Sunday, February 29, 2004
At the Gates of Hell
It was such a nice day today, I decided to take a walk. I ventured to my favorite spot in my neighborhood, landmarked by Hellgate Bridge (shown below).

Why is it called Hellgate? Glad you asked. A narrow stretch of water separates Queens from Randall's Island, just east of The Bronx. This body of water is where the East River meets the Atlantic Ocean. Back in the days when New Amsterdam was being settled, ships would pass through this inlet towards Manhattan, but twice a day the current would become so treacherous that sailors were convinced this was the gate of Hell. As if Satan himself was trying to rip their ship apart and drag all souls aboard to hell. Legend has it that a Spanish vessel loaded with millions of dollars in gold bars crashed along the rocks of Hellgate and that the gold now sits at the bottom, underneath the bridge, daring any man brave enough to enter the mouth of hell to salvage it.

Since it is Oscar Night, here are some random observations, desperately shallow observations:

- I don't care what anyone says, Billy Crystal still brings the funny. I'm sure he has made a deal with the devil, but he never disappoints.
- I can't decide who is prettier, Charlize Theron (looking a bit like Jean Harlow) or her boyfriend Stuart Townshend (looking a bit like a Roman God)
- Johnny Depp sure cleans up nice.
- Catherine Zeta Jones gets my vote as Consistently Drop-dead Gorgeous at Awards Ceremonies. I am convinced if she showed up the next years Oscar's in a sack, she'd outclass and outglam every other female. Damn you Michael! Damn you!
- Renee Zellweger wins the award for best reaction shot for attempting "Surprise"... right, because after you win the SAG and the Golden Globe and all those critics awards for the role, winning the Oscar is so damn shocking. Bonus points for daring to mention Tom Cruise in the same speech as Nicole Kidman.
- Weirdest thing that got me excited.... Heath Ledger and Naomi Watts sitting next to Diane Keaton. Man, I am weird.

posted by runnerbird | 9:34 PM

Saturday, February 28, 2004
I've Got Dreams to Remember
This is simply too weird not to share. I had a dream last night that I was locked in a nuclear fallout shelter somewhere under New York City with Paris and Nikki Hilton. There were a few other people around. We were the last of the human race or something. Nikki Hilton was a sweet, charming, intelligent girl who liked to play cards with me to pass the time. Paris was constantly in the corner smoking a cigarette and bitching everyone out. Nikki protected me from Paris's wrath. As the days turned into months, Nikki and I were best friends forever, much to Paris's horror. Paris cornered me and told me that once we got out of this underground hole, Nikki would never look at me again. I hit her and basically told her to "step, bitch."

As if I needed another reason to hate Paris Hilton, now she is invading my dreams. Damn it girl, isn't it enough that you've wormed your way into the collective consciousness of America, you have to worm your way into head? Paris, step bitch. Nikki, call me. I want to win back the twenty bucks I lost.

And now for something completely different. I rented the film Roger Dodger because, you know, Jennifer Beals is in it and my unhealthy "Single White Female" obssession with her grows by leaps and bounds. She didn't disappoint. Whatever charisma she had in Flashdance, she still has it and it's only gotten better with age.

posted by runnerbird | 6:09 PM

Thursday, February 26, 2004
Banned Together
Apparently, America is slipping and sliding its way back to 1950. This morning, I awoke to the news that Howard Stern was pulled from six radio markets for breaking Clear Channel's new "zero tolerance" ban on "obscene" programming. What's next? A good, old-fashioned book burning? Those are always fun.

The events of the past few weeks highlight the deep division that exists in this nation. The right-wing conservative who expound on the decaying morals of American society and progessive liberals who position themselves as keepers of the future, interested in moving the country forward rather than back. Each side is tugging their own way, hoping to pull America into their vision of a perfected future.

Sometimes, I feel that I am living in an important time in America's social history. I feel that we are the precipice of great change. Things are shifting so much so fast that I constantly have to remind myself how different things were only a short five years ago.

