Why would I see Garth Brooks in Vegas?

Pretty good seats.

Looking back on the memory of last weekend, I'd have to say yee haw! My younger sister turned a certain age, and she wanted to do it Vegas. I have always been supportive of her, so my wife and I decided to go--as a selfless act of kindness, of course. Lucky for me I am so kind and selfless. I made a nice chunk of change at the craps table the first night we landed (thank you, Becca "the Bank" or "Money" Zumbiel, whichever you prefer). The next night, I ate a good meal with good company while sitting a table away from a celebrity whose career I respect (Rob Lowe of Tommy Boy, Wayne's World, West Wing, Parks and Rec). Yes, he is shorter in person. Those events were unexpected, but the best event of of the trip was planned: seeing the Garth Brooks show.

Garth Brooks in Vegas

The show was not at all what I expected. I thought we would sit in the back of the theater and hear him and his band play his biggest hits; then we would ride home, hoarse from singing along. I learned that instead of the back row, my sister had scored tickets in the fifth row, which was an entire story closer than I thought we would be. The show opened with a fifty year old white guy in a T-shirt, loose jeans, and non-Cowboy boots walking out on stage. A baseball cap instead of a cowboy hat sat upon his balding head. He didn't strut or have the slim figure that we remember from his album covers. The word "doughy" came to mind. He could have been mistaken for a roadie if there had been more equipment than a guitar, a stool, and a couple bottles of water on the stage.

He said hello and then explained that we are going to be taken on a tour of his musical influences. For the next hour and a half, he covered his history of musical appreciation, decade by decade, through anecdotes of his family life, a continuous line of jokes, and covers of his favorite artists' songs. When he sang, just him and his guitar, he would assume an awkward pigeon-toed posture, one that I associate with Dave Matthews, where the only graceful parts of his body appear to be his hands and his powerful voice. He sounded as good as ever--actually, he sounded better than I'd ever heard him because there was nothing but his guitar and his voice. Hearing such a strong and confident voice emanating from such an unassuming body was a little surprising.

As he explained his way through the 60's, 70's, and 80's, he played a few of his own songs, but mostly he covered his influences, some of which were too country for me to have heard, like Merle Haggard, George Jones, and Keith Whitley. He also covered some more mainstream ones like "Mrs. Robinson", "Sweet Baby James", "American Pie", and "Sitting by the Dock of the Bay". I'd take a CD of just him covering other songs (which to be fair, a few of his hits are). He told stories of when he met one his idols, James Taylor, and how he came to cover Bob Dylan's "To Make You Feel My Love" for the movie Hope Floats.

His wife, Trisha Yearwood, another huge country name, joined him on the stage, which was a big treat for my older sister. They sang a few songs before he got to the 90's when he really got down to playing his own music. Of course, he didn't have time to play enough for the crowd, but he encored with "The Dance", "Piano Man", and "Friends in Low Places". My only complaint is that we didn't get to hear a single song in its entirety, but the show may have lasted forever if that had happened. Plus, he mentioned that once his oldest left for college, he may be starting a tour again, which I would happily pay to see.

The Appeal of Country Music

I have to admit that I understand why people don't understand or appreciate country music. I used to sort of hate it myself. I still wouldn't call myself a true country music listener, and I'm certain any cowboy would call me a city slicker. I also understand that some would consider Garth a little too close to pop to call him country. For me, Garth helped bridge the gap between palatable pop and the more country music of Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings. By listening to some older stuff, a person learns that country has a certain appeal, which I will get to in a bit. I also get that recent country can be cloying. Like hip hop, it has strayed a bit from its roots of singing about hard times and hard love (though the self-aggrandizement can sometimes be funny--"Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy"). Even some of Garth's stuff wanders into saccharine. So yes, I understand that it can sometimes be hard for a person to stomach country as a genre.

However, country thrives on simple story telling that I enjoy. My favorite songs of Garth's have obvious stories that are the backdrop of universal themes--well, usually, it's the theme of love or loss or love lost, but these are concepts we all understand to the core. The story is always easy to grasp, which is difficult to accomplish in three minutes. Look at how much time you've already wasted reading to this point in this post. Even though Garth didn't write a lot of his stuff, his song writers embrace succinct country story telling.

Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots
And ruined your black tie affair.
The last one to know, the last one to show,
I was the last one you thought you'd see there.

This first verse from "Friends in Low Places" paints a quick picture: people from different backgrounds, the singer is "low class", the setting is a fancy dinner, the singer is beyond fashionably late, and he's crashing. Not a bad set up for some drama in under forty words. I'm a bit jealous. And it rhymes!

Every light is burnin' in a house across town.
She's pacin' by the telephone in her faded flannel gown.
Askin' for a miracle, hopin' she's not right
Prayin' it's the weather that's kept him out all night.


She's waitin' by the window when he pulls into the drive.
She rushes out to hold him, thankful he's a live.
But on the wind and rain, a strange new perfume blows.
And the lightin' flashes in her eyes, and he knows that she knows.


She runs back down the hallway to the bedroom door.
She reaches for a pistol kept in the dresser drawer.
Tells the lady in the mirror he won't do this again.
Cause tonight will be the last time she'll wonder where's he been.

These verses from "The Thunder Rolls" again quickly paint a picture, clue the listener into the mixed emotions the woman is feeling, portend that country theme of broken hearts, and then unfurl the drama without directly saying, "she shot him". Garth actually co-wrote this one. And it rhymes, again!

Granted not all country music paints these simple stories and country doesn't have a monopoly on good story telling in its songs. Remember "Regulators"? Eminem can also tell a mean story in his own misogynistic way ("Lose Yourself"). I'm sure you can think of many a song that tells a tight story.

The other appealing aspect of country is the nostalgia it elicits. I imagine that most people who like Garth think of some past love interest when they hear "The Dance"; I also have the same thing when I hear "Callin' Baton Rouge". I don't yearn for those people, but I am reminded of those times when emotion was high because of life's simplicity. Of course, country is not the only genre that elicits nostalgia, but its themes are universal and its stories are right on the surface, making it easy to access those memories of times past. Even if you don't love country, you don't have to wear a Stetson to understand the pictures it paints.

My Western Roots

Most people seemed surprised when they heard I was going to see Garth, and each time I was a little surprised that they were surprised. Yes, I'm a bit of a city slicker, having lived in San Jose, Seoul, London, San Diego, and Boston. I really do like my cities and the anonymity they provide when walking their streets.

On the other hand, I lived the first six years of my life in a small town in Colorado. During every summer of my childhood, I spent at least a week of it in Nebraska, where we would see a cowboy show and drive through the arid, yucca-filled landscape that nurtured the myth of the West. My aunt raises cattle and takes a leg of the Pony Express ride every year. I think my dad likes Westerns more than sports, and I've learned to really love the genre as well. My dad's dad was born in Kansas, where names like Wild Bill Hickok, Buffalo Bill Cody, and Wyatt Earp spent some time. I grew up playing with toy guns, wishing I had cowboy boots, and trying unsuccessfully to lasso stuff. I also spent a lot of time where my mother grew up, at another icon of the West: the farmstead. My mom also rode horses, which she still does with my aunt today at the age of . . . well, I wouldn't tell the whole world that. Wouldn't be polite, would it, ma'am? Indiana isn't exactly the Wild West, but the land is flat, the sky is big, and the town where my mom spent her youth makes Deadwood look like a metropolis.

Though my parents didn't listen to a lot of country music, my sisters did, perhaps because they identified more with what the romance of the West than I did. Among their Wilson Phillips and Sinead O'Connor tapes were sprinkled Randy Travis, Garth Brooks, and Reba McEntire. Though I never bothered to listen to the tapes, I couldn't escape the country stations when riding in the car with them and later with my younger sister. I couldn't understand why they liked it so much when I was a teen, much like I didn't understand my dad's draw to Westerns. But I get it now.

