Movin' the chains

I’m home from another delightfully exhausting weekend, I have the house quietly to myself and an ice-cold cherry-lime La Croix on a coaster next to me, and I’m going to spend my evening listening to Mozart and reading a book. And being thankful for many, many things.

It's like he's omniscient or something

I say "very interesting football game currently taking place" when I'm at a Super Bowl party and I want to give everyone the impression that I have a nuanced understanding of what's going on. And that I even care.

Super Bowl glory

Five years ago I actually headlined the halftime show at the Super Bowl. Well, technically I just led my team to confetti-covered victory at the Super Bowl. Well, technically I just had seats over the dugout with Gisele Bundchen at the Super Bowl. Well, technically I just sold commemorative popcorn at the Super Bowl.

OK, fine. I was just in Indianapolis the weekend of the Super Bowl. But I was visiting my gracious and hospitable friend Bill and we had a great time touring the Super Bowl village and riding the Super Bowl shuttle with Madonna and shopping at the Super Bowl store that had a convenient mortgage department right inside the door to help us buy commemorative shirts and other merchandise.

But I didn't need a mortgage or commemorative shirts or merchandise because I had my $12 all-purpose sportsing shirt. And that's all I needed to inflate my footballs.

#DontPoint

Judging by the profligate avalanche of exclamation points in my Facebook feed tonight, it is fully evident that OMG Lady Gaga, OMG the Patriots won and OMG the Falcons lost.

Duly noted.

I'm proud to have such a diversity of enthusiastic friends with a diverse range of passions, but with Congress' recent motions to gut the Environmental Punctuation Agency, global exclamation point deforestation on the scale I've seen tonight -- especially in the new-growth forests of exclamation points that are really little more than ambitious periods -- is posing a devastating threat to our future expressions of enthusiasm, mockery, disbelief, hostility and, in some cases, show tunes.

If we don't enact voluntary rationing and preservation measures today, we'll condemn our future generations to having no option but to make sad, confusing little exclamations like these:

Trump sucks,
Hello, Dolly(
Go, Cubs, Go ...
Jake is awesome;
He's got a gun*
Don't make me stop this car?

The list grows more heartbreaking by the day.

I'm in no way trying to censor you. And I wholly encourage you to continue being excited that you won a new cow, WTFing your heart out when yoga class gets moved to Studio B where the cucumber water is never room temperature, curling up in a ball and yelling Adele lyrics at your cat because you're always alone on Valentine's Day, and -- as if you could even stop yourself -- OMGing over every blog post I write.

But please. Enthusiasticate responsibly. Punctuate judiciously. And when you must, use just one exclamation point at a time.

Yes. Just one. You can do it. Don't make me stop this car?

The Gronk in a loincloth

We're watching the Super Bowl on a 30-minute delay, but here are my opinions about the first-half commercials, not that anyone needs them but it's my blog and I am burning with essential psychographic insight:

• The Airbnb diversity commercial is as awesome as all of Facebook had promised it would be. But it didn't include the company name and I don't know the logo and the commercial content isn't related to the product so without being told beforehand I wouldn't have known what all that awesomeness was for.
• Christopher Walken reciting boy-band lyrics will inspire me to buy-buy-buy pretty much anything.
• Same with Jeffrey Tambor shushing stainy people.
• A car is a car is a car to me so all the many awesome car commercials I've seen have been totally awesome but I have no idea what brands they were each tied to.
• I'm the same bewildered consumer when it comes to wireless carriers. But Daddy's dead. Suddenly funny.
• The Gronk in a loincloth. The Gronk in a loincloth. The Gronk in a loincloth.
• DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. If you get caught between me and the theater on opening day, you WILL be trampled. But if you promise to be quiet and show the profound reverence and worship that is due to all things Pirates of the Caribbean, you are welcome to join me.
• I'm not kidding about the silence.
• The Gronk in a loincloth. The Gronk in a loincloth. The Gronk in a loincloth.