At the moment, I really don't know how far right or left the pendulum will swing. What will be the new definition of "normal" in American society five years from now? What new rights will I have? What rights dissolve before my eyes? Will I have the right to listen to whatever I want on my way to work? Or will I have to live under someone else's defintion of obscene?

posted by runnerbird | 9:55 PM

Wednesday, February 25, 2004
The Passion
I find the discussion surrounding Mel Gibson's new film The Passion of The Christ much more interesting than the film itself. Let me preface my thoughts by saying I have not seen the film yet and, most likely, I probably won't see this film for a very long time. So I will refrain from making grand, generalized statements and judgments about the film, only reiterate some observation others have made regarding the film's content. As forced-fed Catholic who has been trying to shake all the guilt hammered into me throughout ten years of Sunday school however, my opinion of this film will probably be anything but fair and impartial.

While most critics cannot agree if the film is anti-sematic, all seem to agree this is one of the most violent films ever to grace the screen. Some view the film's excessive level of blood and gore as necessary to truly capture the horrific death of Jesus that has, over the years, become all-too sanitized. His suffering diminished as we conveniently gloss over the hours and hours of torture he suffered at the hands of his Roman executioners. Others view the violence as excessive to the point of calling the film "torture pornography." I read one person described it as a "Jesus snuff film." Gibson has chosen to focus on the film hours of Jesus's life on Earth at the expense (perhaps) of his ultimate message of love and salvation.

Like everything other film in the history of cinema, how you feel about this film will have a lot to do with your personal experience, but specifically what you believe and the nature of your faith. This film will take on a different resonance if you believe Jesus is the son of God and died for your sins. The reason this story has survived (whether you believe its validity or not) is the timelessness of its themes. One man's struggle to do what is right despite his doubts and the sacrifices he must make. A man struggling with his destiny, one decided before he existed. The well-being of the one versus the well-being of the many. The struggle to do what is good and what is right despite it being the hardest thing to do.

I've struggled for many years with my faith. Not so much in my belief in God, but in the institution of the church. When I was nineteen, I made a very conscious decision to distance myself from the rhetoric spoon-fed to me as a child. I believe no institution should regulate my relationship with God. In the words of that Jersey-born prophet Kevin Smith, too much blood has been spilled in the name of belief because beliefs are set in stone, unchangable. I am more about having a "good idea" because ideas can change. They can be informed by time and experience. Ideas are born from life experience while beliefs dictate life experience.

Jesus might not be my co-pilot, but I try live my life as he taught. Selfless love, patience, understanding and seeing past yourself to help those around you. Not a bad blueprint if you ask me.

posted by runnerbird | 8:40 PM

Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Love and Marriage
I know I'm probably beating a dead horse by expounding endless on this topic, but since the horse is dead anyway, let me get a few final blows. The hitting commences now. "Deeply troubled" by the developments in San Francisco, President Bush made good on this threat to start the process instituting a constitutional amendment defining marriage as a union between a man and woman. While I'm hoping this amendment dies a slow, painful death somewhere along the lengthy amendment process, I have to remind myself that despite the mantle of liberty and freedom we carry and champion around the world, it was only a short four decades ago that African Americans were denied equal rights and protection under the law. Less than a century removed from the days were American women when denied equal rights and protection under the law.

A few decades ago, interracial marriage was still illegal in many parts of this country. It was considered unnatural, immoral and many would drag out their bibles to point to the passage where God, in his infinite wisdom, separated man into different races with different customs and languages. We should stay separate, as God intended. It says so in the Bible. Thirty years later, I hear some of the same pointless rhetoric being dragged out to justify discrimination against gay men and women.

There is no great gay agenda. They are not trying to take over the world. They are not trying to convert your children. They just want the right to visit a partner in the hospital or handle their estate after death. They want the right to raise a family without worrying someone will take their children away. They want to have healthcare coverage and other benefits heterosexual couples take for granted. While I don't think any same-sex couple think their love requires an official government document to make their commitment any more legitimate, unfortunately almost everything in the world outside of their home does. If gay men and women want to get married, I say, let them get married. Let them be just as miserable in the martial institution as the rest of us.

posted by runnerbird | 11:01 PM

Sunday, February 22, 2004
Drift Away
A couple of weeks ago, I conducted an experiment. I wanted to determine how many times a day my mind drifted away. How many times a day random images, daydreams, thoughts and other jumbled stuff popped into my head. Between the hours of ten o'clock in the morning and five o'clock in the afternoon. My mind drifted a total of thirty six times. So much for trying to be a productive human being.