In high school, I wrote an essay about the myth of the West and how it was built. It occurred to me only recently that perhaps I was drawn to such a report topic because of my familiarity with it. Similarly, perhaps I chose a summer project on a Native American reservation because I had grown up playing cowboys and Indians. So even though I apparently hide it well/completely, I can't deny my country roots and how they have shaped me. I am told I have a strong moral code. I am told I am independent and sometimes polite. I have seen a horse in person and a cow made out of butter. I'm no cowboy, but I spent a good portion of my childhood where they used to roam. So, as a sort-of country kid who grew up in cities, it seems natural that I would want to see Garth Brooks in Vegas.

Why can't I stop listening to "We're Not Young"?

I'm not young.

I recently posted about the song "We Are Young" by FUN. featuring Janelle Monae and explained how the nostalgic but hopeful sentiment of the song was infectious. Recently, a parody of the song called "We're Not Young" went viral. (Thanks, Jackie for providing the blog fodder, or blodder.) The ditty distills the hopelessness and anxiety of my generation into four minutes. The clever lyrics are a laundry list of daily endeavors that we undertake to avoid the boredom that engulfs some of us in our 30s, when we find ourselves at the end of the life path that society has mapped out for us and realize that the rest is up to us. It can be a scary time, but it can be pretty exciting as well.

The song elicits two consecutive emotions. The first is levity as you listen and say, "Hey, that's me! Ha ha!" The second is depression as you listen and say, "Hey, that's me! Wah wah!" I've written out the lyrics below and compared my life to it. You can do the same, if you want to be sad.

Give me a second, I . . . I don't have time, it's getting late (I think I've been out past midnight maybe once in the last year)

My friends are all parents now, dinner parties with cheese plates (The first part is true, though my friends who are into cheese plates do not have kids.)

My girlfriend, she is waiting for me to buy a diamond ring / Been together eight years now, feel like I'm settling (None of this is true for me, but perhaps that's because my girl preferred seeing rocks to getting a rock)

You know that college was ten years ago (True next month)

I know you're trying to forget (Already have)

Depression and anxiety / Has come on strong since 33 / Made it hard not crack (If this blog becomes a downer in a year, you'll know if this is true--or maybe it's already on its way)

So if by the time I'm 40 and I'm still a waiter here / I'm killing myself tonight (You could have replaced 40 with 32 and "waiter" with "grad student" and it may have been me)

Tonight we're not young (Well, not as young)

We're all somewhere in our 30s (Yep)

Done nothing worthy (Sorry to say that grad school often feels like that)

This ain't fun (At the very least, it's different)

Tonight we're not young (We could be older)

I guess I'll learn Photoshop, maybe I'll sell pot, start a blog (I've done two out of three--the legal ones)

Now I know that I'm fat / Shut up about that (My new job has me headed this way)

I guess I'll do elliptical, maybe I can finally do that yoga class (Oooh, elliptical sounds much easier on my knees)

But I probably won't / HDTV (TV!)

Gonna stay at home and watch Modern Family (Used to do that, but now there is better stuff on)

Tonight, we're not young (Dang, I do need to go to bed)

Gonna get our shit together (Maybe, but what is "together") / Be less distracted (huh?) /

Words with Friends (Definitely--or any other Game with Friends)

Tonight, we're not young (OK, when you repeat it this many times, it's hard not to believe)

It's time to get my prostate checked / I'm a nervous wreck / That's not all (Uh, I don't think this an appropriate topic for my blog)

Apply to grad school tonight (I learned that lesson in my 20s)

Yoga teacher training tonight / Real estate test tonight / Improv class tonight (Not quite into any of these yet, but I know people who have gone these routes)

Might have a drinking problem (Where's my scotch?)

I got a DUI / So will someone come and drive me home tonight (Nah)

I need health insurance (Not quite true since I'll be doing my fourth health care insurance change in one year when June rolls around)

I let the dental slide (Not quite though the teeth are definitely on the down slope)

And I'm really gonna start that blog tonight (What do you think I'm doing?)

