The Star Mangled Banner

We all know that Sunday's rendition of the Star Spangled Banner at the Super Bowl was less than perfect. But in comparison to other renditions, hey, it wasn't that bad. Don't believe me. Take a gander at this. The video below was shot a couple of years ago in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Apparently, "Officers from across Hamilton County Tennessee gather in front a memorial to remember fallen law enforcement officers." That's all I know. Well, that and that the "singing" of the "anthem" is nothing like I've ever heard before. It kind of sounds the same as the anthem penned by a one Francis Scott Key. Kind of. And the guy "singing" is kind of carrying a tune, so I guess that's why it's called singing. Other than that, there aren't a lot of similarities to the national anthem of the United States actually being sung. No. In fact, there are very few if, in fact, any more than the ones I have just cited. Take a listen. Recognize any of it? It's OK if you don't. It's barely recognizable as much of anything.

See? I told you. Look, I admire anyone who can get up and try to sing in front of others, especially for something as important as a memorial for fallen law enforcement officers. I really do. But for something that important, don't you think that maybe you should just do a quick scan of the words? Maybe even rehearse it once or twice the day before? Carry the lyrics up there with you if you need to. It's OK. I won't think less of you. (Well, I won't think less of you if you read the lyrics and get it right. If you have lyrics written down and you still can't come up with the correct wording? That's odd and I cannot be a party to something like that.) But when you're up there "singing" as if your vocabulary has just been put on "Shuffle" and random words are just flying out of your mouth in a semi-discernible tune? That's exactly how you end up on YouTube and that's exactly how you end up the subject of today's post. And really, those are two things that I don't think many of us would ever strive for.

O, Say Can You Sing?

Congratulations to the Green Bay Packers on a Super Bowl game well played. While I enjoyed the game, I really think that the commercials were not up to par. And if you're going to try to tell me that it isn't about the commercials, well, you'd be wrong. If you're forking over $3 million for a thirty second ad spot, you're supposed to kick it up a notch. But I'm not really here to talk about the commercials. No, I'm here to talk about the national anthem. And I think I shall start out by asking, "What in the what was that?"

The anthem, most of it, was sung by a one Christina Aguilera. She claimed, at the time that she was anointed vocal belter of national tuneage, that she had "... been performing the anthem since I was seven years old and I must say the Super Bowl is a dream come true." A quick check of Wikipedia shows that Ms. Aguilera is now thirty years old. That should have given her twenty three years to practice. Too bad it wasn't twenty four.

See, she appeared (translation: she totally did) to have forgotten the words or remembered the words incorrectly at one point. I only say this because instead of singing "O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming", she came up with "What so proudly we watched at the twilight's last gleaming." Yeah, that's not right at all. She managed to correctly place and sing the words "we watched", but other than that, I had no idea what she was talking about. It's like she kind of took the second line from the anthem "What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming" and kind of mixed it in with what she was supposed to sing. And while she didn't really miss a beat while she sang it, it was still wrong.

The video of her debacle is below. If it doesn't play, try clicking here and watching it over at YouTube. I wasn't really all that fond of how she sang the rest of the song, albeit correctly. I guess I like it better when the high notes are hit instead of being taken down an octave so that they're doable for the average singer. And while I'm not calling Christina Aguilera average, her performance certainly was.

The Clothing Drive

Sorry for yesterday's post being super uber late. I haven't felt all that great in the last couple of days. (I don't like to say that I'm sick or getting sick because I don't like to be sick. I figure if I just avoid that terminology, everything will be fine. Try it yourself! Though you should probably be warned that it doesn't really work. Like, at all.)

So, I'm going to keep in line with the theme of Super Bowl commercials. (What? One day does not a theme make? You try feeling like I do and then saying that. Trust me. One day does a theme make!) Bud Light always seems to win when it comes to most amusing Super Bowl ads. And again, I'm not just referring to the ones that make it on the air. I have another favorite that came no where close to being aired and it is hilarious as well. It kind of has a similar theme to the Swear Jar commercial. (See?! Bud Light thought that one of something could make for a theme! I don't see why I can't.) If it worked for them, it's going to work for me. (I hope to be back in tiptop form shortly. I've been doing this every day for three years. I can't stop now! It might be some sort of Internet record!) Behold!

