Thursday, March 30, 2006

The crocuses are blooming!


My good friend has this gramma or aunt (or even it might be her mom!) who she tells me signals the arrival of spring by exclaiming in her charming european accent "The crocuses are blooming!" and I hear it in my head whenever, well, the crocuses bloom. Today was my first crocus bloom! This isn't my best picture, but i didn't feel like breaking out the film camera with the macro lens, waiting to get it developed, whatever. This is the first bloom in my garden and I'm not waiting to celebrate! So I used my cheapo digital camera to do it.

So of course, since the temperature hit the upper 50s, we dusted off the grill, and grilled up the rest of a pack of some Italians** that we had in the freezer. I'd used three of them for a recipe for some wintery white bean, rosemary, and Italian sausage soup that was really good. But today we used the rest of the pack for their intended (or at least to Milwaukeeans) purpose! Spring is here! As Brian says "Hey, we were able to break out the grill before the time change!" That's a good milestone.

OK, off to Ice Skating lessons... Its nice to have to bring an extra jacket to go INSIDE!

**short for Italian Sausages. We didn't accost guys with names like Luigi, Marco and Antony and roast them or anything.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Bucks: That's where I want to be!

Well, even if the Bucks didn't play one of their best games this season (the Milwaukee Journal used or quoted the word "fun" 5 times this morning), if the blogsphere is to be believed, this was a good night to miss American Idol to head Downtown for some hoops. But it was the best game all season and I'm glad that we were actually there to see it. First, Brian and I attended a little pre-game soiree for season and partial-season ticket holders, in some tropical-plant bedecked reception room at the Bradley Center. Lots of sports fan appetisers which I considered dinner and probably overate: buffalo chicken pieces, mozz sticks, crudities with a choice of three dips. One was this really tasty lime cilantro thing, another was standard ranch, and a third was labeled "roasted garlic and spinach" but for the life of me there was no evidence of spinach in it. Shortly before the game GM Larry Harris spoke a little (!) to us, and just when you think, "Geez, that guy is really long-winded," some even more long-winded fan asks him this four-part lecture disguised as a question and released the string on Larry's windup. Larry's good, though. Totally puts this guy in his place, but very elegantly and politely, and doesn't publicly second-guess Terry "The White Shadow" Stotts regarding coaching decisions, like Mr Long Winded Fan was baiting him to do. That's just a standard management best practice. He also gets poins for not uttering the phrase "rebuilding year" like most management does when their team is struggling to finish the season over .500.

I slipped out of the party to catch the anthem, which turned out to be unnecessary. They brought back saxophonist Jeremy Scott, but Mr. Scott clearly doesn't read my blog, else he wouldn't have increased the Kenny G factor on tonight's anthem: he out-KennyGed Kenny G! There wasn't a phrase -- not a single rest -- that wasn't filled with noodly arpeggio solely for the sake of noodly arpeggio. It was like too much buttercream icing flowers on the cake. Jeremy, email me and I'll be glad to send you an iTunes gift certificate so you can load up on some Coltrane influences you so badly need to revisit. (I won't insult you by implying you don't already have plenty of Coltrane himself -- on vinyl at that.) Scott clearly has the chops, but he's evidently forgotton the reason people hate KennyG, Mariah Carey and their ilk so much is that they hotdog it for not other reason (like, uh, maybe the song calls for it?!?!) than to prove they can hotdog it. Jeremy: you don't need to prove anything to us. Just play the freaking antherm, throw an occassional stylistic flourish in there, and be done with it. You're good. Trust your audience. We'll still clap. It’s the anthem after all.

Ah the Bucks! They take the court and Phoenix is out there, and for the first half, it’s a real barnburn. I'm not paying attention to any of the other promotional crap that much because nothing different or remarkable's happening, plus the game is, as the Journal mentioned this morning, FUN to watch. I don't think the lead, by either team, was ever greater than 2-3 points in the first half. Great pretty moves by my ballet dancing black tights clad boys, lots of passing, sneaking in to slam dunk. And for a while there, some ironic fun watching 6'3" Steve Nash man-to-man covering 7"0" Bogut. Nash, man, gotta love him. Perfect pairing, as they both look like the kind of guys who sit around listening to old Soundgarden and Clutch LPs in the off-season. But that first whole half, it's just call-and-response from both teams, a fine matchup.

