Just had the BEST conversation with one of my kids in about a week. I was downstairs cleaning the bathroom (see today's post for the how's and why's of that) when Puzilla comes down.
"Dad, can I say the H word?"
Now I am a do as I say kind of Dad not the say as I say kind. My own word selection is oft discussed ("disCUSSED". Ha Ha Ha, that's pretty good word usage!) but I don't let my kids swear.
Yes, that makes me a hypocrite.
Anyway, if my shy little waif of a thirty-pound-soaking-wet-in-all-her-clothes daughter thinks she has a compelling reason to cuss and is willing to ask my permission, I am willing to listen to her.
"Why, pray tell, would you need to say the H word?" I asked her.
"Because Haggis (my brothers nickname for the Eldest) and Moe are supposed to be helping me clean the living room and they won't listen to me. So I want to tell them to get the "h" on the stick. If they hear me swear, they'll pay better attention."
Having subscribed to this theory myself on a plentitude of occasions, I was forced to agree that she was probably right. And frankly there is a large part of me that would be highly amused to see the improbable sight of meek and tiny Puzilla cussing at anyone.
But fortunately it is not as large as the part of me that knows I shouldn't be cussing myself, let alone granting permission for my kids to do it.
So I told her that I was sorry, but she could not.
After all, I wouldn't want us to both wind up in the H word when we die!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Selective Memory
You know, I clearly remember my wife telling me this week that her sister would be bringing her dog and bird over for us to watch while they went on a little trip. What I do not clearly remember is my wife telling me when they would be coming.
Very unfortunate.
Yesterday, you see, was a day filled with running around town getting things arranged for the cruise that we are now referring to as the "away from the things of man" tour.
****Editor's Note
Everyone now gets this joke because all of you who had not seen "Joe Versus the Volcano" went out and watched it after reading my comments this week on the Snickers commercial with Abe Vagoda. Right? I'd better be.
****
Because of the multitude of things to be done before we can go and the dearth of time in which to do them, I spent a whole day out of the house yesterday (a very rare occurrence, indeed) with the Boss.
I didn't get any cleaning done so the messes made on Wednesday combined with the messes made yesterday morning while getting the girls out the door and the messes made last night providing kids with dinner and then to bed and back up this morning and ready for school again and getting the runts breakfast plus it's Friday so the accumulation of the whole week's worth of messes is growing and....
....Imagine, if you will, the worst disaster scene from "Mr. Mom". Multiply it. By oh...let's say fifteen or twenty. That's getting close.
Right now my house is in the following condition:
Both sides of the sink are full of dirty dishes.
The kitchen counter is littered with peanut butter and jam bottles and spills, a half empty loaf of bread, a container of milk Moe didn't put away after making cereal for breakfast, assorted hot cocoa wrappers and a half empty cocoa mug. The kitchen floor has three days worth of dirt on it.
The living room is covered with blankets, toys, discarded pajamas and for reasons none of the runts will explain, a crumbled up granola bar. The unneeded contents of three separate school bags were dumped unceremoniously on the couch and have since spilled onto the floor. The rug has not been vacuumed in three days either, and the fireplace is full of junk mail and cardboard that I've been waiting for a green burn day to get rid of (yes, Al Gore, I occasionally burn recyclables. Arrest me. I need the vacation).
The laundry hall is filled a foot deep because I haven't been home to wash anything. Some of you do know this, but others of you would not believe how much laundry a family of seven can generate in the course of three days. Particularly when three of the kids wear uniforms to school, necessitating two outfits per day, each.
The trash is once again at "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout" levels, and the stairs need to be vacuumed something fierce. the bathrooms are approaching "gas station" certification.
The Toy room....I can't bring myself to go there right now. It...um...needs work. AGAIN!!!!!!
Top everything off with a Squizzle who still isn't sleeping worth a $#@% and when Beak's kids got here at 6:30, I gave up. The Boss pushed the girls out the door to school and I took a quick nap (It officially qualifies as a bad day when you need your first nap at 7:00 AM). When I woke up at 8:30 to the piercing screams an indignant Reaggers who did not think Peff should be allowed to change the cartoon she was watching, I saw that they had increased the mess in the living room three-fold.
"Forget it," I said to myself. "Go take a shower, and start cleaning when you are alive."
It would have worked, too, but as soon as the water heated up, Peff came pounding on the door.
"Daaaad! Aunt J is heeeeerreee!"
Why would Aunt J come over at 8:30 on a Friday morning.... The dog!!!
Just perfect. Couldn't have timed it any better. Kids running around unsupervised in a house that looks like directionally challenged suicide bombers hit it and the baby is roaming free-range style with a snotty nose. Nice. At least he had a diaper on.
I just hope Aunt J chalks it up as evidence of how bad I need to get on that stinking boat and away from the things of man.
I swear that if Cozumel has a smokin' volcano... we're jumping. This brain cloud is driving me nuts.
Very unfortunate.
Yesterday, you see, was a day filled with running around town getting things arranged for the cruise that we are now referring to as the "away from the things of man" tour.
****Editor's Note
Everyone now gets this joke because all of you who had not seen "Joe Versus the Volcano" went out and watched it after reading my comments this week on the Snickers commercial with Abe Vagoda. Right? I'd better be.
****
Because of the multitude of things to be done before we can go and the dearth of time in which to do them, I spent a whole day out of the house yesterday (a very rare occurrence, indeed) with the Boss.
I didn't get any cleaning done so the messes made on Wednesday combined with the messes made yesterday morning while getting the girls out the door and the messes made last night providing kids with dinner and then to bed and back up this morning and ready for school again and getting the runts breakfast plus it's Friday so the accumulation of the whole week's worth of messes is growing and....
....Imagine, if you will, the worst disaster scene from "Mr. Mom". Multiply it. By oh...let's say fifteen or twenty. That's getting close.
Right now my house is in the following condition:
Both sides of the sink are full of dirty dishes.
The kitchen counter is littered with peanut butter and jam bottles and spills, a half empty loaf of bread, a container of milk Moe didn't put away after making cereal for breakfast, assorted hot cocoa wrappers and a half empty cocoa mug. The kitchen floor has three days worth of dirt on it.
The living room is covered with blankets, toys, discarded pajamas and for reasons none of the runts will explain, a crumbled up granola bar. The unneeded contents of three separate school bags were dumped unceremoniously on the couch and have since spilled onto the floor. The rug has not been vacuumed in three days either, and the fireplace is full of junk mail and cardboard that I've been waiting for a green burn day to get rid of (yes, Al Gore, I occasionally burn recyclables. Arrest me. I need the vacation).
The laundry hall is filled a foot deep because I haven't been home to wash anything. Some of you do know this, but others of you would not believe how much laundry a family of seven can generate in the course of three days. Particularly when three of the kids wear uniforms to school, necessitating two outfits per day, each.
The trash is once again at "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout" levels, and the stairs need to be vacuumed something fierce. the bathrooms are approaching "gas station" certification.
The Toy room....I can't bring myself to go there right now. It...um...needs work. AGAIN!!!!!!
Top everything off with a Squizzle who still isn't sleeping worth a $#@% and when Beak's kids got here at 6:30, I gave up. The Boss pushed the girls out the door to school and I took a quick nap (It officially qualifies as a bad day when you need your first nap at 7:00 AM). When I woke up at 8:30 to the piercing screams an indignant Reaggers who did not think Peff should be allowed to change the cartoon she was watching, I saw that they had increased the mess in the living room three-fold.
"Forget it," I said to myself. "Go take a shower, and start cleaning when you are alive."
It would have worked, too, but as soon as the water heated up, Peff came pounding on the door.
"Daaaad! Aunt J is heeeeerreee!"
Why would Aunt J come over at 8:30 on a Friday morning.... The dog!!!
Just perfect. Couldn't have timed it any better. Kids running around unsupervised in a house that looks like directionally challenged suicide bombers hit it and the baby is roaming free-range style with a snotty nose. Nice. At least he had a diaper on.
I just hope Aunt J chalks it up as evidence of how bad I need to get on that stinking boat and away from the things of man.
I swear that if Cozumel has a smokin' volcano... we're jumping. This brain cloud is driving me nuts.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets the Piggy Flu
Got a call from Beak about a week ago.
"I'm really, really sorry," she said, "but the pediatrician's office just called and that runny nose of Bub's that they said yesterday was just a cold was actually strep throat. He was contagious all day today"
"I'm not really worried about it," I told her.
