My piece of Superbowl cynicism, broken into chunks.
Hanging out at Garth's and Steph's amazing house / amazing local was great, great company, but the game didn't impress me much, as it never does. I went for the team from Seattle, simply because I thought they had cooler uniforms.
Erin Neville needs to hang it up, I know that's his style, but holy shit, squeezing to get that sound out of a body builder just doesn't seem right. Mrs Franklin, the natural woman, I can't help but think of tampons. The Stones, Love em, surely, Start it Up, can't help but think of Windows 95. Sir Paul was excellent last year, and I really enjoy his new album, produced by Nigel Godrich, the whole album seems washed out, it reminds me a lot of Tom Petty Wildflowers, which is probably my most favorite TP album.
The commercials, people say watch the Superbowl for commercials. Yea, I don't know, whatever I suppose, maybe they're good. I suppose it's cool to see a big robot and a monster fall in love and deliver a hummer. I suppose I'll just let it slide that most Americans have bad taste in beer too.
21-10, the blue uniforms don't win the game, I'm sad, I'm bloated from all kinds of food and ritas, allergies are getting the best of me, and now I'm back at work, a place where despite it's hectic because everyone is quitting and we aren't hiring anyone to take their places, I can finally 'rest' a bit.
Tennis Anyone?
---------------------------
PS -- Look at Roethlisberger getting smashed (thanks Steve)
PSS -- Google spell check just told me I needed to capitalize Superbowl.....ooops, my bad...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment