The performer, the legend, the pariah

I always thought Michael Jackson would have been better off dying young.

I said it to anyone who would give me five minutes. Had Jackson died after "Thriller," or even after "Bad," he'd be a legend, a God, almost, the way people think of John Lennon or Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix. Jackson was a perfect example of an artist who's legacy would have benefited from an early death. Let's look at it another way: What if Morrison was still alive today? The guy would be a freak, a joke, a blithering idiot, probably. Hell, Hendrix might be the same way, as much as it pains me to say that.

But now? Well, it seems cruel that Jackson dies now, when he was planning a comeback that might

have made people think about his music again rather than his plastic surgery or skin color or kids or, of course, the sexual abuse charges that were proven unfounded but unfortunately seemed to fit.

I was pleased to see most of the coverage I saw last night focused on exactly that, his killer music, his

groundbreaking videos, his incredible dancing, his aura. It's always funny about death: Jackson was

vilified in the media in the last few years, many times rightly so, and his music or his legacy never

seemed to come up, but now all people can do is say nice things about him. Why do we do that

when they're no longer around to hear those things?

I said he'd be better off dead because I got tired of defending Jackson the artist and trying to get

others to separate his amazing music from the freak show that he'd become. For one night, the night of his death, it was easy to do. People talked about "Beat It" and "Billie Jean" and "Thriller" and "Rock With You" and "Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough."

Sad thing is, his death comes too late for the adulation to last.

Is there any hope?

I was asking Kate who's side she was on. 

"You have to pick a side," I said.

OK, I'll admit it. I was trying to get her fired up, and lately, nothing got her quite as fired up as "Jon and Kate Plus 8." Nothing insignificant anyway. I have this thing about arguing. I kinda like it. It's a sport to me. But I try to choose things like "Jon and Kate" to argue about with Kate because that way, if it ever gets too heated, we can pause and remind ourselves that we're arguing about something completely stupid, like whether "The Notebook" is a good movie (Kate's view) or a crap-fest (my view).

Kate just looked at me and said, "I think it's kinda sad."

I don't really get into celebrity gossip. I am a serious journalist, people, and so I don't really care about who Megan Fox is dating, lucky bastard that he is. But I found myself scouring the Web searching for any news on Jon or Kate as soon as the news broke about his affair. This was, after all, kind of personal.

Kate and I started watching the show for reasons other than, "OMGtheyhave8kidshowdotheydoitIwannasee!" We watched it for therapy.

It was more than a reminder that things could be worse, though, at that time, we were both carrying around a baby at all hours, so that was part of it. It was a way to deal with our situation as well. Some of things Kate said really resounded with us. When she talked about the two snapping at each other, she said the situation they faced was so stressful that sometimes it was your partner's job to be a sounding board. Kate eventually took that way too far, of course, one reason it's hard for me to blame Jon for straying if in fact he did, but that stuck with us and made us understand each other's bad moments.

The show was a blueprint, in a way, on how to survive multiples. And I know that sounds harsh, but I'm sorry, those first couple of years of raising twins or triplets or a litter can really damage your relationship if you let it. As stupid as it sounds now, "Jon and Kate" was part of the solution to prevent that.

Now? Well, now I have to admit it makes me wonder, though it seems to me that the two are splitting up for celebrity and entertainment reasons. It strikes me that their kids don't seem to be listed as a reason any longer. They're stars now, and stars break up. Kate's pretty wrapped up in the  spotlight and Jon would rather shun it so he can focus on 23-year-olds.

I hope they remember to be parents. I wish they would just stop the show. I'm no longer watching it. I don't want to see snippy comments, evil looks and frightened children. 

That's the thing here. Now what's left is a bunch of scared and worried kids who won't get to see their parents together any longer. 

Kate's right. It's kinda sad.

Crap

When I think of today's garage sale - our first as a married couple, so you know you've arrived - two pop culture icons come to mind.

The first is George Carlin for his brilliant monologue on "Stuff." It's a darkly accurate take on how our lives are ruled by accumulating

stuff. And the second, of course, is from last year's Pixar classic "WALL-E." OK, so we know I'm a Pixarfan, and that's not just because I'm surrounded by it (mostly "Cars"). There are messages in those cute little cartoons, and Wall-E's was another dark comment on all our crap. In fact, the crap DID overtake our lives, as Carlin seemed to suggest it would.

Today I got a taste of what that life would be like, as most of our weekend was consumed with our crap. We dropped the kids off Friday at Kate's parents, had dinner at Red Lobster (well, come on, days without the kids are as rare as a drink of cold water in a desert) and then attacked the crap.