Effing Awesome

It's less than a week until the Super Bowl. And that means less than a week to some awesome commercials. Granted, they're not as good as they used to be. But there's usually at least one or two that will really stand out for years to come. And those that do stand out? Well, we can usually thank Bud Light for those. In fact, some of the best Super Bowl commercials (in my never to be humble opinion) are the ones that never aired. But, thanks to the accessibility of the Innerwebs and the YouTube, now they are available every day, all the time! How great is that? Pretty great, that is correct. And allow me to demonstrate just how pretty great it is with probably what is my all time favorite, never aired on TV, Bud Light ad. They call it, humbly enough, The Swear Jar. Enjoy it, you effers.

Who is Old? The Who, That's Who

The Super Bowl was played yesterday. Congratulations to the New Orleans Saints on their amazing victory! The game itself was superb. It was very exciting and I'm really glad that I watched it. What wasn't so exciting and what I wasn't so thrilled to have been subjected to was the halftime performance of The Who.

If you were wondering just how old the members of The Who are, you weren't the only one. The number four most frequently searched topic of yesterday according to Google Trends was "how old is roger daltrey". Roger Daltrey is 65 and Pete Townshend is equally geezer-ific at 64. Now, I'm not saying that if you're old that you still can't bring the rock like you did when you were younger. But before decimating this particular performance, I want to point out that the song "My Generation" was conspicuously absent from the song list. There's a reason for that and it lies somewhere in the lyric of "Hope I die before I get old." Well, that didn't happen, as they're clearly old and clearly alive. The lyric could have easily been changed to "Hope I die before I make an ass out of myself by performing at the Super Bowl when I am clearly past my prime and unable to fake it any longer."

I'm not sure exactly who the chap was that was seated behind the drums. All I know is that is was not the original drummer of The Who. The original drummer was Keith Moon and he died in 1978. I'm pretty sure that he was one in a long string of musicians that was unceremoniously found face down in his own vomit. There's a lot of ways that you can leave this world, but I've gotta think that head first in a puddle of your own excrement is one of the least dignified methods available, wouldn't you?

I will credit Roger Daltrey with continuing to have an enormous lung capacity to belt out these songs, as it was evident during his performance that he was capable not so much of carrying a tune as much as he was simply shouting the songs. He was sporting some sort of pale blue eyewear that wasn't always evident that is was, in fact, a pair of glasses. For a good three minutes, I thought the man had way overdone it on the eye shadow. (Also, his harmonica playing days seem to be behind him as well.

And old man Pete can definitely still play that axe of his. They music part was fine. It was the singing/yelling part that wasn't so fine. Oh, and the sheer terror that Pete Townshend's shirt, which began to unbutton at the bottom, might actually come flying all the way off, leaving viewers to gape at the spectacle of a bare chested, 64-year old British man surrounded by several colorful laser beams and a vast array of pyrotechnics.

Overall, it was probably the worst Super Bowl halftime show I have ever seen. It was one of the worst live musical performances that I have ever seen outside of the Super Bowl as well. I don't have any problem with the elderly performing their classics, but only as long as they can actually perform them. Who was last year's entertainer? Bruce Springsteen? He's an oldster and he did just fine (right up until he slid across the stage in his too tight leather pants and plowed into a cameraman). Prince was awesome. I know he's not old, but it has been quite a while since he's had a hit (and if that song that he wrote for the Minnesota Vikings is any indication, it's going to be quite a while before he has another). He did fine. Was it Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction that caused the halftime entertainment to veer from something that people enjoy watching to something that has people who are under 25 just cringing and confused? Was that it? Nipplegate? Was that the problem?

All I know is that if we never see The Who perform live again, it will probably be for the best. I'm happy and thankful for all of the songs that they have given us over the years (most notably those that were written and originally performed when they were just kids and likely high as freaking kites), but there's no need for me to actually perform the songs any longer. I know it's them. Isn't that good enough. Man, I hope so. I certainly don't want to be subjected to anything like that anytime soon. The video of a large portion of this debacle is below. See for yourself.

New Orleans Wins Super Bowl 37-17

The Super Bowl has ended, and the New Orleans Saints (at right, TED JACKSON / THE TIMES-PICAYUNE) won, defeating the much more heralded Indianapolis Colts 37-17. They ain't the Ain'ts (remember that era) any more. I watched bits and pieces of the game as I was reading school-related stories, and prepping for my new class, tomorrow (the novella-writing adventure!), so I missed nearly all the commercials that I didn't actively tune out, which I usually cannot do. These included the controversial Focus on the Family's Tim Tebow anti-abortion advocacy ad, which CBS chose to run while refusing (and lying about) gay dating company ManCrunch.com's site's ad. I did catch the wheezing, out of tune members of The Who (Roger Daltry, Pete Townshend), whom I thought weren't going to be performing because of Townshend's child-porn scandal, but for some reason or another, CBS and the NFL thought these folks, who were known back when I was a little kid for singing about drugs and the counterculture would be the best choice for 2010. What about the children, for real? After the orgy of consumerism and stereotyping the commercials projected, the anti-establishment message the Who geezed out was a bit refreshing, I think; did anyone else catch it?

Back to the game, New Orleans came through in the second quarter, controlling the ball for long stretches and racking up a near tie with two field goals, which turned the game around. That, followed by the daring offside kick to start the second half, and Drew Brees's 288 yards passing and 2 TDs, put the Saints in the lead, but the backbreaker was Tracy Porter's late 4th quarter inception of Peyton Manning (who was, as always, being proclaimed as the greatest ever before the game), who was leading a dramatic final drive to tie the score.  That gave New Orleans breathing room and the win. It was wonderful to see a team that has never won the Super Bowl, and which has had such a checkered history, finally walk away with the trophy. It helps too that the team comes from a city that was left to drown, before the country's and world's eyes, just five years ago, and which has been treated pretty shabbily since then.

I saw some folks posting on Twitter about how this victory might "help" New Orleans, but it realistically won't do squat for the many hundreds of thousands of people who're still feeling the aftereffects of Hurricane Katrina, half a decade on. But it may give them a temporary good feeling, and might spur on more interest in the city and its ongoing problems. Its people still need the country's help, and we still need to be listening, and working with them, wherever they are.

s(NO)w + Art (Free) + Rogers Park ≠ Hipsterville + Klein/Agbodji Rule NYC + Super Bowl Prediction

Chicago, I'm glad to say, did not suffer the Snowpocalypse. Or "Snowmageddon," I should say. It's cold, but it's always cold in the winter. The sidewalks are paved with ice, but people here frequently don't shovel or salt the walkways in front of their homes (as people in New Jersey do), perhaps in the belief that they will not be sued if someone took a violent spill on the glassy lake stretching the length of their easements (perhaps New Jerseyans are more litigious?). There's residual snow from earlier in the week, but there always appears to be residual snow, even when the sun finally appears and the temperatures rise above freezing. It's just the way things are. It also didn't snow in New York, which was supposed to be buried alive. Instead, I imagine, people went about their business, and laughed once again at the frenzied excitement of the local media. Washington, DC, and Philadelphia, and parts in between and south do appear to have received the snow gift, though. The photos of Washington in particular look really beautiful.

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Since it a snowless Saturday, and it's free admission all month to the Art Institute of Chicago, I hopped on the El (which is now $2.25) and traveled down there. I was very glad to see that many Chicagoans, including many brown and black ones, were also taking advantage of the free admission; it was packed. I hadn't seen the new Renzo Piano extension, which sits behind the famous Michigan Avenue Beaux Arts façade, but it really is impressive, airy, bursting with light, easy to navigate, and almost cinematographic in the dramatic views it offers of Daley Millennium Park. It also serves the art well, at least to my eye, an impression which the smaller crowds in the contemporary galleries only heightened.

