I will not give James Beeson what he covets, a pic of me and Stapp.

We got there. Went to sound check. T got to meet the band. We saw a concert. We came home. That's the simple explanation of events. I don't want to do a review of a concert. I LOATHE music critics . . . and film critics . . . well any critic really. They operate under the assumption that if something is appealing to the masses, it must be a heap of crap. When is the last time your favorite film won an Oscar? When is the last time your favorite band received a butt load of Grammy's or was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? It doesn't happen. The pointy headed elitists want to always remind us their pallet is more refined than ours. / rant.

8/14/2010 - T's guitar heros, ERock and Tremonti.
The seats weren't bad either!

Creed most definitely falls into that category. They've been violated by music critics . . . and music fans  . . . and other bands more frequently than a dainty man in a prison setting (which is why I will forever remain a non - troublemaker). Some of it I can understand. Scott Stapp has brought much of the criticism of the band on all by himself. He's been a major violator of egregious acts of douchebaggery. It got so bad at one point that a class action lawsuit was filed (unsuccessfully) for concert ticket refunds from a show in Chicago because Stapp was too blitzed to perform. He took the stage anyway. He performed laying down. He sang different songs than what the band was playing. Ultimately, Creed gave him the boot and reformed with Miles Kennedy as Alter Bridge. His douchebaggery cost him everything. That was then. Everyone deserves their shot at redemption. What I saw that night from him when I meet him, and while he was on stage, was a man who was humbled and simply happy to be doing what he was doing.

8/14/2010 - Brian and Flip. Did I mention we had good seats?

Some of it is unwarrented. The biggest complaint lobbed at Creed is that Stapp sounds like Eddie Vedder. They're both baritones. That's about it. If you listen to Stapp talk, he sings in his natural voice. (Unlike Scott Weiland of STP who was doing a Vedder impression on their first album) I can't fault a guy for the voice he was born with. Another is that their hits follow a formula. Soft beginning, soaring choruses with mega - distorted guitars, soft and slow through the bridge, and then a big finish. I'm not saying this isn't true. It most definitely is. If you had the winning lottery numbers, would you play different ones? Didn't think so! Every time they followed this formula they shot to the top of the rock charts. This made them enough money to make Gene Simmons blush.

I didn't undertake this series of blogs to convince people of the merits of Creed. They're a divisive band. There's no in between I've seen with them. People either love them or hate them. It's not a little hate either. It's the legless Anakin about to engulfed by the lava type of hate. The haters far out number the fans. That's cool. Dale Earnhardt once said about being disliked and booed, "At least they're making noise. It's when they stop making noise that you know something is wrong." 

This series of blogs are about the ridiculous stuff we do as parents to make memories with our kids. T wanted this. My job was to make it happen. T thinks one day he'll be a rock star. I hope he makes it but he's going to college as a fall back! He told me the other day he's going to play at The Pageant in St Louis. At least he isn't aiming high. We accommodate our kids so they can follow their dreams. We do these things to let them know anything is possible before they become too jaded to believe it. We do these things so one day, long after we are gone, they'll have that one special memory of us. If T's dreams do come true, I know in the moments before he takes that big stage for the first time that night will cross his mind. That to me is worth all the headache, time, and money spent to get him to that show.

You always wonder if the things you do as a parent go noticed, appreciated, or if it meant as much to them as it did to you. When T came in last week, with a little shake in his hand, to show me they were coming back. I knew it did. It got me thinking back to the show. I was looking at some pictures I took that night. I came across the one video I took. It's short but it says it all. Watch the clip and look at the look on that kids face. That's what Rock and Roll is suppose to do, make you feel something. He was happier than I've ever seen him. Because of that, Creed has risen high on my band respect - o - meter. I can honestly say that's one moment in my life where everything was exactly as it should of been. So to all of you that will out live me, when they carry me out make sure they play "Higher". If not, Chucky will be available for kicks after the service.