Nothing to shout about on the halftime show. They brought out both UWM men's and women's hoops teams, as we are all still amazed that both in recent years have been making appearances at The Tournament. But its not like they did anything there. If this were Marquette, we'd be like, so what? You went to The Tournament instead of the NIT. Whoop-de-doo. I think we're all so shocked that a state university other than the flagship campus even has a viable Division 1 team, that we have to give them a round of applause. Oh, and they doled out some $1,000 scholarships to some deserving kids to justify their existence at center court, but how far does $1,000 take you at UWM these days? 3 credit hours and some used books, that's what. I'd better stick some more $$$ into Stella and Sammy's 541 plans at this rate. Anyway, there's plenty of dead time on the court after this, so Steve Nash must've guessed it was OK to start taking warmup shots with 4 minutes left before buzzer, well before anybody else came out. He almost looked like some high school kid who won some contest with a prize of being allowed to shoot baskets at halftime.

So while there wasn't anything to shout about from the fan's point of view at halftime, there must've been some shouting or whatnot in the locker room. I say this because if the first half wasn't entertaining enough, the Bucks come out, and apparently they turned the force field around the 3 point line, because that's all the shots the Bucks are taking -- and they're hitting them, beautifully, nothin' but net! I don't think they even attempted any two-pointers! Bam! Bam! Bam! THIS is what I paid season ticket prices to see, Larry! They're up by 10 or so, then 20, and with 3:40 left in the 3rd quarter, its Royales With Cheese for the house as they hit 100 points, and clearly they're going to win. The Energee girls are so excited they come out and do their thing to Weezer's "Beverly Hills" a schtick I've seen them do before: they really do look like a bunch of LA valley girls who will do whatever it takes to get their hands on some 90210 real estate. I have to wonder if they -- or a majority of people -- realize this is Weezer, and thus, the sentiment "That's where I wanna be" is satire. Irony. All that clever-dick stuff. Oh well, Rivers Cuomo can smirk all the way to the bank.

By the fourth quarter, the Bucks have all but wiped the court with the Suns pulling way ahead by something like 20, and the only question remaining is whether they can hit 140. Naah, but 132 is the final score. Brian mused, "Wow, this is just like old-fashioned 1970s NBA" and he was right. So I have the mental energy to scope out the black socks report. Some of the Suns are wearing them, some aren't. Phoenix's uniforms are purple with orange trim. No black socks wearing is justified, unless you want to count the ridiculous purple trimmed with deer-hunter orange shoes worn by # 22, James Jones. It’s a good thing for a good portion of the NBA that the fug snarkarellas only focus on celebrity women. They'd have a field day with this.

Monday, March 27, 2006

As promised, evidence of spring


Well here it is. The picture I took a week ago of the first daffodils poking through the mulch, with the promise of spring. I have a friend down South who says her daffodils have come and gone. That's OK. Today it hit 48 degrees here in Milwaukee.

It's still basketball season, and Brian and I are going to a pregame fru-fru party tomorrow night at the Bradley Center for people who have season or partial season tickets. Then back to the usual. Since its March Madness, and nobody gives a hoot about pro ball this month, this might be anticlimatic, but then again, my NCAA pool (as well as everybody else's) is shot. That Brad Pitt game should have been the clue, especially when that's ALL they talked about. That, and a "tradition like no other" ... the ads for the Masters' on CBS.

Anyway: March madness, the ads for the Masters', the "let's party up the season ticket holders and lock 'em in for next year before they completely throw in the towel on us and Terry 'The White Shadow' Stotts" party, trying to decide where to go for Easter Vigil mass (the Archbishop says a good Easter Vigil mass -- we'll probably hit the cathedral again this year), scoping out the Milwaukee summer free concert schedule (not everybody has posted their lists yet), yup, spring is here.

Oh, and this is my first photo I've loaded onto my blog. You'd think, if you've read my bio, that a person in IT wouldn't be so thrilled about this, but these days, the field is so siloed that everybody's a friggin' specialist. My speciality is not going live until I'm absolutely positive it will work. And that's why, although you may note my archives go only back to November '05, I had the idea to do this weblog thing, oh, back in 2000 before this kind of software was even popular. And, uh, I'm still not sure its gonna work, but sometimes you have to live dangerously.

Bring on the daffodils!

Saturday, March 25, 2006

Wow! I got my first spam comment!!!

And i can't even remember where it was. Well, now I've turned on word verification. I'll moderate comments when the need arises.