Tonight, we are scared so let's . . . oh my god (I have to admit there were times when I was really scared during the past year--the real world blows)

Tonight, we're not young (I feel like I'm 60)

We've accomplished nothing (I have to admit there were times when I felt exactly this during the last year--grad school blew)

I have no money / Where's my gun (Yep, but that may be because I buy too many apps, chais, and Scotch.)

So if by the time I'm 40 and I'm still a waiter here / Oh please God I don't want to even imagine it / Tonight

If you're in the wah wah phase of emotional response, read on. Like most comedy, the song is funny because it's partly true. Ours is a generation of advanced degrees and delayed family starts, making our 30s the new what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-do-now-that-I-am-out-of-college phase--or an early midlife crisis without the money and kids. (This is especially true if you spent the majority of your 20s in grad school.) Both stages of life force the question of "What's next, now that I've successfully met society's expectations?"

For many of us, the answer is "Start a family", and many of my friends have successfully (congrats!) done that. They seem to be deeply in love with and happily consumed by their ever changing children, and I am truly happy for each of them and wish them more nights of sleep than they are probably getting. I have always assumed that being a parent provides a higher purpose in life, a reason for doing the job you may not quite love or putting off writing that novel--or maybe that's just growing up. However, I am unready to relinquish the freedom that allows me to selfishly indulge in my hobbies like jogging, blogging, and reading quietly on the beach. If you've met my wife, you know she is a career woman, and I can tell you that she has not been happier in a job since I've met her. So, I'm not just being a typical guy who is putting off becoming a dad so I can spend more time hanging with the guys. In short, kids are a little ways off, which means the question of "What's next?" remains unanswered. (I apologize to any potential grandmas who may be reading this.)

I also thought that getting the right job and making a little more money may solve all my problems. Though I really enjoy my new job, it doesn't bring as much fulfillment as I thought it would. I like honing my skills and learning new things daily in an environment where I am not 100% sure what each day will bring. I could probably bury myself in work and feel completely fine with that, and the extra money provides a little bit more freedom as well. But for some reason, "We're Not Young" still rings true--perhaps even more true than it would have three months ago, when I had a goal of obtaining a new job. But I have what I've wanted for the last four years and now I have to figure out what's next. Of course, I'll be working hard, but I would be doing that regardless of where I work. I've set personal goals, such as running faster and reading more, and I've found some satisfaction in working towards those goals. But the song still strikes a chord with me.

The conclusion I have come to is that I am always looking forward, hesitant to accept the present or acknowledge that what I have done in the past is worth acknowledging. I've always downplayed my past achievements because they have come with what seems like little sacrifice. Or perhaps I feel like I sacrificed too much and regret that. Either way, my past is my past, and it's made me who I am today, and I am realizing that I am really good with that fact. I have to modestly say that I think I'm a pretty awesome person. I'm reasonably intelligent, hard working, funny, conscientious, trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly--now I'm just reciting the Boy Scout Law because I'm lazy.

And as a group, we thirty-somethings can look back and realize that we've accomplished much. We've earned advanced degrees. We've started families that will make us proud and drive us crazy. We've gotten new jobs, sometimes two or three. We've read and learned and had tiny epiphanies. We've sent pieces of ourselves out into the world in the forms of writing and art and hard work. But most importantly, we've made friends, been there for each other, and shared some special moments. We may play Words with Friends, watch Modern Family, and suffer from insomnia, but there are plenty of new experiences ahead, new people to meet, and memorable times to be had. Sure, some of those times will involve a prostate check (or other unpleasant medical experiences), drinking (maybe some that will result in days of required recovery), and being scared (of more things than we can really imagine). It will all certainly be different, but plenty of it will be worth remembering. The song is right that we're not young--but we are still far from being old.

Why can't I stop listening to "We Are Young"?

The ear worm. It's that song you can't get out of your head, often put there by a horrible friend, prefaced by, "You know what song I can't get out of my head?" Or it's that song you find yourself singing the chorus of when you leave the clothing or grocery store. Usually, it's annoying and elicits some level of shame. Once in awhile, though, it's the song that psychs you up or takes you back to that moment when life was all possibility and all ahead of you. For the last month, "We Are Young" by FUN. featuring Janelle Monae has been that ear worm for me, a rare one in which the melody resonates and the lyrics are subtle and clever but not overly so.