In fairness to us, crap is unavoidable as a parent. In fact, you're not really a parent unless you've got truckloads of toys, bottles, tiny toys, trucks and garbage bags full of clothes. And as the kids got older, the crap flowed downhill, as it always does, to the basement.

Now when we were looking for a new house a couple years ago - we needed a larger place, and that was BEFORE we knew Kate was going to have TWO sisters for Jayden, not just one - I secretly wanted a finished basement. I wanted a place for myself. And before the girls were born, that's exactly what I had, a room and a place where I could go late at night and chill. That changed after they were born. I had to stay upstairs even late at night to listen for their cries while playing online poker, and every smidge of space downstairs was swallowed by old kid crap.

So I was grinning from ear to ear, even if it took hours to gather up all our crap to sell at the garage sale. We literally had a shitload of it - it took up all our garage - and not all of it was kid crap, I'm sorry to say. There was a foot spa. An old Game Boy. An old Walkman. Videotapes. Old movies. A couple VCRs. An old fan. A printer for our digital camera. All crap we thought we really needed but didn't use very much.

There really is nothing like a garage sale, and yet they all seem to be alike.

We got up at 6 a.m. - yes, the one day we didn't have kids, we still had to get up with the sunrise - and sure enough, people showed up at our house around 6:45 a.m., or an hour before we were scheduled to start.

I felt a bit violated watching all these people go through all our old crap and even a little more insulted when they turned up their nose at it or, as so many did, just drove by our house. I couldn't believe others didn't want our crap, even as I was trying to get rid of it.

Yet I was quick to bargain with anyone because I also wanted to feel good about the fact that

our crap was going to a good home, kind of the thing people tell themselves when they're

giving up a dog or cat.

I had several of these conversations:

"How much is this?"

"Um...how about $2?"

"What about $1.75?"

"Um, OK."

A quarter?

By the end, after our sale ended, we still had some crap left. And so I marked a table and an old, small bookshelf FREE. Those were snapped up. Then Kate marked another box full of crap FREE and a woman came by to claim that. People love free crap, even if that's exactly what it is.

As I was shopping at Target the day before our sale, I kept thinking about Wall-E as he scooped up all the crap people left behind. Then I saw a snow cone maker for only $29.99. The kids would like that, I thought, and I could have a low calorie dessert at night. I was close to buying it.

And then it hit me. This is exactly the kind of crap that people buy all the time. It's exactly the kind of thing that we'd probably sell at our next garage sale after using it only a couple times.

And for now, after this weekend's efforts, the basement is reasonably clear of crap.

It felt good. I'd like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

I left the snow-cone maker on the shelf.

Why the Dungeons and Dragons get up?

You know I love metal, I mean really love it. It's by far my favorite form of music.

It's badass music. It helps me through races. It pumps me up when I need it. It's helped me work out a lot of frustration with the kids. I KNOW I run faster and lift harder when I listen to it.

But, man, what's with those videos?

I mean, really guys? Why MUST so many of you wear those Medieval outfits and pretend you're in the winter holding off the Vikings or whatever? I mean, come on. I get that your music is all tough and all that but to me, those outfits don't exactly say "tough" to me. "Gay" really is the word that comes to mind.

Sure, I can appreciate a good sword fight like the next guy. "Kill Bill?" Loved it.

But I can't help but think about Dungeons and Dragons and those strange Renaissance festivals where people eat turkey legs and dress up like maidens or queens and kings or whores and there's always a guy named puke or snot who acts like he wants all his teeth knocked out by an angry punch.

If you are one of those people, hey, I don't mean to offend you. They're kinda cool. But I also can't help but giggle when I see that.

And I'm not supposed to giggle when I'm hearing a metal song, no?

A conversation with a 2-year-old

Here's what it's like to talk to a 2-year-old. I use Andie because, for now, she's the more loquacious one of the two right now. Plus Allie's been screaming a lot. Like, a lot. For things such as wanting a cup of juice and me failing to solve how to make a faster-than-light warp jump on foot and therefore actually taking seconds to respond to her request. 

So, quite frankly, Andie deserves the publicity more than Allie right now.

Andie: "Whazzat?"

Me: "That's my shaving cream."

Andie: "Huh?"

Me: "I use it to shave."

Andie: "Shave?"

Me: "Yep. Shave my face."

Andie: "Like Mommy?"

Me: "Well, sorta like Mommy. Mommy shaves her legs."

Andie: "Mommy shaves her legs?"

Me: "Yep."

Andie: "Daddy shaves his legs?"

Me: "Um, no."

Andie: "Whazzat?"

Me: "I told you, that's my shaving cream on my face."

Andie: "Shave?"