I live a lot of my life in my head. I guess this stems from growing up in a crammed New York City apartment where private space was more something you created than physically existed. A vacation from your surroundings was as easy as thinking about some place hard enough. I was happiest when I was alone, imagining different places, different people, different situations. Over the years, not much has changed. The imagining has become much more vivid, the soundtrack is different, but I am still a dreamer at heart.

posted by runnerbird | 8:32 PM

Saturday, February 21, 2004
Flash in the Pan
I think I realized it was a mistake when the Blockbuster clerk said with a slight smirk, "Flashdance is due next Sunday," but what can I do? I've grown nostalgic for the welder by day/stripper by night girl who dreams of becoming a ballet dancer story since being exposed to weekly dose of Jennifer Beals on The L Word. The gravitational pull of the film proved impossible to resist.

The film has not aged well. Maybe it is the two or three pointless montage sequences. Maybe it is the three or four pointless dance sequences. Maybe it is that leg warmers just don't look as cool as they did in 1983. Perhaps, it is a combination of all these factors and that the film's plot could be summed up in two words "she dances." Tact on another two words, "she's sexy" and essentially, there is your plot. Aside from the finale, the best sequences seem pretty 1983 "Duran Duran meets Prince with a just a hint of Flock of Seagulls."

Thankully, I stopped short of my original plans for the weekend. I was going to have a "F-ing Dancing, 80s Style" movie weekend. I realized Friday night that three of the "greatest" dance films of the eighties begin with the letter "F"... Footloose, Fame and Flashdance. Weird, huh? Even weirder, I have themed movie weekends. I am such a loser

posted by runnerbird | 8:32 PM

Friday, February 20, 2004
It's the End of the World
In a sure sign of the coming apocalypse, an Adam Sandler film made my mother cry. 50 First Dates is a surprisingly sweet little movie that has more in common with Never Been Kissed than Happy Gilmore. Drew Barrymore co-stars as the object of Sandler's persistant affection. Sandler and Barrymore have a playful, endearing, natural chemistry that makes this film almost impossible not to like, at least just a little. And it made my mother cry. As much as she tried to hide it, I saw her wiping away the tears during one of the films more tender moments. I got scared for a second, I thought the world was about to implode.

In another sign the end might just be near, the Mayor of San Francisco is actually using common sense and "legalizing" gay marriage within the county limits (a politician using his brain, I think I see the four horsemen riding on the horizon). So far, over three thousand same-sex marriage licenses have been issued as couples from around the United States flock to make their union legal. I was particular touched by a story two women, together for fifty years, who wanted to be one of the first to make it legal.

I am particular impressed with the strength Mayor Gavin Newsom convictions. He made the decision to make this political grandstand after Bush's same-sex constitutional amendment aside during the State of the Union address earlier this year. He returned to his city (he has only been in office since January) and set the wheels in motion to legalize same-sex unions. He feels, like the Massachusetts Supreme Court, that anything less than equality is discrimination. His political future is cloudy at best, but he felt it was necessary to point out what he felt was wrong. To send a message to Bush and all opponents of this issue. After three thousand marriages, the world didn't end, the globe is still spinning, Jesus didn't return, the world wasn't swallowed into the fifth ring of hell and the sanctity of marriage is still intact. So, for following your heart and supporting what you think is right, all else be damned, I salute you, Mayor. I believe in politicans again, for the next few minutes at any rate.

posted by runnerbird | 11:03 PM

Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Get a Room
I'm a sentimental romantic fool. Despite the jaded surface, I believe in love and the possibility that it can rock your world. I'm a big mushball who will cry at weddings, smile from ear to ear when two people live their happily ever after in films and I also have been known to get the warm fuzzies from hearing Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes." Which makes my reaction to public displays of affection even more curious.

Today, there was a couple on the train ride home who could not keep their hands off each other. Not in any crude sort of way, but in an endearing, sweet, loving sort of way that would normally make me sigh with a contented happiness. Today, however, I just wanted to shout, "my god, people get a room!" Maybe I just wasn't in the mood to see happiness so proudly on display. From the facial expressions around the train car, I wasn't the only one a second or two from slapping their romantic bliss. Wasn't it only two days ago I was writing about the "grand possibility of love" ... yeah, how quickly I've turned back into a bitter spinster.

posted by runnerbird | 10:12 PM

Monday, February 16, 2004
She is Me
I love photography, but I hate being in pictures. My aversion to having my picture taken started early in life. At my first birthday, I cried while people snapped roll after roll of me with my birthday cake. I think it had something to do with the outfit I was wearing, a red and white horrible seventies inspired number and my hair cut, I looked like a little boy. I think I sensed I didn't want this fashion moment "captured" forever. The last decent picture I took was in 1983, shown below.