Yves Tanguy's "Untitled"(screen), 1928

On this trip, I decided to drift forward through the museum to see what I might come across. My first stops were at the architectural artifacts from historic Chicago, which included various pediments, spandrels, caryatids, gratings, and so forth, from buildings by important Chicago architects like Dankmar Adler, Louis Sullivan, and Frank Lloyd Wright. I found myself repeatedly impressed by the workmanship and intricacy, the delicacy and beauty, of many of these pieces, especially those by Wright, who was, as I need not tell anyone, a visionary. From there, I kept walking forward, into what turned out to the 1800-1900 European art galleries, which included furniture and other material artifacts, as well as many of the Museum's best and widely known treasures. I must say, it's one thing to see reproductions of Gustave Caillebotte's iconic 1877 painting "Paris Street, Rainy Day," or Georges Seurat's giant masterwork, "A Sunday on la Grand Jatte - 1884" (1884-86), for example, or Monet's various later paintings, such as the ones in London, or the haystacks, or the water lilies at Giverny, but it's another thing altogether to be able to look closely and deeply at them, to engage them and truly take them in, at length. Time really does fall away, and some opens up in the encounter, the exchange.



I went forward into the 20th century, which is to say, via a passageway (featuring Georgia O'Keefe's immense, talismanic abstract 1965 painting "Sky Above the Clouds IV," to Piano's Modern Wing, which has similar, but distinct, spatial dynamics to the Museum of Modern Art's addition, and on to 20th century American artworks, which stamped a smile from one of my cheeks to the other; Martin Puryear's 1982 sculpture, "Sanctuary" (at right), comprising two long, thin, high branches, attached at the bottom to a wheel's axle, like a unicycle, and signifying movement, and at the top to a box, nailed to the wall and out of even a baller's reach, signifying permanence, winked at me as I entered one of the galleries. A Lawrence Weiner wall text, "TAKEN FROM HERE TO WHERE IT CAME FROM AND TAKEN TO A PLACE AND USED IN SUCH A MANNER THAT IT CAN ONLY REMAIN AS A REPRESENTAION OF WHAT IT WAS WHERE IT CAME FROM," spanned the white wall between this entryway and the chronologically earlier (and thus correct) one. I wandered back through the Modern Wing to the Asian Art galleries, and was beginning to settle in when the announcement came that the galleries were closing, and we all had to leave. Four hours flew by like that.

I'll have to go back as soon as I can, but I also thought once again, and I know it'll never happen, but what if the entire way in which the art was displayed were overturned? What if it were more poetic, lyrical, associative? What if sculptures from Europe, Africa, Asia, South America, sat side by side with paintings by Picasso, Sam Francis, Barnett Newman, Yves Klein (at left, "Blue Sponge Relief," 1959), the "folk" artists? What if all the hierarchies and barriers were eliminated? What if, alongside the permanent curators, artists like Fred Wilson or Marina Abramovic were regularly, as part of the museum's mission, Of course I know it certainly wouldn't happen at such an august institution, because neither the curators nor the wealthy patrons would stand for it, but what would it mean to view art in such a radically different way, in the sort of way that Albert Barnes, for example, imagined it? Or that people--many people who aren't rich but make or collect art--display it in their homes, their work places, their everyday lives?

I also thought, given that it's Black History Month, and given that this museum sits right at the downtown heart of Chicago, wouldn't it be nice, especially with admission being free, to have an exhibit of black artists and artworks inspired by African, African-American and African Diasporic peoples and cultures, in some central spaces in the museum? Just some thoughts.

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New York Times, you need to quit. Or at least acknowledge that sometimes you present sheer bunkum in the pages of your paper. Rarely, however, is it so blatant and so close to home. Take Edward McClelland's recent article, "An Ethnic Mix Keeps in Funky in Chicago," on (East) Rogers Park (beach at right), the neighborhood where I live in Chicago, which is presented as a Third Coast Hipsterville--which it truly was threatening to turn into, oh, about 5 years ago--despite the fact that many of its main streets (Clark, Morse, Sheridan) now sport rows of shuttered, empty storefronts. The Times piece, however, picks out a few surviving gems (including three on Jarvis, which has an unfinished condo building, a perfect emblem of the insane prior decade, just down the street, though he doesn't mention the longstanding politically engaged standby, the Heartland Café, or even the less famous, vegetarian-friendly Lakeside Café) and attempts to make a narrative out of them. But it it isn't working.