You've probably heard the song even if you don't know it. It cropped up in a Super Bowl commercial this year and made it onto Glee. But let's be honest, what haven't they sung on Glee? If that doesn't ring a bell, click here for the official video, which is kind of fun, and here for an acoustic version, where you can really appreciate the vocal harmonies. I have to thank my friend and former worm lab colleague, George, for generating this ear worm for me. He submitted the song to a lab mix tape/CD/MP3 playlist, and I accidentally complimented his song. When I tried to explain why his choice was so awesome, he suggested I blog about why. I tell you this so that you can blame him for the ear worm if you hate the song.

The most striking quality of the song is that it simultaneously elicits nostalgia and an everything's-going-to-be-alright hope for the future. Nostalgia always carries with it a basic desire to return to the past but not a real hope. It's wistful, not invigorating. Perhaps I am feeling more nostalgic than usual because I'm aging and beginning to long for the days when it seemed life was going to take care of me instead of me having to take care of life. Hearing FUN. sing about the unbridled potential of youth makes me miss that period of my life. On the other hand, I'm not old enough to be unmoved by the song's title and galvanizing chorus: "Tonight / We are young / So let's set the world on fire / We can burn brighter / Than the sun." There is still time to make some mistakes, take a couple of wrong paths, and miss a few opportunities. I'm older but not quite old, so let's not play it too safe just yet. But who knows what I'll do when those moments present themselves?

The first verse is a well crafted depiction of a situation that evoked an even greater appreciation for the song.

Give me a second, I . . . I need to get my story straight. (A hint that the singer may be drunk ("I . . . I") and has some explaining to do.)

My friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the Empire State. (We now know the crowd he runs with via a clever analogy: "higher than the Empire State" referring to the building.)

My lover, she is waiting for me just across the bar. (Introducing the object of his affection.)

My seat's been taking by some sunglasses asking about a scar. (My favorite line intimating that the guy hitting on her is a jerk: "some sunglasses".)

And I know I gave it to you months ago. ("It" refers to the scar in the previous line, and I like to think this line is a transition to the metaphorical, telling us that he caused his lover emotional pain in the past.)

I know you're trying to forget. (She loves him enough that she's trying to let it go.)

But between the drinks and subtle things.

The holes in my apologies, (I just like the way these lines flow, but I'm a sucker for near rhymes contained within lines: tween, drinks, things, -gies.)

You know I'm trying hard to take it back. (The singer is trying to make amends.)

So if by the time the bar closes

And you feel like falling down,

I'll carry you home. (The singer is still there for her despite the rough patches.)

Take a listen. If you take it off of repeat, I'll be surprised.

Why are the Grammys the Best Awards Show?

The Grammys introduced me to country duo The Civil Wars.

Watching the Grammys this year left me feeling pretty satisfied, moreso than the Super Bowl, the College Football Championship, or the Golden Globes (but those are pointless). I realized that the Grammys are good because they are pretty much a big concert with some awards, as opposed to an awards show with a few montages (Oscars) or a funny host (Golden Globes) or musical numbers (Oscars and Tonys--I've never watched the Tonys, so I'm guessing here) or whatever the Emmys have. I watched most of the Grammys this year and thought there were some really good moments, unlike years past when the most memorable moments were a soaked Pink doing acrobatics, poor Taylor Swift having to sing next to Stevie Nicks, or Kanye being a D bag. Though there were a number of good moments, there were a few that made me wonder why aging musicians have to keep going, why a domestic abuser is able to win an award, and why were there nuns in Nicki Minaj's number.