Don't I look thrilled. That was the last time I had a decent hair style. Fashionable even by today's standards.

This afternoon, I was playing around with my camera settings and different light sources. Imagine my surprise when I found I took a decent photograph, shown below.

I look nothing like this. I blame the lighting in the bathroom, which apparently, can make anyone look decent.

posted by runnerbird | 6:57 PM

Saturday, February 14, 2004
Alone Again...Naturally
Just when I feel secure and happy in my stasis as a free, unattached single gal in the city, Valentine's Day comes around, mockingly screaming "loser" as it bitch slaps me right in face. So, I decided to combat the only way I know how, by retreating into a warm, comforting, uncomplicated cocoon of "movie love" where love is always right, sex is always great and everyone knows exactly what to say.

At the centerpiece of my "movie love" marathon was the ABC miniseries The Thorn Birds, just recently released on DVD. You know nothing says Happy Valentine's Day like the story of a priest who breaks his vows. So not exactly "happy, happy, joy, joy, oh sunny day" love, more the "angsty, longing, dying from the thought of wanting you" variety. After twenty years, I was pleasantly surprised that this series still holds up. It is just as dramatic, epic, sensual and sexy as it was in 1983.

The adjectives melodramatic and cheesy could be tossed into the mix as well, but it is finely aged chedder or brie. In every scene, Meggie Cleary is crying because someone just died, someone just broke her heart, something she loved was taken away or someone didn't love her enough. In every scene, Father Ralph is either holier than thou at his love for god and the church or resisting his love for Meggie, always failing miserably. What struck a cord this time around was the love/hate relationship between the Cleary women. It proved to be almost as interesting as the forbidden love between Ralph and Meggie. Since I am hopelessly shallow, I must comment that the love scenes are still some of the most sensual, hopelessly swoon-worthy moments ever captured on film. Wait, did I just say that out loud? Forget I said anything.

"That's not even a scam."
"What's a scam?"
"Going out as friends."
"No, a scam is lusting."
"Then, what's a date?"
"Pre-arrangement. With the possibility of love."
"And what's ...love?"

Stealing another train of thought from the master Cameron Crowe, I think love is captured in Robert Doisneau's photograph "Le baiser de l Hotel de Ville."

The possibility of love, in all its glorious pain and pleasure, is what makes this sweet life worth while. The possibility of connection, however fleeting or momentary, with another person is love. And even if I never find it, the joy must be in the attempt.

posted by runnerbird | 11:22 PM

Friday, February 13, 2004
Angel, R.I.P.
After five seasons of fighting evil in tight pants and oversized brow, the WB has decided not to renew Angel for a sixth season according to a statement released by the network late today. At the moment, it is unclear whether the series will finish out its twenty-two episode run for the season or cease production once it wraps episode eighteen. The press release alluded to the possibility of doing an Angel TV movie next season to "wrap up loose ends," but with series creator Joss Wheldon's somewhat tense relationship with the network stemming from Wheldon's decision to jump to UPN for Buffy's last two seasons, who knows for sure.

While the news does sadden me a bit, I would be lying if I said I was truly surprised. The show shift from prolonged story arcs and to a more "monster of the week" format wasn't exactly the brightest of moves. And if I start talking about Spike and how he should have stayed dead, we will be here for hours.

Angel was a very under-appreciated show. It was always in the shadow of its more praised, more regarded sister show Buffy. Truth be told, I always liked Angel a little more than Buffy. The classic themes of redemption and the eternal good versus evil struggle never cease to intrigue me. Angel was a very dark character, a tortured soul who quite literally has a demon inside that is always trying to get out.

Among some of the standout episodes were he gives up the chance to be human and be with his "true-love" Buffy because he knows he is of no use to the good fight without his powers. He must carry the burden of a day that never happened once he reverses time in order to revert back to a vampire. My favorite episode is called "Epiphany" where our hero realizes that the battle between good and evil is one that he will never win, but it is better to do something, anything to help than do nothing.