Wow. I'm being spammed. To quote Navin Johnson: "I'm somebody! This is the kind of exposure that MAKES people!"

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Spring is evident: I.Can.Not.Wait.

As I am still a photography luddite (or silver gelatin snob, to be honestly accurate), you're going to have to wait until my pictures come back from Snapfish, but trust me on this, spring is evident here in Gardening Zone 4! This past week, I've taken pictures of tulips and daffodils poking their way out of the ground, and the crocuses are going to bloom any day now.

Last fall I did something I've always wanted to do. I dug up my entire front lawn, tilled it, and then splurged and ordered some 150 tulips to plant in my postage stamp of a City of Milwaukee lot front yard. I Can.Not.Wait. until they bloom. I will post pictures. But for now, I'm just thrilled, seeing those little spears poking through the mulch. And I plant crocuses just because they come so early, they really do convince me that spring is coming.

My sounds of spring aren't here yet, but I'm keeping my ears open: The "tink" of people batting balls across the street at the baseball/softball diamond, the baby birds yelling about the sun coming up, the schluppppBOOMCRACK of the next door neighbor boy practicing his skateboard moves. Any day now I'll hear these. But its the "tink" of the ball meeting the bat that says "WINTER's OVER" to me.

Personally, I take a 20 mile shakedown cruise on my bike on Easter Sunday to celebrate the spring, no matter how cold it is on Easter. That's just the day I say "That's it. Time to ride."

But that's why I plant the crocuses. Because I can't wait for spring, and I'll take whatever evidence I can get that its coming. I.Can.Not.Wait.

Monday, March 13, 2006

Thank God for WMSE! Happy Birthday!

This week WMSE radio celebrates 25 years on the air. What a jewel WMSE is! What a sparkling jewel in Milwaukee's buried treasure of gems! (This is my continuing thing about Milwaukee: its chock full of wonderful gems of culture, but its so afraid and unsure of itself that it keeps them hidden, like its afraid they'll be labeled as "different." On the other hand, I love Milwaukee's beer-and-brats charm, but someday it's going to realize that the two can co-exist, and wonderfully so).

I've lived a lot of places, and have only run into a few radio stations as wonderfully satisfiying to a music lover as WMSE. And I'm not talking about the kind of music lover who just likes that there's tunes on the radio. I'm not talking about the kind of person for whom music is wallpaper, there, unnoticed, taken for granted, and then accepts whatever dreck the president of Sony has decided we will like. I'm talking about the kind of person who hears something they haven't heard before, and runs out and learns everything they can about it so they can hear more, more, more. I'm talking about the kind of person whose list of "people who saved my life" includes musicians and songwriters. I'm talking about the kind of person who makes mix tapes for their friends as a gift, the kind of person who meets a new friend and immediately inspects their record collection to get a fix on who they are.

The thing about WMSE is that it's got that college radio immediacy, but its really not a college radio station anymore. At a college station, the DJs are there for four years, tops, and have only just begun to find a niche and a voice, and then BLAM, they're in the "real world" of commercial radio (if they even take that career path) and Lee Abrams (or whoever's designing formats these days) hands 'em a playlist, a script, and you're just a talking head. At WMSE, a lot of the DJs have been at it for more than four years. They've each got a distinctive voice that matches their particular niche, whether its hardcore punk, garage rock, freeform jazz, new age, funk and rap, oldschool country+western. They do everything, and they do it well because they are just as obsessed about music as the people (like me) who open up their checkbooks every year during their pledge drive to keep them on the air. You can't package this format and sell it around, because it has to grow organically. It has to feature local music, it has to have DJs who actively follow their particular scene both nationally and locally. It takes a lot of work to grow it yourself, which is why few radio stations that are this eclectic or experimental are not "college stations." I've only run across a few in my travels, the wonderful WHFS out of Washington DC, the amazing WFMU out of Boston. WXRT in Chicago used to be like this, but in the past 20 years they've been held hostage by "adult alternative" and have not been as groundbreaking as they used to be. 'FMU, 'HFS, and 'MSE are still groundbreaking EVERY DAY.