Fatdaddy rule number one for medicine is that I'm not sure how anyone survived before the CDC and news shows like "Sixty Minutes" told us how we should all be dead. I am almost positive that in spite of the happy advancements of modern medicine, the pioneers somehow managed to survive without anti-bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer. Think about it. The last time you played "Oregon Trail", how many times did you need to heal someone with a case of strep throat before you could move again?
They used to subscribe to the same school of medicine that my wrestling coach used. If there is not a bone sticking out or copious amounts of blood gushing from an open wound, you rub some aspirin on it, eat some dirt, and get back on the mat.
Or was it eat some aspirin and rub the dirt? Didn't matter. It was all about bein' tough.
"I'm sure that my little outbreak monkeys have and will again return the favor," I told Beak.
And I was right.
Yesterday, after a quick trip to the pediatrician with Senor Squizzle, I called Beak and left a message on her phone.
"Tag, you're it! Squizzles has RSV. First kid to swine flu wins!"
I'm not sure what they'll win, but I thought the message was funny. Squizzle is not laughing though. Wheezing pathetically? Yes. Laughing? Not so much.
Like all small children who get sick, he seems to be allergic to the dark. What I mean is he will stay up all night long, gasping and moaning pathetically and reminding you with sad little groans that he must be held in just the right position to be comfortable.
Then, as soon as it's light outside and Dad has things he has to do and can't go back to bed, he'll sleep comfortably for the bulk of the afternoon.
And I wonder why I'm so %$#@ short tempered around here all the time.
I noticed that my super bowl review seems to have incited massive amounts of apathy. My boy Jess is the only one with a favorite commercial? Nobody thought my line about the Four Horsemen stopping at the Flying J for beef jerky and Big Gulps was funny?
Perfectly good "A" material, shot to hell....
Now might be a bad time to mention it, but some of you may have noticed a new feature at the top of the page. I put this little collection of inane diatribes and semi-psychotic ramblings on blogcatalog in a pathetic attempt to boost readership. It seems I may have reached the limits of the Facebook advertisements and "family and friends" demographic(that's not a knock on you guys, you know I love you all) so if I want to turn this into a paying gig, I'm gonna have to expand a little.
One of the features offered is the Rate My Blog tab. If you click on it, it will take you to the Blogcatalog page for Dad's Destroying Angels, and you can rate this bad boy on a scale of 1-5 and leave comments or curses. The more reviews I get, the higher up the food chain I go for exposure. If you have a second, I'd appreciate it.
****Editor's Note
At first glance, it would appear that I narcissistically reviewed my own work, but rest assured that it was the Boss who posted the first review. She just happened to be signed in as me when she did. Even I'm not that egotistical.
****
Also, feel free to share my site or use the email button at the bottom of each post to send any bits you think worthy to friends or strangers who might enjoy my particular brand of "humor".
Well, I gotta go. Gotta find a recipe for baking day. So many things to burn, so little time...
"I'm really, really sorry," she said, "but the pediatrician's office just called and that runny nose of Bub's that they said yesterday was just a cold was actually strep throat. He was contagious all day today"
"I'm not really worried about it," I told her.
Fatdaddy rule number one for medicine is that I'm not sure how anyone survived before the CDC and news shows like "Sixty Minutes" told us how we should all be dead. I am almost positive that in spite of the happy advancements of modern medicine, the pioneers somehow managed to survive without anti-bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer. Think about it. The last time you played "Oregon Trail", how many times did you need to heal someone with a case of strep throat before you could move again?
They used to subscribe to the same school of medicine that my wrestling coach used. If there is not a bone sticking out or copious amounts of blood gushing from an open wound, you rub some aspirin on it, eat some dirt, and get back on the mat.
Or was it eat some aspirin and rub the dirt? Didn't matter. It was all about bein' tough.
"I'm sure that my little outbreak monkeys have and will again return the favor," I told Beak.
And I was right.
Yesterday, after a quick trip to the pediatrician with Senor Squizzle, I called Beak and left a message on her phone.
"Tag, you're it! Squizzles has RSV. First kid to swine flu wins!"
I'm not sure what they'll win, but I thought the message was funny. Squizzle is not laughing though. Wheezing pathetically? Yes. Laughing? Not so much.
Like all small children who get sick, he seems to be allergic to the dark. What I mean is he will stay up all night long, gasping and moaning pathetically and reminding you with sad little groans that he must be held in just the right position to be comfortable.