The author could have written about how many businesses are struggling to stay in business. Or how, when as I learned when I returned in December to search for a new apartment, many of the near-vacant condo buildings that were thrown up (and the interiors of some really did look as though they'd been vomited up by some development monster) were desperate to find renters and were nearly matching the apartment buildings in rent prices, since buyers were about as scarce as loans. Or how there are political refugees from sub-Saharan Africa here, or that one of the major Iraqi-American foundations is in the neighborhood, or how faculty and students from the university and Loyola who find it more economical than living in Evanston (which does have far superior schools) or anything that hugs the lake heading south, or that there are quite a few people struggling to stay in homes and apartments they can no longer afford. Funky, all right.

On Morse Street, between Greenview and Sheridan, which used to be an open-air drug bazaar despite endless pleas to City Hall and the local alderman, and the cops who made sure the dealers didn't stroll one block north or south, a wonderful music club is now empty; several galleries have been cashiered; chunks of the El trestle tumble onto the sidewalk below; and the convenience store whose proprietor in 2008 gave me his last copy of a local rag that featured the then newly-elected President Obama, is now just a dusty interior behind a dusty pane.

I guess you could pick and choose from any neighborhood, but it might have been realistic to talk about how glum things are, as opposed to glam, and to note nevertheless that, despite the weak economy, you can still find very inexpensive and delicious food not only from across the Americas (Belize, Peru, Colombia, Mexico), let alone Thai, Chinese, West African, etc., but, on the 2-mile-or-so strip of Clark from Devon to Howard, delicacies from an incredible number of different Mexican regional/state cuisines (Nayarit, Tabasco, Jalisco, etc.) alone. That's less sexy, I guess, though, than proclaiming hipsterism and funkiness to fill newspaper space, when the real effect of doing so is to undermine even more the confidence of the people you might hope will still be reading your paper in the future. Or maybe McClelland wrote this article 5 years ago, and someone just thought it would be okay to publish it now.

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Rod 2.0 got here a while ago, but I have to say I'm sorry I wasn't in New York to see Calvin Klein's new and giant David Agbodji-fresh ads initally loom over Soho and now gleam from the windows of the Madison Avenue flagship store. As Racked.com says, "we can only imagine that their current windows are causing some serious pearl-clutching over on Madison Avenue." Trust.

Image via the Copyranter

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My Super Bowl prediction is Indianapolis will win, perhaps 27-13, but I'd love to see New Orleans take home the trophy, even if by a squeaker.

Fakeroversy at the Super Bowl

We've got the Super Bowl just right around the corner. Well, it's next week. I realize that's a pretty big corner, but it's still pretty close. And when it's Super Bowl time, that's when the station that's airing the game starts to wrap up finalizing all of the commercials that are going to be shown during the game. Already there is a lot of controversy over some of the ads and they've got nothing to do with those cute Clydesdales.

What we have stirring up some fake controversy (yep, another fakeroversy) is an ad that was paid for by the Christian conservative group Focus on the Family. Conservative. Family. Yep. You guessed it. They're "pro-life", also known as anti-abortion. This ad is going to convey the meaning behind the theme of "Celebrate Family, Celebrate Life." It is also going to contain a one Tim Tebow (apparently a really good collegiate quarterback for Florida) and a one Pam Tebow, the mother of the aforementioned Tim.

According to the huffy folks over there at the Huffington Post the ad will be "...chronicling Pam Tebow's 1987 pregnancy. After getting sick during a mission trip to the Philippines, she ignored a recommendation by doctors to abort her fifth child and gave birth to Tim." Um, OK. But can I just say something here? I want my freaking Clydesdales back!!