In fact, WMSE has kept my mind open about all kinds of music, and me and my family are richer as a result. I used to say I hate country and that rap doesn't do anything for me. That's before I started listening to the Chicken Shack (Friday mornings from 9-12) and the Boogie Bang (Saturday afternoons). I often wonder if people who aren't into rock and roll, or specifically, "alternative" just haven't listened to it on WMSE, because I want to shake people and say "Alternative isn't the formulaic slop MTV and mainstream radio want you to think it is!" I suspect people who love, truly LOVE country music feel the same way about FM106. "Honest, V'ron," I hear country music fans saying, "Give Country a chance." I have. I listen to the Chicken Shack and I love it. And Stella and I look forward to the Boogie Bang every Saturday afternoon, as we tool around town running errands. "This sounds like music that black people like," Stella says. "And I like it too!" Exactly. WMSE blurs genre and color lines. Good music is good music, no matter what the genre, and WMSE's DJs find it and show it to us. Admittedly, my two favorite shows are Buzz's Garage and The Jules Show, but that's because they're my two favorite genres: garage and progressive coolness. I can't count how many times I've picked up the cell phone and called Jules asking "Who was that? What album?" and ran instantly to my computer to either order myself a new CD or download something off Itunes. (I really should do this 100% and buy it at Atomic Records or Rush-Mor to support my local businesses as well, that will get easier when my toddler grows older).

And I really think that points to why we should all be celebrating WMSE's anniversary this week. They're not just playing music, they're contributing to a community of music lovers. They're doing their part to create a scene, a market for excellent, satisfying music that shows the rest of the world we're not just another town full of Klassic Hits-listening droids who accept whatever is handed to us by the marketing people at Viacom. That a radio station not only survives, but draws in its largest amount of membership-paying listeners with a drive time format of oldschool blues is cause for celebration.

I will wax poetic on WMSE more this week. Just this morning the DJ knew they weren't going to be going all out Irish on March 17 because that's Birthday Day itself, so he spent the morning playing Irish music. But it wasn't the same old Chieftans that everybody else will be dragging out on Friday as their token emerald isle tribute. No, he started out with the Waterboys and went from there….

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Bucks v Knicks: I shouldn't even care

Oh, Bucks, Bucks, Bucks. You're doing the reverse of what you did earlier this season. Instead of coming out like gangbusters and then petering out, now you're starting out slow, you're staging a comeback, but it’s too little too late. I'm not even going to mention any of your names. I'm pissed at all of you. Get it together. The worst team in the league beat you Saturday night. On the road. I'm even slipping. Into Sentence Fragments. I can't even write complete sentences about you. So I'm not writing about you today. I will write about everything else that was going on at the Bradley Center Saturday night.

At least, we had some decent culture to show to the New Yorkers. First, as we arrived, some high school band I did not catch the name of was warming up the crowd, with a typical marching band -- very Ohio State -- arrangement of Born to Be Wild. . They followed this up with a weak rendition of Vehicle. In fact, I didn't even realize it was Vehicle until Brian says "Oh! This is Vehicle." I had to listen to get all the way to the chorus. At first, I was about to write this band off, but I decided to lighten up on them when they went back to basics with Louie, Louie, done in a “Hal Leonard Marching Band Series" arrangement. They stayed tight on it, even during the part that's normally sung "yeah yeah yeah ya-ya-ya." I think this band's horn section has more behind them then they think, and that was evidenced on their rendition of "We Will Rock You." The first time through Freddie Mercury's rap, they weren't so tight, and I'm going to chalk that up to timidity, but after a chorus they came back for the second verse and put their lungs into it. Cool arrangement too. It was good for a high school band that wants to try a bit of syncopation, but is not ready for a whole song of it. So you get the boom-boom BOOM done very subtly, like something Lalo Schifrin would have put together for a "Son of Dirty Harry" soundtrack. These guys have the talent, they're tight, they just need to believe in themselves and play it like they really do believe it. That's why I'm lightening up on their weak Vehicle. They're aiming high: but Vehicle requires the only thing they're missing: moxie. Think of the lyrical chorus: "I'm your vehicle, baby, I'll take you anywhere you wanna go!" Believe it yourself, and then make me believe you can take me anywhere I wanna go, kids. I thought they were going to come back for the anthem, which I was looking forward to hearing by them but they just vacated the seats they had, never to be seen again. Maybe they were some rogue band that finally got caught by the ushers: "OK, let's go! Out! Out!" "Clarice, your case file…"

Then there was the Small Fries game. They were older than last time's bunch, so they weren't all over the place with the traveling and the double dribble. But still, the refs weren't calling ANYTHING. They seemed to be there for window dressing, which would have been OK, but there was this one kid who kept getting hacked by defensive fouls and the refs are just standing there. Good thing I wasn't that kid's parent, I'd have been ejected from the stadium or at least cost my kid's team a technical. Did the kid have to be knocked unconscious before they were going to blow the whistle? Wait a second, I actually don't remember these refs HAVING whistles. They WERE just window dressing.