Then, as soon as it's light outside and Dad has things he has to do and can't go back to bed, he'll sleep comfortably for the bulk of the afternoon.
And I wonder why I'm so %$#@ short tempered around here all the time.
I noticed that my super bowl review seems to have incited massive amounts of apathy. My boy Jess is the only one with a favorite commercial? Nobody thought my line about the Four Horsemen stopping at the Flying J for beef jerky and Big Gulps was funny?
Perfectly good "A" material, shot to hell....
Now might be a bad time to mention it, but some of you may have noticed a new feature at the top of the page. I put this little collection of inane diatribes and semi-psychotic ramblings on blogcatalog in a pathetic attempt to boost readership. It seems I may have reached the limits of the Facebook advertisements and "family and friends" demographic(that's not a knock on you guys, you know I love you all) so if I want to turn this into a paying gig, I'm gonna have to expand a little.
One of the features offered is the Rate My Blog tab. If you click on it, it will take you to the Blogcatalog page for Dad's Destroying Angels, and you can rate this bad boy on a scale of 1-5 and leave comments or curses. The more reviews I get, the higher up the food chain I go for exposure. If you have a second, I'd appreciate it.
****Editor's Note
At first glance, it would appear that I narcissistically reviewed my own work, but rest assured that it was the Boss who posted the first review. She just happened to be signed in as me when she did. Even I'm not that egotistical.
****
Also, feel free to share my site or use the email button at the bottom of each post to send any bits you think worthy to friends or strangers who might enjoy my particular brand of "humor".
Well, I gotta go. Gotta find a recipe for baking day. So many things to burn, so little time...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here
"Abandon all hope ye who enter here"
Cheery ain't it? According to the esteemed poet Dante Alighieri, this is the sign that hangs over the doorway to Hell. I read a translation of "The Divine Comedy" while I was doing my research on Joyce, so I guess my English degree should have warned me.
It didn't.
Today has been my own little Dantean trip through the afterlife; limbo, purgatory, and finally paradise. All I needed was the poet Virgil to act as my guide (guess that's you, mom). I'll be honest, you wouldn't believe the whole story even if I was willing to tell it so we will sum it up thusly.
When I woke up, we were going to get to go. Then we were going to go if certain conditions were met. Then we were NOT going to get to go. Then we could go if OTHER conditions were met. Then that fell through and we were back to No Go.
All this before noon.
It was the worst kind of tease imaginable. It was Limbo. Every time I found a potential land mine, we found a way to avoid it only to find another, larger landmine blocking the path behind it. At noon I found an insurmountable obstacle and it was over. I had to call and tell the Boss it wasn't going to work.
I cannot tell you how very badly I did not want to make that phone call. She has busted her attractive backside off for this opportunity and to have it taken away not once but twice seemed like the most awful thing imaginable. I really didn't want to do it. I was in Hell. Dante was right; abandon hope, 'cause dude...it's over.
The Boss took it well, all things considered. I felt bad for her...she felt bad for me...and we chalked it up to the Anti-Midas touch. Shouldn't have been surprising, but it was.
Then the Boss called back with a solution. We could go under another condition. It was not a best case scenario, but it would work. We decided to go for it.
Then the Boss called again and the condition was no longer required, so we could go without worry. Heaven.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
I felt like I was on "As the World Turns" or something. It was one of the oddest days I have ever been through. Holy cow, it was weird. Up and down like a yo-yo.
I won't say we are back on because I know better, but it looks like we may get to see Mexico after all. I just ain't gonna hold my breath.
What I will do is profusely thank those friends, employers and family who are doing their best to see if they can't get us on a cruise ship someday. All you do is noticed and appreciated. From the people who offered babysitting help to those who just listened to me gripe all afternoon, you know who you are. Whether we finally end up going or not, I say thank you for your love and support anyway.
Now I'm going to go lie down. I've got class tonight and a doozey of a headache to get rid of.
Cheery ain't it? According to the esteemed poet Dante Alighieri, this is the sign that hangs over the doorway to Hell. I read a translation of "The Divine Comedy" while I was doing my research on Joyce, so I guess my English degree should have warned me.
It didn't.
Today has been my own little Dantean trip through the afterlife; limbo, purgatory, and finally paradise. All I needed was the poet Virgil to act as my guide (guess that's you, mom). I'll be honest, you wouldn't believe the whole story even if I was willing to tell it so we will sum it up thusly.