I salute the show that brought us the term HoYay and the only role Elisabeth Rohm didn't suck in. We shall miss you.

posted by runnerbird | 10:01 PM

Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Just a Steel-Town Girl on a Saturday Night
The only thing truly shocking about Showtime's The L Word is how incredible Jennifer Beals looks. Yes, the Jennifer Beals that inspired American women to cut the collars off their sweatshirts. Yes, the Jennifer Beals who inspired me to jump around in leg warmers whlist listening to Michael Sembello's Manic (oh, whatever you did it too...if you are old enough). Yes, the Jennifer Beals who poured a bucket of water over her body and made me wonder, as an inquistive five year old, why are those men cheering her on? The Jennifer Beals who made welding sexy. The Jennifer Beals who made me want to be a dancer even though she didn't dance for one frame in Flashdance. Yes, that Jennifer Beals.

Moved by her performance in this week's episode of The L Word, I looked her up on IMDB and was surprised to discover she is forty, but doesn't look a day older than thirty-four. She looks the same age as her co-star, Laurel Holloman, who is a full eight years her junior. There is such a thing as growing older gracefully, but then there is Jennifer Beals. I wish I look half as good when I turn forty. I wish I looked half as good now.

In other equally pointless news, Catherine Zeta Jones has signed on to play an Interpol agent in the Ocean's Eleven sequel, cleverly titled Ocean's Twelve. Catherine Zeta Jones, Brad Pitt and George Clooney in the same film might be enough for me to implode in my seat. I could barely contain my ear to ear grin during Intolerable Cruelty. Yes, I realize my shallow viewing ways might just be getting out of control. I blame you, SVU Forums!

posted by runnerbird | 9:12 PM

Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Time of Your Life, So Dance Damn it!
In a sure sign I have lost some of my higher brain functions, I am counting the days until Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights makes it debut on the big screen. Even the film's horrible tag line, "She will have the time of her life. He will show her," has done little to thwart my desire to see it. The original film holds a special place in my heart for reasons I will probably never understand. Maybe it was the dance moves which I imitated endless in the privacy of my room. Maybe it was the love story, which in its sweet and uncomplicated way, taught me that nobody puts Baby in the corner. Everyone loves a good "boy meets girl because of an abortion" love story. There have been better, more intelligent films, but I watch Dirty Dancing at least once a year when the mood strikes me. It just has the right combination of music, romance and sassy latin dancing and I've stopped trying to explain why I've seen it more times than is probably healthy.

When I first heard about this truly unnecessary sequel (well, it's more of a prequel actually...if you want to be techincal), I could barely suppress an angry eye roll. Why? Why? Why? It takes place in pre-revolution Cuba? Patrick Swayze has a cameo? There is no Baby to put in any corner? Surely, there are more worthy films to bankroll, so why bother to revive a long-dormant film "franchise," and taint the "good" name of one of my favorite films. After I saw the trailer, however, I was singing a different tune. When is this hitting theaters? And can I buy tickets now? This film is appealing to my vapid, shallow side by casting two incredibly attractive leads to salsa dance slow and sexy across the screen. No really, this can't be fair!

Diego Luna was the cute guy from that art house hit Y Tu Mama Tambien and Romola Garai was the object of young Daniel Deronda's affection in the PBS/BBC adaption of the novel Daniel Deronda. With this kind of cast, how bad could it suck? Don't answer that!

posted by runnerbird | 10:59 PM

Sunday, February 08, 2004
Beantown Blues
Whose bright idea was it to go to Boston in the middle of Winter? Besides freezing my ass off and well, freezing my ass off, nothing too excited happened. I caught up with a good friend, had some good conversation and left with a smile on my face and bags under my eyes due to lack of sleep. All in all, a good time. Here are a few things I discovered on my journey north:

Regional Theater aka Broadway Ultra-Light:
While in Boston, a friend and I caught "The Graduate" with Lorraine Brocco (yes, again) and while she was on her game, the rest of the cast... not so much. On Broadway, Ben and Elaine were both played by charming, graceful actors who were perfect for their parts (probably not as perfect as Jason Biggs and Alicia Silverstone, but I digress). Boston's Ben was duller than dishwater and way too old for the role. He looked like the graduate of a medical school in his late twenties rather than a fresh-faced twenty-one year old vunerable enough to succumb to Mrs. Robinson's viper-like charm. This Ben lacked a certain sweet charisma which made everything he did seem stalkerish, crazy and just plain creepy. I didn't want Elaine to end up with him. I didn't want any woman to end up with him.