Episode II: Earl Hickey Lies

Last time we left our heroes (hey, it’s my story I’ll call us what I please) the Creed concert in St Louis had been cancelled, the dog was in hiding, and the quest to take Trey to his first concert was in jeopardy. However, BJ Thomas was coming to the DuQuion State fair, maybe he needs the emotional scarring I suffered there many years ago watching the Oak Ridge Boys. Will fate save Trey from the horror that could befall him?

As we waited to see how things would shake out, the noise from Trey’s room vanished and was replaced with . . . gasp . . . MUSIC. He had read the Mark Tremonti ditched his lessons and felt he needed to do the same. I figured,  ‘There goes retirement plan number 1, I better get him involved in something else to make the old man money’.  Unbeknownst to the old man, he was staying up late learning songs on the Internet and the racket he was creating turned into actual songs! Maybe he'll make me rich after all. That is the point of having kids in the first place, to sponge off them in old age.

As we moved into Christmas, he got the Creed Full Circle DVD. We watched it and felt like we really missed out. Normally, I’d search out the dog but we had come to an understanding; if he would stay in his corner, I’d stay in mine. He would continue to live another day no matter the daily debacles I faced. Plus, Jen had made it perfectly clear that the dog had preferred status over me. Which made me want to seek him out more but our couch is REALLY uncomfortable to sleep on. If you think I’m a hideous beast and you should look away, you should see me after a few days on the couch. Not good at all. I need my beauty sleep. 

Sometime after the New Year, I read an interview with Flip or Brian, maybe both, (I’m old and can barely remember yesterday) and they, or him, (dang you old age!) said they planned on more spring/summer dates. Heck yes! We’re back in business!

The dates were finally released (I say finally because I stalked the crap out of the web waiting for info/ news/ dates) and  . . .WHAT . . . NOTHING CLOSE? Hey dog, stay put ‘cause that couch is doable for a night! DRATS!! Foiled again. Bummer. Trey, being smart and not as unstable as his old man looked again. He came out a few minutes later and mocked my feeble state.

‘You did see they are in Indy on your weekend off in August?’

‘Nope.’

‘You noticed that tickets are on sale on a day your off?’

‘If I didn’t notice they were in Indy, do you really think I noticed when tickets went on sale?’

‘Probably not, cause your old. You know we can go and stay with Aunt Angie.’

‘Yeah . . . good call grasshopper, you still can’t snatch the stone from my hand though. Whippersnapper.’

Now, all we had to do was knocked dates off the calendar. We can’t get denied again. I watch My Name is Earl, I do good things, so like Carson Daily says good things should happen in return. Karma biotches.

Thursday night, T and I are packing to leave and the phone rings. Our Grandmother had passed away unexpectedly. Really.  Looks like it may not be meant to be. Earl lies.

Tune in next time for the riveting, rambling, incoherent conclusion of our quest to see Creed.

Episode I: The Quest To See Creed

Trey came to me last night, iPhone in hand, and said he had something to show me. Creed was coming to The Pageant in St Louis. Wanted to go he did. Wondered he if Take him I would. You see, T and I have a 'history' with that band. Being that I've stumbled upon a serious case of writers block, you're about to be treated to a larger dose of Creed than you probably ever wanted. Hey, I need the material! Last night I sat down and reviewed a blog post I made years ago. I edited, rewrote, and revised. Unfortunately it's long,"In a Gadda Da Vida" long. So, dear readers, you are about to be treated to a three part expose on Creed. I'm sorry . . . try to enjoy it. Don't Judge me!

Several years back, T was all ate up with the Guitar Hero games. For months that is all that boy did. It annoyed me to no end, not because he was wasting his time (he was) but because he was ruining songs I use to love listening to. I swore if I heard "Monkey Wrench" one more time, someone was going to bleed and our dog, Chucky, better hide because I disliked him the most. Just as I was reaching my breaking point fate intervened and Trey asked for a 'real' guitar. Whew, I really did not want to kick the dog.