When I woke up, we were going to get to go. Then we were going to go if certain conditions were met. Then we were NOT going to get to go. Then we could go if OTHER conditions were met. Then that fell through and we were back to No Go.
All this before noon.
It was the worst kind of tease imaginable. It was Limbo. Every time I found a potential land mine, we found a way to avoid it only to find another, larger landmine blocking the path behind it. At noon I found an insurmountable obstacle and it was over. I had to call and tell the Boss it wasn't going to work.
I cannot tell you how very badly I did not want to make that phone call. She has busted her attractive backside off for this opportunity and to have it taken away not once but twice seemed like the most awful thing imaginable. I really didn't want to do it. I was in Hell. Dante was right; abandon hope, 'cause dude...it's over.
The Boss took it well, all things considered. I felt bad for her...she felt bad for me...and we chalked it up to the Anti-Midas touch. Shouldn't have been surprising, but it was.
Then the Boss called back with a solution. We could go under another condition. It was not a best case scenario, but it would work. We decided to go for it.
Then the Boss called again and the condition was no longer required, so we could go without worry. Heaven.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
I felt like I was on "As the World Turns" or something. It was one of the oddest days I have ever been through. Holy cow, it was weird. Up and down like a yo-yo.
I won't say we are back on because I know better, but it looks like we may get to see Mexico after all. I just ain't gonna hold my breath.
What I will do is profusely thank those friends, employers and family who are doing their best to see if they can't get us on a cruise ship someday. All you do is noticed and appreciated. From the people who offered babysitting help to those who just listened to me gripe all afternoon, you know who you are. Whether we finally end up going or not, I say thank you for your love and support anyway.
Now I'm going to go lie down. I've got class tonight and a doozey of a headache to get rid of.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Good News? Really?
Well. We are still waiting to get some news on that really cool opportunity for us, and while we wait, we just got slapped upside the head with THE coolest news we've heard in four or five years.
I almost don't dare type it for fear I'll jinx it.
Most of you have heard me say that if there was a prize for finishing last, we'd take second. It's true. So last fall, when the Boss's employers held a contest for sales increases from the previous year, we knew that if they were taking five store winners on a cruise to Mexico, we'd finish sixth. It has happened to us so often, I don't like to think about it.
Guess what place the Boss finished in out of the umpteen thousand stores in the Denver region?
Uh-hu. I give you the Anti-Midas touch.
This morning, she got a call to tell her one of the winners was backing out, and we get to go. As long as we can navigate passports, babysitting, and three dozen other potential landmines (any or all of which will blow the deal to Hades). But the very fact that there is a chance suggests to me that if there is hope for the "Aint's", there is hope for us!
In the meantime, Peff and Reaggers are doing flips on the couch, Squizzle just woke from his nap, and I think Bub just wet his pants for the first time in a month.
What was I saying about hope?
It may be a bit before I finish my Big Game Review. And there is a ton of other stuff I gotta write about. First I better go keep my house from burning down.
I almost don't dare type it for fear I'll jinx it.
Most of you have heard me say that if there was a prize for finishing last, we'd take second. It's true. So last fall, when the Boss's employers held a contest for sales increases from the previous year, we knew that if they were taking five store winners on a cruise to Mexico, we'd finish sixth. It has happened to us so often, I don't like to think about it.
Guess what place the Boss finished in out of the umpteen thousand stores in the Denver region?
Uh-hu. I give you the Anti-Midas touch.
This morning, she got a call to tell her one of the winners was backing out, and we get to go. As long as we can navigate passports, babysitting, and three dozen other potential landmines (any or all of which will blow the deal to Hades). But the very fact that there is a chance suggests to me that if there is hope for the "Aint's", there is hope for us!
In the meantime, Peff and Reaggers are doing flips on the couch, Squizzle just woke from his nap, and I think Bub just wet his pants for the first time in a month.
What was I saying about hope?
It may be a bit before I finish my Big Game Review. And there is a ton of other stuff I gotta write about. First I better go keep my house from burning down.
Here Come The Horsemen
Well this weekend wasn't at all what I was hoping for. BYU got clobbered at UNLV, and yesterday we got more proof that the Cubs will NEVER win. The most unlikely teams will all win championships in every sport possible, just to torment us Cubbies. Look for the Clippers to win the NBA in the next three years. And some team in Canada will finally win the Stanley Cup soon.