Me: "Yes"

Andie: "Legs?"

Me: "No. Face."

Andie: "Mommy?"

Me: "She's downstairs."

Andie: "Is that your shirt?"

Me: "Yep."

Andie: "Your shirt?"

Me: "Yes."

Andie: "Whazzat?"

Me: "What? This? This is my razor. I'm done with it now."

Andie: "Whazzat?"

Me: "I just told you. Razor."

Andie: "Razor?"

Me: "Oh yeah."

Andie: "See my shoes."

Me: "I do. They're cute."

Andie: "Cute?"

Me: "Yep."

Andie: "Cute?"

Andie: "Mommy?'

Me: "Yep."

Me: "She's downstairs."

Andie: "Your shirt?"

Me: "No, your shoes?"

Andie: "My shoes?"

Me: "Yep."

Andie: "My shoes?"

Me: "Yes."

Andie: "Brush! Brush!"

Me: "No, we've brushed your teeth already."

Andie: "Mommy?"

Me: "She's downstairs. Why don't you go find her?"

It WAS important

Kate called me twice yesterday, once during work and the other time right before my softball game.

Why would she call me then, when she knows I'm busy and just talked to me like a half hour ago?

Well, Andie and Allie peed in the potty for the first time yesterday.

And then, during the game, Andie pooped in the potty.

"At least it was something important," one of my teammates said.

I agree.

Home Sweet Home

"Don't know what you got 'till it's gone."

Aside from being an absolutely great hair metal song, it's a tired cliché. But it's tired and true, and perhaps it's no truer when you're talking about food.

Kansas City is my hometown, and it's where we spent last week. My parents still live there, and so we visit once a year. I tell myself it's to give my kids the chance to see their grandparents, and that's true.

I also need to see home once a year.

However, home's changed. My parents live in separate houses now. My Dad's with his family in Overland Park, Kan. and my mother's in Belton, Mo. Neither one are within a half hour of our old house. Nostalgia, therefore, is hard to come by. I won't even see the old neighborhood this year. I won't see my high school, the steep hills, the lake where we used to fish, the pizza joint where we'd wolf down $1 slices during lunch or our old sledding hill.

But the food's still there.

Most importantly, so's the barbecue.

Nothing gives me the hometown smiles and shivers like a plate of Kansas City barbecue. I still like the humid nights, the wild storms and the lightning bugs, things we just don't get in Colorado. But oh, how I love the barbecue.

I wasn't a fan nearly as much when I lived here. Now I can't get enough of it. I miss it that much. 

Kansas City isn't known for much. Jazz, sure, but more for its history, not its current club scene. The Royals? They ruled the 80s but have sucked since. The Chiefs? They ruled the 90s - sorta - but have sucked since. My Jayhawks are more of a statewide passion. So our barbecue is almost it. But it's good. It's really good.

It's so good, we're loyal to it, almost in the way the British love the Queen. People go nose to nose over what joint's better - and there are at least five that warrant consideration - and as much as I love barbecue, I won't eat it much the rest of the year. It just isn't the same in Colorado. I'm always disappointed when I do have it. Imagine going to a concert thinking you're going to see Metallica and Danger Danger walks out instead.

Vacations for parents of young children aren't what they used to be. They don't really feel like vacations anymore. They're certainly not relaxing. We took the kids to a huge farm-like amusement park, shot photos in a park, took them to a pool twice, went to the Kansas City zoo, brought them to a city park and generally did many other things to keep them entertained and energy-free by the end of the day. The only thing we've done for ourselves is go to a movie in an actual movie theater for an afternoon. 

(On a side note, I saw "Up" while Kate saw "Angels and Demons." Pixar is, without a doubt, is the best moviemaker in the industry. Every movie the company makes is not only good, it's GREAT. As great as almost any movie I've seen. "Up" was no exception. Whenever I get a little tired of Pixar tempting my son with yet licensed product - I saw Lightning McQueen shaped bars of soap the other day - I remind myself that I'm supporting brilliant, talented storytellers in a world that badly needs them).

So food is really the only carrot - ha, good pun - that you get as an adult when your vacations are so stuffed with things you're doing for your kids. I think every adult thinks this way. When I once visited Sterling with one of my best friends for his annual return to where he grew up in the small town about an hour east of Greeley (my home now) the first thing we did was visit a trashy taco stand. It was nothing special, but he said he HAS to go there every time he visits Sterling. The place, of course, was packed. I understood why right away.

Sterling means Taco Shack. Kansas City means barbecue.