T on the first night with his first guitar. Christmas Eve 2008

He got his guitar and began to 'play'. Oh how I longed for the days of Guitar Hero. It was the proverbial 'be careful what you wish for, you just may get it’. We took him to an instructor and he did not totally enjoy his lessons but wanted to stick with Wes because he was 'a cool dude'. I loaded up an iPod with some of my favorite guitar songs/ players on it and gave it to him for his birthday. He seemed puzzled as to why I would give him an iPod full of 'old' songs. I told him he would figure it out in time.

One Sunday I was watching my St Louis Rams take another beating while thinking about finding that dog for his long overdue kick, when Trey came in wide - eyed and sat on the couch next to me. My first thought was, 'what did he break?' 

He opened his mouth and said, "I know who the greatest band of all time is".

"Yeah?” I said.

"Yep, Daddio . . . I figured it out, it's Creed."

Figured it out he did. He definitely was the mailman's kid. My initial thought was, 'CRAP, CRAP, CRAP', not because I did not want him to like Creed.  At that point in time, Creed was done, finished, finito. There seemed little hope of reconciliation at that time. You see, I wanted him to find a band and I was hoping  he would pick anyone but Creed. Out of 250 songs he latched onto 2. Sheesh, where is that dog? I only put "What If" and "My Own Prison" on his iPod. Those songs were too good to not be on there.

My plan was for him to find 'his' band and I would take him to see them for his first concert. The first concert is a HUGE deal. My Dad totally blew it. I saw the Oak Ridge Boys when I was in the 5th grade and the scarring from the events of that night haunt me to this day. I informed him of my intent and why Creed may not be the best choice.

"I don't care", he said, "they are too awesome to stay apart".

Oh, the wonders of youth and their fanciful (silly and ill informed) ideas. Sure, Oompa – Lumpas make the chocolate and Creed will get back together. I wanted to believe it for him. I mean, hell froze over and the Eagles got back together. 

Over the next year or so I tried to direct his attention to other bands and he found some he liked. He really dug Alter Bridge (Creed minus Stapp), New Found Glory, and many others. However, he remained adamant Creed was going to be his first show. Poor dog.

One day in early 2009 I was checking out a story on blabbermouth.net and happened to see rumblings about a possible Creed reunion. Had hell froze over . . . again? Where's Chucky? That dog deserved a treat. I kept this to myself. There was no way I was saying a word until it became official.

Chucky before he aged to annoyance. 

Oh and official it was! They had a date scheduled for a venue in driving distance, on my birthday no less! As I checked ticket sell dates, I discovered I had the day off! What? They’re doing VIP Meet and Greets too. Fate is smiling on us; this is too good to be true. Lucky dog.

As the date grew near, I saw a message in my inbox from Live Nation tagged important info.  Wait . . . WHAT?? “Due to a scheduling conflict the Creed concert at Chaifetz Arena has been canceled." WTF?? Every dog has his day, times up Chucky.

Tune in next time to see how this rambling mess continues and if the dog survives our quest to see Creed.

Always Home.

Yesterday I went to see my favorite person on the face of the Earth for Valentine's Day, my Grandma. Unfortunately, she wasn't home so I had some time to kill. Grandma still lives a couple of blocks from where I grew up. I decided to take a walk down and take a look.

I've been there many times since we moved away in 1986 due to my god - forsaken career choice, but it's been a while. It's now vacant and pretty much falling to the ground.

I wanted to go in since the door was kicked open. My parents weren't big picture takers (probably because we were in need of Obama - bucks before Obama - bucks existed) so the memories of the inside reside in my unreliable mind. I thought better of it because I was afraid I'd walk in on some weird hobo sex party . . . some things cannot be unseen.