****Editor's Note
Why do Canadians drink from Mason jars?
They haven't had a Cup in thirty years!!!!
C'mon. That's funny. You know it is.
****
Anyway...
New Orleans Saints; Champions.
The Horsemen just called. They've stopped to get some beef jerky and a fountain drink at the Flying J in Tremonton, but they'll be here by noon.
While I wait, I'm going to post a bevy of rantings I like to call:
"Fatdaddy's Official Big Game Review"
I'll post 'em below when I finish 'em, so scroll down now and again to make sure you haven't missed anything new.
****Editor's Note
Why do Canadians drink from Mason jars?
They haven't had a Cup in thirty years!!!!
C'mon. That's funny. You know it is.
****
Anyway...
New Orleans Saints; Champions.
The Horsemen just called. They've stopped to get some beef jerky and a fountain drink at the Flying J in Tremonton, but they'll be here by noon.
While I wait, I'm going to post a bevy of rantings I like to call:
"Fatdaddy's Official Big Game Review"
I'll post 'em below when I finish 'em, so scroll down now and again to make sure you haven't missed anything new.
Worst and Best Commercials
Frankly, the hype of Superbowl commercials has blown way overboard in recent years. I think the last memorable one was years ago. My all time favorite was that Snickers commercial awhile back where the Quarterback got a concussion and thought he was Batman. They sat him on the bench and took his helmet away and the tag line was "Not going anywhere for a while?"
I thought it was funny as H@!! but some group of professional complainers whined about how it was insensitive to people with head injuries and made Snickers take it off the air. I've suffered as many head injuries as any three people(that ought to be readily apparent to my readers), and I wasn't offended. PC thugs.
Anyway, I usually watch the commercials with trepidation. At least there were fewer sappy jewelry store spots this year (you already know how I feel about those).
The "Bad"
Easy. The runaway winner was that crappy Audi bit with the "Green Police". If you think that the best way to get me to spend seventy thousand dollars on a car is by going through my trash and threatening me to "go Green or else"; you need to think again. I am now less likely to buy their stupid car, even if I did have that kind of bread.
I dare the green police to go through my trash. They'll run into the same problem the identity thieves have at my house. When I toss Squizzle's dirty diapers, I don't roll em up, I just pitch 'em straight into the can. If someone wants to dig through that to steal my ID or trash me for not being "green"; I say enjoy!
Dishonorable Mentions:
The Talking Babies commercials. Disturbing. Very disturbing.
The Clydesdale spot. It's over guys. You can't beat a dead horse, but you can keep making lame attempts to sell beer with one. Time to try something new.
Any and all commercials with dudes in tightey-whiteys. We all know that it is a Man Card requirement to spend time in your drawers, but the Manly Manual says NOTHING about doing it in front of the largest TV audience of the year. And what about the fact that three or four of them all went this same route? If I was a company that paid that much for a thirty second spot and the next bit up was virtually the same thing...I'd be gettin' my money back. Again I ask you, WHO WRITES THIS STUFF?
Is there anyone in advertising with an original idea?
Yes. There is.
For the first time in about a hundred years, I saw a clever, original, laugh out loud, funny commercial! I couldn't believe it. I laughed for five minutes, then hit rewind on the Tivo to watch it again. Any guesses?
First, the Honorable Mention:
The Betty White/Abe Vagoda Snickers commercial. Funny. And it had Abe Vagoda. He's the Tobi. It is his place to hope for his people!
****Editor's Note
If you did not laugh at that, you need to shut off your computer and go watch the greatest movie ever made; "Joe Versus the Volcano". Do it now. Shame on you for not seeing it before.
****
....And the Winner.
Punxsatawny Polamalu.
When he gets scared of his shadow, six more weeks of football (I wish). That huge mane, hiding in a tree stump. "Jerk him outta there" the guy shouts. Very funny. Original. Awesome.
Of course it might have been more realistic to do Punxsatawny McNabb who is scared of his shadow and throws six more interceptions (Please, let my Eagles get rid of Donovan so they can be the next beneficiary of the Cubbie Curse. They haven't won in forever. They're due.)
Eagle jokes aside, this was easily the funniest commercial in a long time.
Anybody else have a favorite?