Ah, the anthem, given to us by the Midwest Vocal Express a barbershop chorus. Except this is a massive barbershop -- there must've been a hundred guys out there. You'll have to wait in long line for a shave and a haircut. Needless to say, if they were miked, they didn't need to be. These guys put the anthem in the National Anthem. Full, rich voices, singing the anthem straight and proud, and not doing "La-aa--nd of the Freeeeee" stretching it out like a cliche. No, these guys stretched it out by giving us a coda-ed ending on "Home of the Brave -- the brave -- the BRAVE" (which we didn't get to hear so well because by this time the crowd was on their feet cheering)! Wow. I almost got tears in my eyes they were so good. I'm going to have to check them out in other venues. Full disclosure: I work with a guy who's part of this group, but its not like he's in a position to offer me any kind of promotion or reward for gushing over his group's performance, and further I had no clue this was the same group he was a part of until I asked around. So I was impressed well before I realized I knew somebody who was involved with this. Honest. If there's any criticism to be had, they might need to recruit a few more baritones. They're pretty well stocked with a pristine but rich high end of Frankie Valli wannabes, but much of the joy of a barbershop singing is those lovely deep bass voices that come through. Nevertheless, the performance was flawless, in both delivery and arrangement. Bravo!

Black socks report: New York's pulling the same thing Philly is, by renouncing their original colors to get more black in them. And what's up with the one sock up and one sock down look sported by #23, Quentin Richardson? Dorky, that's what's up with it. Can you not afford a pair of socks that one of them isn't all stretched out that it keeps falling down? Brian suggested that maybe Richardson had some kind of wrap or brace on the one leg, making it LOOK like one knee sock was up, and the other was just ankle length. Well, if that's the case, wear a knee sock on the other leg, for Pete's sake. The asymmetrical look only works in Japanese takonomos.

Energee girls had a new routine tonight and it was really good for them. The choreography highlighted their strengths: the Energee girls are good at synching up with herky-jerky moves, and the arrangement really highlighted the sync part. Lots of times they’re just all over the place and its not a good look for them, because they're not a finely tuned Radio City Rockettes-style Drill team, so they end up looking disorganized instead of the desperately random effect they're attempting. They're this hybrid of part-cheerleader, part dance squad. Music was a really old school funky kind of rap thing. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm woefully ignorant of an entire genre of music: contemporary rap. I know my old school funk, and early rap, and early hip hop and house, but I couldn't tell you the difference between Kanye West and the Black Eyes Peas. (And I'm amazed that I could name two current artists in the genre). I couldn’t even name you one song either of them does. I so have to get into the 21st century when it comes to Urban music. Nevertheless, whatever it was, it was good for the Energee girls.

And then at halftime, the Junior Energee girls come out and show us what they've been learning all semester, and they're good. They do two, count 'em TWO numbers, impressive for young girls doing this as an extracurricular activity. One of them could very well have been "Whoop, There It Is" but it was tonight I realized that I've never heard the entire song of "Whoop, There It Is", so I'm not sure if it was the original or some updated thing that samples the chorus. I haven't decided if I'm embarrassed about this yet. Anyway, the young girls were a joy to watch, because like the even younger girls they had about three months ago, they're still at the stage where they're not self-conscious and they're just having a good time jumping around and waving their arms and yelling for the pure joy of it. (This, of course, was more pronounced on the little girls). On the other hand, they're older, so they know to be a little nervous, and they're concentrating on getting it right, but they're not so old that they're at all trying to be sexual about it (like the regular Energee girls, who know how and what to shake and still keep it PG). I think I've always liked cheerleaders anyway and always secretly wanted to be one. Not to be the most popular girl in the school, or to reap all those other "benefits" or anything. I just want the excuse to put on a sparkly dress with shorts, jump up and down and yell my head off over a game, and not only be allowed to, but be expected to.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

I had to wait to write about the Bucks' Friday night game

I've been putting off writing about the Bucks' Friday night game because a) I've just been too swamped with work, being sick, and etc., and b) it's just too heartbreaking. At least the other night they smoked again, and maybe they'll have their mojo back for our next game this Saturday night.