I decided to just walk around the yard. So many of the great memories of my life took place there because back in the 1970's we actually played outside. There were so many kids to share my childhood with and they were the first thing that came to mind as I looked at their now dilapidated former houses: Jeff, Scott, Angie (my sister), David, Marco, Bumpus, Michelle, Chuck, and Mike. We'd spend from sun up to sun down engaged in tomfoolery (the bottle rocket fights were epic). In my mind it played out like the movie, The Sandlot, but in reality it was more like an episode of Ed, Edd, and Eddie.

Although the area is now run down, I could still look out and see where the magic happened. There was the spot where Jeff blew my thumb apart with a BB gun loaded with rocks. The spot where we hung my sister (she survived). The ditch we used to play in (hey, we were poor). The storm drain we set a fire in to see if the fire department would show (they did). The spot where Scott began to cuss, speak in tongues, and eventually cry when my Mom told him she was going to tell his Dad during the Ash Bomb Incident of 1982 (she did). The field where kids from other neighborhoods would come to challenge us at football (we never lost). I could go on longer than your attention span (I'm sure you get the idea).

As I'm approaching 40, I find myself looking back much more than I use to. That's a good thing. I've recalled things that were long forgotten and I'm appreciative for these kind of moments where I can reflect. It's given me a greater perspective of who I am, how I got here, and the reasons for many of the quirks in my personality.

As I stood there, ready to leave because I was about to get all emotional (not a good thing for a dainty cracker to do in the hood), it struck me how small everything was. Growing up, the yards of the 2200 block of Cherry and Logan were the whole universe. The ditch we could never seem to jump I was able to clear (without a running start) in my advanced elderly state. I guess memories are like the mirrors in a car. We zip by so fast that we don't appreciate the importance of where we are until it's in the rear view mirror, slowly fading away. However, just like it says on the mirror 'objects are closer than they appear', as long as one isn't too jaded to find value in the memories.

Some places made us happy. Some places . . . not so much. Those places made us who we are. This one place will always be simply . . . home.

5 Days of Writer's Block Cured By . . . Star Wars.

I remember the night of May 18, 1999, well. I put my then 3 year old son to bed. I kissed my wife goodnight, received the look of shame I always get when I engage in geekery, and off I went.

I arrived at Kerasotes Show Place 8 a touch before 11. I marveled at my fellow geeks in costumes, lightsaber fighting in the parking lot, and arguing in raspy, wheezing voices over obscure Star Wars trivia. I was home. These were my people. I was right where I belonged.

 I entered the theater. No snacks. No drinks. I wasn't about to risk an unscheduled bathroom break during the biggest movie night of my life. The lights went dark. People cheered when the Lucasfilm Ltd logo appeared. The movies that all geekdom pressed their Cheetos stained fingers together and prayed for were FINALLY here after a 15 year wait.

 Then something happened that none of us geeks could of imagined: the movie sucked, sucked hard. Midichlorins? Really? Vader built 3PO? Seriously? Jar Jar Binks? Does George Lucas hate us? There was a mix of stunned silence and palpable anger in the parking lot. How in the fudge could the movie stink more than a hat full of hammered assholes? I still to this day break my life into 2 parts: before TPM and after TPM. My geeky heart had been blasted into bits like a protocol droid wandering around Cloud City.

 I watched The Phantom Menace one more time over the past 13 years. I had the same reaction, that was much like Ralphie Parker's when he found out his Little Orphan Annie decoder ring was a commercial gimmick in A Christmas Story, I'd been bamboozled, hoodwinked . . . sonuvabitch.

I loathe Lord of the Rings. I enjoyed the Harry Potter franchise. Twilight can simple suck it. Regardless of my feelings for these movie franchises (not sagas, there is ONLY 1 SAGA) it honked me off that they were reigning supreme in box office receipts over the Star Wars Saga. For that reason alone I journeyed to the former Kerasotes theater, now AMC, to watch The Phantom Menace one last time in 3D this past Sunday.