Look, do I personally care if this group wants to buy this ad time? No, not really. I'm not offended by it. It doesn't particularly bother me because of the subject matter. However, lately it has come to light that abortion has been illegal in the Philippines since the 1930s and it would have been odd for the doctors there to recommend such a procedure. See, that does bother me. You want to send your anti-abortion message to a bazillion people watching a football game? I guess if you have the money for that, you can do so. But I'd really rather that you didn't. And here's why:

I like the commercials during the Super Bowl. I find them to be interesting and hilarious. (And in the case of the GoDaddy commercials, I find them to be interesting and...uh....um...what? Oh. Sorry. I was just envisioning GoDaddy commercials of the past and got distracted. GoDaddy isn't so much pro-life or pro-choice as much as it is pro-breasts.) I want to see interesting and hilarious commercials during the Super Bowl. I especially want to see interesting and hilarious commercials during the Super Bowl if I am watching said game at a venue with other people, some of which may or may not have imbibed just a little bit too much of any sort of alcoholic beverage furnished for said viewing.

You're never going to come to a nationwide consensus on whether or not abortion is OK or not. And from what I can tell, people have some really strong opinions about the whole matter. Don't believe me? Just ask that dude down in Kansas who blew away the abortion doc whilst he was sitting in church. I'm thinking that if your opinion is so strong that it leads you to justify blowing other people away with a gun while they're in church that you're not going to be swayed very easily to see the other side's point of view, you know what I'm saying?

And the last thing I want is a room full of people who may or may not have been drinking and who may or may not have extremely strong opinions about this whole abortion matter. That right there could turn the Super Bowl into the Super Brawl. It's supposed to be fun! Why do are we being subjected to commercials about abortions?!

Can you imagine if this sort of thing catches on? What if next year, instead of having all of the cute little dogs and horses unite in their ways to pull some sort of decrepit wagon into Small Town, USA so that all of the residents can have icy cold beer (some with a minimal amount of calories), we were instead subjected to political ads? And abortion ads? And gay marriage ads? And grandparent visitation rights ads? Oh, my God, I'd hang myself.

We could find ourselves in the not so distant future, sitting down for the big game with our family and friends with some youngsters, hopefully belonging to said family and friends. We could find ourselves saying to said youngsters, "You know, Billy...it wasn't that long ago that the commercials during the Super Bowl were really funny! Yes! Funny! There used to be these horses...Clydesdales, they were called...furry hooves, boy were they a hoot! But now, we've just got these political commercials all the time and...my God! How many of these with President Hillary are we going to have to sit through?!" That would be rough. Really. Rough.

It's not a controversy that CBS sold a commercial spot for an ad that is going to be anti-abortion. It's not. It's a fakeroversy. If there's such a problem with it, what say you pro-abortion folks roll out your own ad and get your message out there as well. And actually, I wish that they would. I'd find that very interesting, because I'm not all that aware of many pro-abortion advertising mediums of late. It's a tricky thing to advocate without sounding like a villain, I get that. But maybe try the Clydesdales! People really enjoy those!

Really, what are people worried about? That the ad is going to sway people into what? Not having abortions? I don't think that's going to happen. I don't think that anyone out there that is contemplating an abortion is going to change her mind simply because of the possibility that their child could grow up to be a college football quarterback. I don't think the reason that they're considering the abortion in the first place is because they're worried that the youngster won't be good at sports. I think that has next to nothing to do with the decision. Besides, the only people that one would have to be concerned with being swayed by something like this would be the Supreme Court. And from what I can tell, they're about as anxious to have anything to do with the subject as I am, that is to say, they don't want to touch it with a ten foot pole. Nor do I think that they're the sort of bunch that's going to be swayed by a freaking ad airing during the Super Bowl.

By the way, below is a Bud Light ad which was rejected as a Super Bowl ad a couple of years ago. Apparently, its subject matter was not suitable for the big game. Suitable or not, its freaking hilarious. And I'd rather watch that than I would watch a commercial having anything to do with abortion.

I can only hope that this will be the last "serious" ad which will air during the Super Bowl. We're not wanting to have brawls with drunken family members because of an argument instigated by an anti-abortion commercial. We're wanting to be happy drunks. Drunk and happy and covered in grease and sauce from too many Buffalo wings. That's what we want. We're America. It's what we strive for. Now...where are those horses? What about that talking E*Trade kid? He's a riot.

Wait! It's just come to my attention that the actors in the above disallowed Bud Light commercial have an encore commercial. Please, please, please let it make it to the Super Bowl this year. We can handle this can't we?