1. Gonna have you nekkid, by the end of this song! What do Janet Jackson’s right breast and Adam Vinatieri’s game-winning field goal have in common? My daughter India made me miss them both! Super Bowl XXXVIII turned out to be an even better game than I expected, despite the hated Patriots winning it. Tom Brady and Jake Delhomme both deserve the “going to Disneyland” commercial. Also loved that both teams came out as a group, eschewing individual introductions. Be nice to see that become the norm. The halftime show was actually pretty hot, especially Kid Rock who needs to be licensed as the Official Rocker of All Things Sports-Related. Bawitdaba is the most perfect sports anthem ever. As for JJ’s “wardrobe malfunction,” I’d dismiss it completely if not for the picture the Daily News ran today of her looking at Justin Timberlake with what seems to be utter disgust right after it happened. Regardless, I don’t see what the big deal was as she had a huge silver pastie covering her nipple (which certainly suggests she was prepared for the exposure). The best thing that could come from it would be sparing us all from anymore replays of the Madonna-Britney kiss.
2. She bangs! She bangs! I noticed several visitors to this journal last week came via searches for the new American Idol, Billy Hung, who I mentioned in an aside in a post about TV. When I first saw him in the teasers, I felt bad for him. Seeing his audition in context, though, I’ve decided that he’s my new hero. Classic geek, civil engineering major, probably has spent the majority of his life avoiding social situations – and he gets up the nerve to go to the American Idol auditions. Think about that for a minute. There’s people that can actually sing that would pee their pants at the thought of facing not just Randy, Paula and Simon, but the production crews, the cameras, the people in the lobby dissecting every entrance and exit to the audition room…and the cameras. This kid, who can’t sing or dance a lick, went in there and took a chance on being completely humiliated in front of the entire country. In his intro, Ryan Seacrest compares him to last season’s disaster, Keith, of Like a Virgin infamy, but he gets it dead wrong. Keith was a goof, having some fun and hoping for a little attention. Billy Hung, I believe, was doing it to prove something to himself. There was no irony in his performance; no wink-wink, my agent’s waiting outside; no starfucking groupie trying to get a hug from Paula. He performed his song, entertaining as much for its ridiculousness as his earnestness. When he was done, and Simon prepared to lace into him, he said, “I already gave my best. I have no regrets at all.” (He also pointed out, hilariously, that he had “no professional training in singing.”) When he left, backpack slung over his shoulder as if he were simply strolling on campus headed to his next class, his head was held high, back straight and there was a casual ease to his stride. Unlike the majority of the untalented rejects who left angry, in tears or both, my guess is Billy Hung was enjoying one of the happiest moments of his life.