 I brought fellow geeks with me, Dan and Jamie. Dan brought his kids. I figured if I was going to suffer through, I was at least going to have fun doing it. I sat by Dan's daughter, Amaya, and that was key to my experience. For every cringe inducing moment, I could hear a chuckle out of her. First, I had to be sure I wasn't vocalizing or pantomiming my disgust to make her giggle. I wasn't.

 So, I settled in, watched the movie and watched her watch the movie (not in creepy pedder way). What I discovered was, TPM was a pretty descent kid flick. It wasn't as horrible as I remembered.

 Star Wars was meant to be a fantasy movie. As us geeks grew from geeklings into full blown dungeon masters, we expected Star Wars to grow with us. Into what I don't know. Maybe Reservoir Dogs in a galaxy far, far away? I had to unlearn what I had learned. I had to watch the movie through the eyes I use to watch it with. Once I watched Amaya for a bit, I began to SEE the movie. I even ALMOST laughed at Jar Jar once.

 Don't get me wrong TPM isn't a great movie. There are problems with the acting, continuity, and pacing. Once I could stop dwelling in reality and enjoy the fantasy, it was tolerable. I'd put it 4th out of the 6 Star Wars movies. Even my fellow geeks that went along said it wasn't as horrid as they remembered. In fact, it was pretty wizard. *cringe*

Too Much Apologizing Going On Out There.

Gisele Bundchen, Tommy Terriffic's wife, spouted off at the mouth to Fans of the New York Giants after her hubby's team lost to the Super Bowl, (again) to the former short - bus rider, Eli Manning. In response, Brandon Jacobs, the former SIU Saluki running back, and current New York Giant said, she should 'look cute and shut up'.

Karl Lagerfeld, the fashion tool, recently was quoted in an article as saying Adele is 'a little too fat'.

Both men raced to an apology like they were coming out of turn 4 with the checkered flag waving. For the record, I love women. All shapes. All sizes. However, men, ALL MEN, have to tread lightly when commenting on a woman's appearance. While the truth of it is sometimes those jeans DO make you look fat. Sometimes your breath smells like hot garbage. Sometimes the whole carton of 'fat free' ice cream isn't necessary . . . save some for later.

There is no need to apologize for making a true statement. Adele is large. Gisele should not pick fights with commoners, she should just be cute (it is what she gets paid for).

I know if there are women reading this, their granny panties are all knotted up right now. They shouldn't be. I respect you all. I respect you all enough to tell the truth. I want the same in return.

Tell me when my clothes don't match. Tell me when I cross the line from being 'informed' to being an ass. Tell me I need to put gloves on my dainty princess hands because they make you feel pity for my delicate nature. Tell me to smile with my mouth closed because my teeth look dam building worthy. No apologies necessary because it's all true.

You all should want the same.

I'm A Filthy Cheater

It all began innocently enough back in 2007. A co-worker introduced me to my new love. He thought we'd hit it off. I was more than apprehensive. I've always been as loyal as a Wookie to a scoundrel, how could I even entertain the idea?

Then I got a glimpse of my new love. Pretty. VERY pretty, my new love appeared to be everything I'd always wanted. My new love looked to good too be true. I succumbed to the temptation.

The wife was working late that night. I figured I had enough time to try my new love out. As I took it out and slid it into the box at that instant it was magic. Never had I went so long. Everything was so instinctual, I knew exactly how to press the button right every time. There was no awkward 'getting to know you' phase, where you're ashamed and embarrassed for the other all at the same time. Everything was just peachy. The wife was to be home soon, I had to force myself to stop and pretend like I wasn't up to anything. As soon as she went to bed, I snuck away and we were right back at it. After that fateful night, my old love was little more than an afterthought.

My relationship with my old love began many years ago at the drive-in in the back of my Dad's Ford LTD. I can still recall every second of that night. It was the beginning of, what I thought was, a life long love affair.