Let's start with the good. There were three moments that had me rapt. Adele's live performance made it obvious that she should win all the awards she did. Even though I would have rather seen her perform "Someone Like You" over "Rolling in the Deep", I was thoroughly impressed. You can really tell the good from the bad in live performances (when they actually sing). You could also see this when Jennifer Hudson performed a tribute to Whitney Houston by singing "I Will Always Love You". It was eerie when it started. I thought they had computer generated Whitney and projected her. But no, it was just Jennifer Hudson singing a tribute to somebody who I imagine was one of her idols growing up. A pretty powerful piece. The third performance that I found most mesmerizing was by The Civil Wars, a country duo who opened for Taylor Swift. Their harmonies were rainbows in my brain--or something like that. They were amazing when they performed a little of "Barton Hollow" live. They also do a sick version of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" on YouTube. The other notable moment was Foster the People doing a Beach Boys cover. Their harmonies were pretty sweet as well, a fair bit better than Maroon 5's, even though I'm a fan of Adam Levine's.

Now, for the bad. First of all, no high profile domestic abuser like Chris Brown, who physically beat another Grammy performer Rihanna, should be allowed to perform or given an award a mere THREE YEARS after his history of abuse came to light. I enjoy a good redemption story (I don't mind seeing Michael Vick do well), but there is no way three years is enough for Chris Brown to repent enough for nearly killing a woman. What a despicable human being and what a horrible thing to award him for anything at all. Grammys, you really screwed the pooch on that one. If you really want to be incensed by it, check out this article.

I'm sure the person arranging the acts thought it would be awesome to have the Beach Boys and a Beatle back to back. Unfortunately, it made me think that the California crew was too old to be on stage, let alone singing, and that Paul McCartney was quickly headed that direction. His new song was not quite "Yesterday", but then again, he is probably the person who set the bar higher for everybody, including himself, and made their lyrics sound like a sixteen-year old wrote them (unless that adolescent is Taylor Swift, who I honestly think is a decent song writer--at least on her first album). When there was a jam session with Paul, Bruce Springsteen, and four other famous aging guitarists, I thought one of them might pop a heart string and have to be carted off the stage if it went on much longer. Six old rockers (not a group known for their healthy lifestyles) straining to play like they did in their youth all in one spot; I thought odds were pretty good that an ambulance would be required. The whole thing made me wonder why we keep calling for old musicians to keep at it for so long. I think it ruins some of the nostalgia we associate with their music and makes us feel old in the process.

Finally, Nicki Minaj performed. If you saw it, I think you can understand my reaction: huh? It wasn't controversial enough to be interesting or good enough to make any sense at all. It had some nuns and some hand cuffs and a lot of running around. It was like really, really bad Gaga or Madonna. I actually wanted to hear her do a little more rapping because I thought that was kind of interesting, possibly because it reminded me of Busta Rhymes. Next time, Nicki, a little less writhing and a little more rapping. I'm pretty sure I needed to be a lot drunker to understand what was happening on that stage.

Overall, I give the Grammys a thumbs up despite being downright offensive on the Chris Brown decision and letting Katy Perry perform (though I have found zero people who dislike her as much as I do). There were some moving moments, and I'm now a huge fan of The Civil Wars. So, if you had a choice between watching the Super Bowl and its really unimaginative commercials this year and the Grammys, you should have watched the people who were probably dorks in high school rather than the ones who were jocks.

Why does "Jump Around" have phat lyrics?

Warning: this post contains language that may be considered offensive.

As a child in the '90s, I enjoyed clever phrases that compared seemingly unrelated objects. For example, if somebody blocked your shot in basketball at recess, you got "packed like a box" or "stuffed like a turkey". If you got beaten to the hoop, you got "burned like toast". If you don't get what I'm talking about by now, you're slower than molasses in February in the high latitudes. Yeah, really really slow. Perhaps my fascination with clever metaphors was influenced by the dope music of the 1990s, which was full of them as I am just now discovering. Yeah, I'm molasses. As a case study, I will explore "Jump Around" by House of Pain. There are a few rad phrases in this song that are funny, if not completely sensible when thoroughly examined. Let's break 'em down. (If you think the lyrics I'm using are wrong, blame these guys.)

Jump around!

