red, white and bruce

When it comes to digging on pig skin and tailgates, I didn't get a gene for either one. And, hell, I don't even like chicken wings but for twelve minutes last night, I couldn't have imagined spending my time any better. Somewhere between the apple pie and Chevrolet is a little guy from Jersey who's big sound helps to define our nation....a hodge podge of color, smarts and chutzpah with the pining of a broken heart and an empty wallet or two thrown in whether we like it or not. That's America, baby. Springsteen proves time and time again why he is The Boss. When you have the big phallic fireworks blowing up behind ya and you can twirl a guitar like that around your 59 year old hip on the downbeat..well, you are da man and there is just nothin' nobody can do about it. Someone who was born to run it, rock it and lift us when we need it most....he's the mascot we can all use right now and a great way to start off the new year with our new leader toward new beginnings. My kids aren't quite there yet, but that will change. Right now, if Belle isn't on the stage, twirling in yellow, then it just doesn't cut it. Besides, boys are stinky, Mom. For this old gal though, that mini-set was exactly what I wanted. And along with my Big Gulp of Merlot, just what I needed. Yessir, between that and our historic election, I may just pull myself out of this seasonal depression yet.