My old love and I were inseparable. I spent 87% of all my waking hours consumed with thoughts of my old love. I never thought the day would come when I would even contemplate walking away from my old love.

We began to fall out in 1999. We had an important date. It seemed like I'd been waiting for that night my whole life. What I got was sheer stupidity, disguised as something my old love thought I'd just blindly buy into because of my unquestioned loyalty. My old love expected me to suspend all knowledge of everything we'd learned together up to that point. My old love presented me that night with lies, half-truths, annoying new 'friends', and a story so ridiculous it could not be taken serious. I walked away from that night, which should of been one of the greatest of my life up to that moment, disgusted, disappointed, and out of love.

I continued on with the charade. I kept believing that my old love would eventually deliver on what was expected. It never happened. My old love would tease me with the promise, then just leave me hanging. I shouldn't really blame myself, I gave my old love plenty of chances to keep me. My old love discarded me. My new love was ready to swoop in and give me everything I'd always wanted.

My new love wanted to entertain me. My new love had a ton of new 'friends'. My new love had an expansive universe for me to explore. My new love wanted me to be the hero. My old love just wanted more of my money.

If you haven't figured it out yet, my old love is Star Wars and my new love is Mass Effect. It really couldn't be anything else. A middle - aged geek, who lives off Mt Dew and Doritos, and knows the back story of insignificant characters appearing in a sci-fi movie franchise isn't in high demand with the ladies. My wife is a saint for politely smiling and knodding when I start talking about these things, instead of shaming me like she should. Sadly, as much as I want to (paraphrasing the butt - loving cowboys in Brokeback Mountain)I just can't quit Star Wars.

The Mass Effect series is beginning its ending one week from today with the release of the demo for Mass Effect 3. I'll be left with nothing but Star Wars after March. I guess I need to work on our relationship. I'm going to go Sunday to see the movie that began the end of my affection for ALL things Star Wars, The Phantom Menace.

I still love the IDEA of Star Wars, hopefully The Maker (George Lucas) doesn't go nuts adding things that don't belong in the latest theatrical release which will see the Star Wars Saga released in order, on per year, for the next 6 years.

Mass Effect has been a fun fling, but nothing could compare to that night at the drive-inn seeing Star Wars on the big screen for the first time. That was real magic.

However, while the video game series is coming to an end, there is a live action movie in the works, and I'm sure many other projects, that I'll be more than willing to sneak off with again. Just don't tell George.

The Super Disappointment

I hopped out of bed eagerly, a rarity more rare than XL undergarments at Victoria's Secret (so I'm told), on Sunday morning. The day had finally arrived! I put on my Joe Montana jersey AND wore it to church. Super Bowl Sunday is a day to rival all other days during my year. There are those that come close: Opening Day for MLB, Daytona 500 Sunday, my birthday (10/13 if anyone is interested in a cash gift), Christmas, and I'll say our anniversary in case my wife would ever happen to bumble upon this.

I had thoughts about how the game would go. I believed we'd be welcoming in Tom Brady into the 4 Win club whose only members are Terry Bradshaw and Joe Montana. However, the Patriots inability to play meaningful defense and, more to the point, their ineptitude to catch passes in the clutch prevented that from happening. I'm not trying diminish what the Giants accomplished. They won. They made the big plays (Mario Manningham has been a bur in my backside since his days at Michigan). But seriously, 5 dropped passes, during crunch time, Come on man!!

