The television's been on all day, the backdrop to TBG's day, a day he's spent hitting the pause button and calling me over to watch yet another beautiful San Francsico scene.
Sometimes, I could point and say We lived there and if I closed my eyes I could smell Marin.
The combined musical talents of our military were inspiring, but it was Lady Gaga, with her red sparkly eye shadow and her almost white hair and her loooong blue nails who brought the tears to my eyes.
She sang our National Anthem as if she actually understood the words.
I don't understand why Hyundai would think that the overprotective father was the way to start out the evening. We liked their computerized engineer much more, although the glowing implant was a little creepy.
It is not as creepy as the dirty razor campaign, though, which causes me to close my eyes and sing LALALALALA at the top of my lungs. Really.... people are eating.
And then there was the Dorito's baby and the ultrasound and if you haven't seen it click right over. I guarantee you'll guffaw.
And, again, I'm just a bit melancholy at Audi's beautiful tribute to The Starman.
The R8, a generation or two down the road from the one Jean Jennings and I rode around in, was as beautiful as the music.
And then, there was the NSX... and we were in lust.
Denver sacked Cam Newton and recovered the fumble and scored a touchdown as the ball tumbled into the end zone.
The game just got interesting. I seem to be rooting for Peyton Manning ... at least in this half.
Carolina's flying touchdown was awfully pretty, and the dancing, while ridiculous, was also adorable.
There's been a barrage of racist carping about the joy Cam Newton brings to the playing field. I'm just not that upset about someone who enjoys his work.
Living in Chicago with the 1985 Bears may have something to do with that. Jim McMahon's headband with Pete Rozelle's name scrawled on the terrycloth, the Super Bowl Shuffle (which seems to have disappeared from YouTube), Mike Singleterry's stare.... Cam Newton's antics don't come close to that standard... even if he does chew color coordinated gum.
Half time was certainly bouncy, and I enjoyed how happy everyone was.
Beyonce's gyrations made me nutty. Big Cuter tells me that I am old. He's right. So am I.
The Panthers were held to 7 points in the first half, and their kicker missed a 44 yard field goal at the start of the second half and suddenly I was entranced by a Pokemon commercial.
The Super Bowl is an interesting viewing experience.
The phone rang everytime there was something wonderful or something stupid and my boys were having such a good time dissecting the minutiae of strategy that I couldn't bear to ask them to speak with their inside voices but I insisted that they hang up so I could watch and listen to the weiner dogs run into the arms of the ketchups and mustards they love.
It was my first Awwwwww moment of the night.
Lest I forget that I was watching America's blood sport, that moment was followed by Budweiser being an American Man's Beer, with a wizened white guy flicking an orange slice off his not a fruit cup Bud on draft.
And I was about ready to sigh in despair when they ran the entire Super Bowl Babies song, and I realized the choir uniforms were the colors of the winning Super Bowl teams... except the crying Seahawks infant, who made me laugh and vow not to give up on the whole endeavor.
Christopher Walken does creepy better than anyone since Boris Karloff and I don't enjoy watching either one of them.
Helen Mirren can call out drunk drivers or read the telephone book and I'll pay attention.
Cam Newton on his knees, watching his pass that never was turn into 1st-and-goal for Denver, reminded me that some people really care about what I've been experiencing as the vehicle for advertising excellence.... or attempts in that direction.
I'm glad that I could happily cheer for Peyton Manning all evening, without incurring any angst.
The sad faces holding Panther turquoises towels have a young team with a bright future.
The Denver Broncos have a wily veteran who can now retire, the only quarterback with 200 wins in the history of the league.
My Colts loving relatives, Shannon of the Magic Fingers, my card playing Happy Ladies Club friend are all on Cloud 9.
I am going to publish this post and move on with my life.