I thought it was funny as H@!! but some group of professional complainers whined about how it was insensitive to people with head injuries and made Snickers take it off the air. I've suffered as many head injuries as any three people(that ought to be readily apparent to my readers), and I wasn't offended. PC thugs.
Anyway, I usually watch the commercials with trepidation. At least there were fewer sappy jewelry store spots this year (you already know how I feel about those).
The "Bad"
Easy. The runaway winner was that crappy Audi bit with the "Green Police". If you think that the best way to get me to spend seventy thousand dollars on a car is by going through my trash and threatening me to "go Green or else"; you need to think again. I am now less likely to buy their stupid car, even if I did have that kind of bread.
I dare the green police to go through my trash. They'll run into the same problem the identity thieves have at my house. When I toss Squizzle's dirty diapers, I don't roll em up, I just pitch 'em straight into the can. If someone wants to dig through that to steal my ID or trash me for not being "green"; I say enjoy!
Dishonorable Mentions:
The Talking Babies commercials. Disturbing. Very disturbing.
The Clydesdale spot. It's over guys. You can't beat a dead horse, but you can keep making lame attempts to sell beer with one. Time to try something new.
Any and all commercials with dudes in tightey-whiteys. We all know that it is a Man Card requirement to spend time in your drawers, but the Manly Manual says NOTHING about doing it in front of the largest TV audience of the year. And what about the fact that three or four of them all went this same route? If I was a company that paid that much for a thirty second spot and the next bit up was virtually the same thing...I'd be gettin' my money back. Again I ask you, WHO WRITES THIS STUFF?
Is there anyone in advertising with an original idea?
Yes. There is.
For the first time in about a hundred years, I saw a clever, original, laugh out loud, funny commercial! I couldn't believe it. I laughed for five minutes, then hit rewind on the Tivo to watch it again. Any guesses?
First, the Honorable Mention:
The Betty White/Abe Vagoda Snickers commercial. Funny. And it had Abe Vagoda. He's the Tobi. It is his place to hope for his people!
****Editor's Note
If you did not laugh at that, you need to shut off your computer and go watch the greatest movie ever made; "Joe Versus the Volcano". Do it now. Shame on you for not seeing it before.
****
....And the Winner.
Punxsatawny Polamalu.
When he gets scared of his shadow, six more weeks of football (I wish). That huge mane, hiding in a tree stump. "Jerk him outta there" the guy shouts. Very funny. Original. Awesome.
Of course it might have been more realistic to do Punxsatawny McNabb who is scared of his shadow and throws six more interceptions (Please, let my Eagles get rid of Donovan so they can be the next beneficiary of the Cubbie Curse. They haven't won in forever. They're due.)
Eagle jokes aside, this was easily the funniest commercial in a long time.
Anybody else have a favorite?
The Grub
It's hard to gripe when the menu is put together by the Boss. We went with a garden theme this year and had lots of veggies. There was the usual tray of brocoli, cauliflower, cucumber, bell pepper and carrots with ranch dip.
Then the Boss fired up the deep fryer (all real big game food must be fried) and cranked out some first rate tempura. All of the previously mentioned veggies got the coat-and-cook treatment with the exception of the cauliflower and 'cukes. She also dipped mushrooms, sweet potatoes and zuchini.
Top it off with Wings for me (none of my uncultured children will eat them and I like it that way) and chicken nuggets for them and you have the makings of a pretty good spread. The only thing we forgot to do was make homeade root beer. We had done that for four or five years in a row, and this year it slipped our minds until it was too late to do anything about it.
The food was the best part of the day.
Then the Boss fired up the deep fryer (all real big game food must be fried) and cranked out some first rate tempura. All of the previously mentioned veggies got the coat-and-cook treatment with the exception of the cauliflower and 'cukes. She also dipped mushrooms, sweet potatoes and zuchini.
Top it off with Wings for me (none of my uncultured children will eat them and I like it that way) and chicken nuggets for them and you have the makings of a pretty good spread. The only thing we forgot to do was make homeade root beer. We had done that for four or five years in a row, and this year it slipped our minds until it was too late to do anything about it.
The food was the best part of the day.
The Game
Not a bad ballgame. I would have liked it to end a little differently, but at least it wasn't a snoozer. If the Saints had played anyone other than the Colts, I'd have cheered for them (But I'd have wanted my Eagles to be in the game instead).