Instead of welcoming Brady into the club, I believe we are welcoming Eli Manning into a different club. One that is occupied by Montana and a few others. The Club of Under Appreciated Winners. I think if one were to ask around about who was the greatest QB in the game today, that one would very seldomly hear Eli Manning's name in response. There would be plenty of Tom Brady, Aaron Rogers, Drew Brees, and Eli's older brother Peyton as guesses. Heck, I wouldn't even say Eli, he's not even the best IN HIS OWN FAMILY, in my never wrong opinion. This parallels Montana. He wasn't considered the greatest of his day at the time. That came much later when careers were over and fans and media had a chance to reflect. I recall the relentless yammering about how Dan Marino, John Elway, Phil Sims, and anyone not named Montana were the best. I'm not saying Eli is equal to or greater than #16. What I'm saying is, others may throw for more yards with more flash and pizazz but Eli is quietly eclipsing them in accomplishments. Among active QB's, only Brady has more Super Bowl wins (3) and Eli is tied with Big Ben Roethlisberger  with two. Winning matters, just ask Dan Marino. Eli has proven himself a big game QB who can deliver in the clutch.

On to the disappointing part of my Super Bowl Sunday, The Star Wars Volkswagen commercial. Anything Star Wars warms my geeky heart. I was more pumped for that one commercial than I was for the 3 hour football game. I even avoided the Internet, I didn't want any spoilers. Yes, spoilers for a commercial. My geekdom knows no bounds. The commercial within a commercial was a cool concept, with the premise being the dog working out to get in shape to chase the new Beetle was airing in Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina, or Mos Eisley Cantina from Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, for the non-geeks reading along. My heart was all twitterpatting when it cut to the cantina. It looked authentic and was character correct, two VERY important points to us geeks. That's when the landing gear fell off the Millennium Falcon. It failed on continuity, the Holy Grail of Geekiness.
First, why was Ponda Baba and Dr. Cornelius Evazan there? It was obviously after Ben Kenobi took off Ponda's arm. I know this because Ponda Baba had one arm in the commercial. Duh! Where were the on set geeks to fact check this? In Star Wars lore, Evazan tried, and failed, to replace Ponda's arm with cybernetics. After the botched procedure, Ponda Baba swore revenge and hunted Evazan across the galaxy. Continuity fail #1.

Then the 'money shot' came. Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, was present to force choke Evazan after Evazan stated, correctly I should add, that last years commercial was better. Why was Vader there? Doesn't he hate sand? Isn't there a Rebel alliance that needs dealt with? Is he really the inept fool as portrayed in Robot Chicken? Maybe that's where he found the payphone to call the Emperor after the Battle of Yavin. Continuity fail #2. As Yoda would say, 'crap that was'.

I'll give the nod to best commercial to the Chevy add about the pending apocalypse. What put that one over was the inclusion of the Twinkies at the end. THAT is how to warm my geeky heart!

One last thing, the half-time show was extremely  . . . meh. But I'll give Madonna props for getting hotter with age. I'm pretty sure Brittany Spears and Lady Gaga will be working at a car wash when they're 50+. The only thing I would of recommended to Madonna would of been to include 'Express Yourself' in her set list to show the world the level of thievery Gaga is guilty of with 'Born This Way'.

Your Patience Has Finally Been Rewarded, A Blogger I Am!

Here I sit, on the second best Eve of the year (which could be bumped to the top spot whence Hallmark declares Super Bowl Eve a gift giving holiday) entering the blogosphere. Thank me later you probably won't (I know parentheses are annoying but I feel compelled to tell you now I uncontrollably phrase things like Yoda. Often. Very Often. Along with waving my hand like a Jedi when passing through automatic doors)
Why am I doing this? Honestly, I don't rightfully know. I'm not witty. I spell horribly. My sentence structure is that of a Third grader. I seldom see a thought through to fruition. I've enjoyed reading a couple blogs written by friends, The Transformed Nonconformist by Brett Minor and In Shane's Brain by Shane Morgan. They read like they were fun to write. I figured since, like Jack Handy, I have deep thoughts, why not?
I may be heading towards 40 but I haven't really Matured past 13. I enjoy sports, video games, music, and pop culture. Those are the things that we'll kick around here most. Occasionally, I'll put on my big boy britches and talk about world events and politics when warranted. Hopefully, that will be at a minimum. Readers can find doom, gloom, and Obama (they go together like rama lama lama kadinga dadinga dong) anywhere.