Gay Marriage:
Over the weekend, the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruling that basically paves the way for legal "gay marriage" in the State was all over the newspapers. On our way out of town, we saw an anti-gay marriage rally in Boston Commons. Anyone who reads this blog on any sort of regular basis can probably guess my opinion. Two of closest friends are gay and in a relationship. I enjoy Queer As Folk and The L-Word. I have enjoyed the gay pride parade on a few occassions, love Melissa Etheridge's music and have been two Indigo Girls concerts, so yep, I have no problem with gay marriage. I support it, morally, ethically, spiritual and intellectually. While I always respect people's opinions, including those that are in direct opposition to what I firmly believe, I have yet to talk to a person who can give a valid, intelligent, informed reason why gay men and women should not be allowed to marry without resorting to "in the bible, it's wrong... god didn't intend it that way... it isn't normal." First, anyone with any firm grasp of history will realize the Bible was written by man, constructed by man, interrupted by man. Jesus has become the very thing he was fighting against, but really that is too long and complicated to go into now. Second, if we adjust our State/Federal laws to mirror those taught in the Bible, maybe we should repel all equal rights legislation. After all, in the Bible, women have no power or choices. Lastly, what is normal anyway? I don't think someone who believes in a religious doctrine so completely they never seek to question it is far from normal. But, what do I know, I went to Boston in the middle of January, so yeah I'm not exactly the smartest person alive.

posted by runnerbird | 11:27 PM

Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Tits, Boobies and Breasts
For proof that Americans are an uptight, repressed lot or better yet, like that kid in high school who talked about sex constantly, but was scared shitless by actually having sex, you need look no further than the fallout surrounding Janet Jackson's "costume malfunction" during the Superbowl's halftime special.

While Janet Jackson is apologizing like she backed up into a crowded sidewalk or killed someone while showing off her shotgun, and everyone else is busy pointing the finger of blame (CBS and MTV are a bunch of bloody liars if you ask me), I just want to shout, "it's a breast, people. Calm down!" Over half the people in the world have breasts and I'm pretty sure the other half will likely see a breast before they die.

Was this an ill-advised, attention grabbing stunt ala Madonna/Britney/Christina same-sex kissage? Yes, of course. Ms. Jackson would have probably never done it if she didn't have an album coming out. Was it probably the "wrong" place to do it? Well, seven o'clock network television isn't what I'd call the "right" place. But to treat it as a federal crime. To bring a law suit against all parties involved because it somehow "damaged" your fragile psyche or those of your children is completely ridiculous. I'd much rather have my kid see a breast than half the things that are considered "a-okay" by television networks. We can see rape, murder and other horrible acts of violence, but not a breast? Ask yourself if that makes any sense.

Will we likely laugh at all this in a few months, wondering why we made such a big deal of Janet's well-rounded asset? I can only hope, but this "event" highlights an undercurrent of shame and repression that still exists in American society (damn you Puritians and your ideals). The female body is something to fear, something to hide, something to be ashamed of. I think this an even more dangerous message to send all those little girls who watched "boobgate" unfold and wondered to themselves, why is a breast such a big deal?

posted by runnerbird | 7:27 PM

Sunday, February 01, 2004
The Game's On...Let's Eat!
It is Superbowl Sunday across this great nation of ours. Another excuse to stuff four pounds of chip and dip into our stomach and drink a nice cold one. I'm one of those people who only becomes a sports fan during the playoffs and finals. I was watching a bit of the game during dinner and turned into a raving sport lunatic, shouting at the TV (Come on, where was the QB coverage? Interception, what?!) and generally making life miserable for everyone around me.

Does anyone watch the Superbowl for the football anymore? The New York Times had an article today about the fact that there are no superstars in the big game anymore. No electric personalities who make the event truly must see. Gone are the days of Broadway Joe and the clean, wholesome Joe Montana. Most Americans couldn't tell you the starting quarterback for Carolina. I certainly can't. I watch the big game for the commercials. Clever, groundbreaking commercials. My mother was watching the game for the half-time show. Apparently, she wanted to see Janet Jackson.

As expected, New England is currently in the lead as the fourth quarter winds down. I've already turned off the television. I guess I have to wait for the NBA playoffs to get interested in sports again.

posted by runnerbird | 9:17 PM