But when you have two BYU guys on one team and none on the other, I'm slanting Coltward. Plus, as much as I respect Drew Brees (the guy is a top QB and a leader of the highest order), I have liked Peyton Manning longer and for the same reasons.
That said, I do like to see new blood at the top. It gets old watching the Yankees, Cowboys, and Lakers win year after year after year (especially since I despise those three. It would not get old to see the Jazz, Cubbies or Eagles win year after year after year).
As far as the game goes, it was about what I expected. The defenses rose up and played well; even bad defenses get tired of hearing that they are going to get lit up and though these aren't the best D's in the land, they do have world class athletes who had two weeks to prepare and only had to lay it out for sixty minutes. I thought both teams did a good job of limiting the damage inflicted by the opposing "juggernaut" offenses. I thought the defenses were pretty much even but you have to give an edge to the Saints; their "Pick Six" surely trumped Indy's masterpiece four down, goal-line stand.
Perhaps because of the elevated play of the D's (did Freeney look like a guy playing on one wheel?) I thought Brees and Manning looked pretty mediocre. Neither did much to write home about with one very obvious exception.
Coaching was even. With the onside kick call by Sean Payton, he proved he has guts and nerves of steel, but it only served to offset his bonehead call to go for it on fourth and goal at the end of the first half. Caldwell was his usual level headed best, and he danced with the girl that brought him.
Unfortunately the "girl" that brought him was Peyton Manning. Just when he looked like he was headed for the "greatest QB ever" throne, he tossed the worst interception of his career. The blame for this one goes all on him.
I love the guy, I'd have him start my team any day, but he has to take the fire for the loss. He was forcing passes all day (if you watch the replay see how many passes he throws that are traveling "nose down" through the air--a sure fire sign he's throwing too hard) and he finally found one he couldn't keep safe. It was gut wrenching to see the best QB of this generation looking like Brett Fah-vre stole his uniform for the most important play of the game.
You could tell by the look on his face as he went to the sideline that he knew it too. If you look over on the Colt bench, you can see the shadows of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan waiting to take away his Man Card for throwing like a girl and blowing a Superbowl. He'll have to play better next year to get it back.
It will not be a good offseason in Indy.
But when you have two BYU guys on one team and none on the other, I'm slanting Coltward. Plus, as much as I respect Drew Brees (the guy is a top QB and a leader of the highest order), I have liked Peyton Manning longer and for the same reasons.
That said, I do like to see new blood at the top. It gets old watching the Yankees, Cowboys, and Lakers win year after year after year (especially since I despise those three. It would not get old to see the Jazz, Cubbies or Eagles win year after year after year).
As far as the game goes, it was about what I expected. The defenses rose up and played well; even bad defenses get tired of hearing that they are going to get lit up and though these aren't the best D's in the land, they do have world class athletes who had two weeks to prepare and only had to lay it out for sixty minutes. I thought both teams did a good job of limiting the damage inflicted by the opposing "juggernaut" offenses. I thought the defenses were pretty much even but you have to give an edge to the Saints; their "Pick Six" surely trumped Indy's masterpiece four down, goal-line stand.
Perhaps because of the elevated play of the D's (did Freeney look like a guy playing on one wheel?) I thought Brees and Manning looked pretty mediocre. Neither did much to write home about with one very obvious exception.
Coaching was even. With the onside kick call by Sean Payton, he proved he has guts and nerves of steel, but it only served to offset his bonehead call to go for it on fourth and goal at the end of the first half. Caldwell was his usual level headed best, and he danced with the girl that brought him.
Unfortunately the "girl" that brought him was Peyton Manning. Just when he looked like he was headed for the "greatest QB ever" throne, he tossed the worst interception of his career. The blame for this one goes all on him.
I love the guy, I'd have him start my team any day, but he has to take the fire for the loss. He was forcing passes all day (if you watch the replay see how many passes he throws that are traveling "nose down" through the air--a sure fire sign he's throwing too hard) and he finally found one he couldn't keep safe. It was gut wrenching to see the best QB of this generation looking like Brett Fah-vre stole his uniform for the most important play of the game.
You could tell by the look on his face as he went to the sideline that he knew it too. If you look over on the Colt bench, you can see the shadows of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan waiting to take away his Man Card for throwing like a girl and blowing a Superbowl. He'll have to play better next year to get it back.
It will not be a good offseason in Indy.
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