Tag Archives: madonna

Lame Adventure 276: Super Gripes

I was pleased that Super Bowl XLVI between the New England Patriots and the New York Giants was a very competitive game that could have gone either way down to the very last play. Yet, I have no intention to invest $99.99 in the Trophy Collection Bundle even though my team, the New York Giants, won 21-17.

Who needs this crap?

I must confess that had the Giants lost to the San Francisco 49ers in the NFC Championship Game two weeks ago, “my” team would have still won.  This is because I was born and raised in San Francisco where my father and brother taught me how the game was played when I was a very tender age — around four or five.  Considering how complicated the rules are to football, one might say that the main men in my family bestowed me with quite a gift.  I suppose it is a pity that the gift I was bestowed was not something more useful in the game of life such as learning a second language, playing an instrument or negotiating a raise that results in being paid a living wage.

Without the patient tutelage of my dad and brother, I would probably be another clueless type declaring the game boring instead of what I am, an out of my mind maniac screaming my lungs out at the TV whenever my team fails to make a play, receives a penalty, or I disagree with the officiating.

Although I am not very sentimental, when I moved to New York in 1982 to earn my BFA in Film at NYU(seless), one of the mementos I packed that I have saved through the years is this ticket stub from January 10, 1982 when I was in Candlestick Park watching the 1981 NFC Championship Game between the 49ers and the Dallas Cowboys.

Cue Barbra Streisand singing "The Way We Were".

This was the most exciting and memorable football game I have ever seen in my life – coincidentally this is not the sort of factoid I reveal about myself on a first date unless I’m dating someone I hope to never see again.  This same ticket for that same seat would have cost $154 for this year’s NFC Championship Game when the Giants beat the Niners.

Sentimental sap aside, there is so much that I utterly loathe about football, especially the pretension leading to the Super Bowl.  What gets on my nerves is the pompous  battle music, the frenzy concocted by the NFL that infects the media, the ridiculous hoopla, the endless hype, and the solemn Voice of God narrators recounting highlights from previous games with a degree of reverence one would expect for the career of an illustrious head of state.  Do not get me started on the use of the Roman numerals.  What the hell is that about?  Is there supposed to be some Ben-Hur connection?  It’s just a game and if viewers are lucky it won’t be a lopsided blowout.  On the other hand, I suppose this sport is good for the economy, but it baffles me who could afford the price of tickets in this economy, but somehow the stadiums are always packed.

On Saturday I relented and tuned into what I refer to as Day Before the Big Game Bullshit.  One of the segments was about the Super Bowl ads that would run during the game.  This year a thirty-second spot cost $3.5 million.  I wonder how many more bags of Doritos Frito-Lay expects to sell by running their Super Bowl ads, but I will admit that their spot, Man’s Best Friend, was my favorite – not that this will motivate me to eat Doritos.

As for Madonna strutting what’s left of her stuff during the half-time show, I did wince when she seemed to lose her footing climbing up a step and made a few other awkward dance moves.  Ever the trooper, Madge continued to hoof and I popped an Aleve in sympathy.  My back was aching just from watching her, but fortunately I made a recovery in time for the second half of nail-biting and screaming.

Lame Adventure 86: Please Do Stop the Music!

Today Elvis has been dead for thirty-three years and Madonna turns fifty-two.  Although I liked much of Elvis’s music, I could have easily lived without seeing most of his mediocre movies, and as for Madonna, her films are so bad, she makes Elvis seem like Laurence Olivier.  As for Madonna’s music, I am not much of a fan of that, either.

Yet, four years ago I had a friend who was hell-bent on seeing Madonna at Madison Square Garden when she was on the Confessions tour.  If I recall correctly, the sponsor was Geritol.  The ticket cost $169.50 and I still suffer chest pain when I think of all the other entertainment events I would have so preferred to see aside from the Material Middle Aged Girl gyrating all over a hydraulic horse while singing Like a Virgin.  Also, the date we saw her was July 2nd.  It was very hot and very humid both inside and outside the arena for she insisted that air conditioning dries out her throat.  It never occurred to me until then that a performer whose entire career has been based on shock and style with scant vocal ability posing a distant third on her talent chart, would suddenly channel her inner Maria Callas, but she did.  I can still feel the sweat trickling down my back while watching her perform.  One positive aspect of Madonna is that her music is so forgettable, it never sticks in my head, and that I appreciate very much.

A stuffed badger theatrical prop that was not used in any Elvis film nor on the Confessions tour.

Although one generally thinks of music as a source of pleasure, except perhaps when the military uses it as a form of audio assault, on a much more reduced level in everyday life, it can also be quite painful.  For example, my normally indifferent boss, Elsbeth, cannot refrain from vocalizing her disdain whenever she hears Sometime Around Midnight by the Airborne Toxic Event.  One of our former assistants played that song on her boom box and I warned her to never play it in The Boss’s presence unless she had a death wish.  My sidekick, Greg, is convinced that he’s being stalked by Dishwalla’s Counting Blue Cars. There may be some validity to this for it is uncanny that this fifteen-year-old song always seems to play on the radio whenever he is sitting at his desk.  My dear friend, Milton, practically transforms into the Wolfman whenever he hears Rihanna, but he seems to have particular contempt for Please Don’t Stop the Music.  As for me, aside from Barney crooning the I Love You song, Kylie Minogue’s Can’t Get You Out of My Head, is enough to make me want to rent a Zipcar and drive it off a cliff.

I am certain that anyone reading this post has at least one song, if not a number of songs, that is both torture to hear and sheer agony when stuck on one’s internal iPod.  Possibly it’s a song by either Elvis or Madonna.