Do I have to write about this? Yes, it will be cathartic to blog it, so here goes. Ugh, they come out losing. By the time we're seated and settled in, It looks like its going to be the down side of a blowout. By the fourth quarter, the Dad sitting behind us rounds up his kids three minutes in and leaves to beat the traffic exodus, since the Bucks are down by 20 or something like that. Brian and I agree to stay to the bitter end, because dammed if they again stage a comeback and we'll regret missing some fabulously orgasmic buzzer beating shot that wins the game. Of course, as anybody who follows the Bucks could figure, we went home with blue balls. I really thought they were going to do it. The stage was set perfectly, with under a minute left, we score, Philly has the ball, Bucks predictably foul, Philly misses the free throw so the Bucks are within winning --with possession, and we're supposed to hit a three to put us into overtime. Instead, we go for the safe 2, but that's OK. We still have time to foul and quickly hit it. But it was not to be. Ugh.

It shouldn't have come to this. The horrific turnover stat -- 20 in total -- doesn't tell the whole story. These weren't just "great steal!" turnovers. No, you'd think Brett Favre was playing for the Bucks because half those turnovers were the Bucks throwing the ball directly to a 76er. And the last time Brian and I went to see the Bucks play Philly, it was last year when ol' Allen Iverson had his best game ever -- against the Bucks. Who has his best game ever this night? Mr. Demi Moore! They ought to be ashamed of themselves.

We got there late and missed the anthem but I don't for a minute regret this, as we had a smashing dinner at Barossa. We've been meaning to try Barossa for months and finally we get there. They specialize in organic, naturally raised food. Must get there during the summer when vegetables are in peak season, for I'm sure they do it proud, like our other crunchy granola fine dining mecca, Roots. Barossa also pours a fine chocolate martini. I know, I know, chocolate martinis are a real gurl drink and real drinkers would never let such a thing pass their lips. However, I'm a gurl and I drink like a gurl, and these went down way too easily. I spent the first quarter realizing they hit me hard, and this was not a Bucks game you wanted to be drunk at. At least I know when to quit with the Martinis already, and I drank water the rest of the night. Fortunately I was straight by halftime to catch the old folks' game.

The old folks' game at Bucks halftime was great. People walking around with signs that say "You're never too old", somehow the Bucks' entertainment squad found enough guys from 55-83 who could still run, pass and shoot respectably to put on a good game. The star was this guy, whose name I neglected to write down, but he was 83 years old, and had a resume that read like Milwaukee's All American candidate: Captain of the 1945 Marquette University Basketball and Football (Marquette had football? A Jesuit Catholic University spent money on football? Well, the pope wasn't exactly catholic in '45 either) teams, veteran of course, Milwaukee Brewers' scorekeeper, and now he's just chilling out at the Village At Manor Park. Best of all, no black socks on any these guys. They're old folks. They know better: "We're playing basketball, not cutting the grass."

Philly's wearing of the black socks was allowable because their uniforms are jet black, but why are the 76'ers uniforms jet black? Are they, or are they not, named in honor of Philadelphia's claim to the home of Democracy? Their uniforms used to scream "USA!" with their apt color scheme of the ol' Red White and Blue. What happened? Are they trying to be Messers Street Cred? I know this was a recent development, because I saw an 11-year-old kid with the old blue and red jersey (with Iverson's name and number on it), topped off with a cap and attitude, looking very much like Mellow Gold-era Beck. Philly, get the old uniforms back and lose the black socks while you're at it, because once Iverson retires or gets traded, you've lost your hard street cred anyway.

Note to the girl singer sitting in with Streetlife, the Bucks' house band: Although Wisconsin is not yet a state that outlaws the performance of "Holloback Girl" by anybody over the age of 23, you might do well to avoid doing so anyway. No girlfriend, you ain't no Holloback Girl, and nobody will ever accuse you of being one, so this was a waste of your opportunity to front some of the city's best session men. Good thing girlfriend's name isn't listed on Streetlife's site, she can anonymously put this atrocious attempt at blue-eyed hip-hop behind her and move on with her otherwise promising career. And jumbotron camera guy, Warren Wiegratz is un-hip enough as it is -- did you have to focus on him trying to kick it out on his keyboards, to the snickers of the fashionably jiggy girls sitting by me? No, you did not. Shame on you. I hope somebody focuses on you when you're failing at swank.