1. "I'll serve your ass like John McEnroe." This metaphor makes sense on many levels. According to Urban Dictionary (obviously, a source of myeh reliability), the definition of "to serve" is to "deliver a swift and decisive round of ass whoopin". Thus, House of Pain is claiming to deliver an ass whoopin' as good as McEnroe or his serve. The first layer of the metaphor is that tennis players actually serve a ball! You're probably thinking, "What! what! Andrew, you teach me so much in these posts." I know. For the analogy to truly make sense, we have to explore whether or not McEnroe's serve was something to be reckoned with. Otherwise, the analogy just means House of Pain will deliver a so-so round of ass whoopin'. McEnroe was a serve-and-volley style player, and it turns out, according to this random web site and this other random web site with user lists (what do you want? this is a blog) that I found via google , that McEnroe isn't even in the top ten servers of all time. Thus, at the very least, House of Pain is not delivering a Top Ten level of ass whoopin' if this is the intended meaning, which I think it is. Of course, one could argue that I should go back to the time when the song was written and determine who the top ten were then. Yes I should and no I won't.

But maybe House of Pain was talking about the second layer of the metaphor. McEnroe definitely delivered his share of whoopin's to opposing players--and refs--during his career. Thus, the metaphor could make sense on this level, but it's less clever than the first. The third layer of this analogy is that in 1984, John McEnroe actually threw a donkey into the air, struck it with a racket, and it landed in bounds on the opposite side of the court, giving the metaphor a final--if you are buying this, you are as crazy as an Aerosmith video starring Alicia Silverstone and Liv Tyler. Of course, House of Pain may have also just liked the heritage of fellow Irish-American McEnroe and a name rhymes with "ho".

2 and 3. "Word to your moms / I came to drop bombs / I got more rhymes than the Bible's got Psalms / And just like the Prodigal Son, I've returned." Back to back Bible references?!! Can I get an Amen! House of Pain claims that it has a lot of rhymes, and they didn't go with "stars in the sky" or "Lindsay Lohan arrests" but instead went with the remarkably modest number of Psalms in the Bible. The question is how many Psalms are in the Bible? Again, a Google search provides an answer: 150. House of Pain claims to have over 150 rhymes. I'm guessing they are correct: 3 CDs of at least ten tracks with probably at least five rhymes in each song. Seems reasonable--almost to the point of not being very many.

The next line has to do with the parable of the Prodigal Son, which is told by that superstar Jesus Christ in the Gospel according to Luke (thank you Catholic school--but mostly Google). If House of Pain is returning to a father's forgiving arms after spending an inheritance on hos and blow, then yes, House of Pain is actually returning like the Prodigal Son. But I'm guessing it's just a clever turn of phrase that is as fresh as a character, played by Will Smith, who moves from West Philadelphia, where he was born and raised and on the playground is where he spent most of his days, chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool . . . then he moves to live with his auntie and uncle in Bel-Air. Too much? Or are you confused?

4. "Tryin' to play out like as if my name was Sega." To define "play", I will refer you to a quote in The Wire, also known as the best thing ever written ever (no that is not a typo) for a screen. Omar Little says, "The game is out there, and it's play or get played." If you don't understand, you should spend 60 hours watching The Wire, and then you can thank me for referring you to such an enlightening piece of work. Now what about Sega? The Sega Genesis was a gaming console that competed with Super Nintendo, TurboGrafx-16, and NeoGeo (a very clever console name, now that I think about it) during the 16-bit console generation. I was a Nintendo fan, but I did learn almost all I know about hockey, its rules, and its players by playing Sega. My friend and I would down Jolt (the 90s caffeinated soda) and try to stay up all night playing NHL '93. You probably played Sonic the Hedgehog on the Sega Genesis. I would say that getting played like Sega is getting hella played, making the lyric as dope as that dwarf. Oh, is that Dopey? Close enough. Nobody's going to really examine my metaphors.

In conclusion, an in-depth-ish look at House of Pain's lyrics may not have served them well, but who cares? I still find them as fly as a model organism (that's for all you bio nerds).