Barbecue is not healthy, of course, but I've already had it twice. I've run practically every day I've been out there. Short runs, of course, even if one of them was five miles, with the first two under 14 minutes (sea level is wonderful). But there's a chance the gluttony I've already displayed will ruin my 5K on the Fourth of July. 

I don't care. At least, not right now. My sated mind is savoring the aroma of smoked meat, the spice of hot sauce and, of course, the slightly bittersweet, happy taste of home.

A confession

I haven't posted much about poker here lately. Mostly that's because I don't have much to add to the field that hasn't already been written. I save my best hands for Pokerworks, I'm still learning Omaha and with the World Series of Poker going on, it's a little insignificant for me to write about $50 NLHE.

But I do need to write what I'm about to say. It's time.

Hi, my name is Pokerpeaker. And I'm a losing player for 2009.

I'm on an extended, painful and frustrating losing streak, the first one of my four-year career in poker. I've had three winning months, but the take was small, and the losses in the bad months, like this one, have been much larger.

I'm hardly in danger of losing my bankroll, but it's taken a significant dent.

What's worse - or maybe better, depending on how you look at it - is it's almost killed my love of poker. I have no desire to play it right now. Losing, I suppose, will do that to you. 

I feel like a big wuss about that. I've approached many other challenges in life with fortitude and determination, but in this case, taking a pretty significant break seems like the right thing to do, and I can't muster up the urge to fight. I've been fighting. It's not working.

I'll spare many bad beats before this post turns really whiny, but I will tell you a story about last Friday, and you might see why my passion for the game has dwindled. It's a bit of a tale so be patient.

All right, we all know how I play, and that's tight. Really tight, in fact. In the past, it's always won me money, as so many others just could not resist making stupid plays against me, plays that I easily picked off or called down. 

Poker's tougher now, as so many know how to play NLHE with at least some competency, and whether that's because the fish aren't online any longer or the game's just been too popular for too long I'm not sure. Live games are looser but aren't what they once were either. Maybe this economy's killing the action. 

Whatever it is, I realized this year I needed to change things up a bit. Tight was not always right any longer. And as I did that, I began to feel like a golf pro who suddenly changes his swing and can't find his old groove.

Playing tight was not an incredibly effective style, but it WAS a style. It was a game plan. And switching that up meant I had no game plan any longer. I would play tight, then suddenly make a stupid move that cost me half my chips.

I was, in a sense, one of the donks.

So Friday I decided to take what I've learned about playing aggressively and use it but only very sparingly. For the most part, I would play like I always have and see if it's effective at all anymore.

And you know what, it was. For one night, it was incredibly effective. I got all-in at least seven times as a huge favorite, at least 70/30. Three times I had my opponent down to a two-outer - twice it was my Aces versus my opponent's Kings.

And I dropped six buy-ins.

That's an all-time record.

I didn't win one of those hands. 

In fact, the only pot of any significance I actually won was when I sucked out against a short stack with my Queens versus his Kings. I chuckled darkly at his chat box rant.

So I played well, with my old style, and lost a shit ton of money.

That will dampen your enthusiasm for the game.

So when I could think again, that night I came up with a three-part game plan.

I withdrew a huge chunk of my money off online. That leaves me with a small amount to play cash games with at my comfort zone, .25/.50 NL. That will force me to play carefully, within my game, and if I just can't win anymore, then it's gone and that's it.

I broke out my Nintendo 64. Yep. That's right. I'm going Old School baby. It still works beautifully, and it's been a trip to play games I hadn't touched in eight years. My life was just a tad different back then. Right now I'm tackling "Perfect Dark." Remember that one? Sure you do. I gotta tell you, it's still hard.

Finally, I will continue to play The Mookie, but I may not join many other games right now. I took a break from The Mookie for the BBT and also dropped Mondays and Tuesdays, and to be honest I enjoyed the break. My Netflix queue is now whittled. I've also written more and read a few books. Poker's no longer a major chunk of my life. It's merely a pastime.

More and more, I'm thinking that's where it belongs.

Deep breath before you tackle the next hill

I'm starting to really feel that we're over the hump and that the first few, hellish years of parenting are melting away.

I will miss the cooing, the discovery of all that's new to them (keychains, the moon, toilet paper) and the overall cuteness, but I call it hell because I haven't heard any other parent of twins say it any differently. That first year is, indeed, fun, rewarding and enjoyable. It's also hell.

Jayden's got a lot of milestones this summer even though it's a month before his 4th birthday. Today we took him to get a look at his pre-school. He should be writing his name by this fall, his teacher reassured us.

Yesterday I coached my first practice of his very first T-ball team. There's definitely a blog post in there, but honestly it wasn't as comical as I thought it would be. Most of the kids could hit the ball off the tee. Many didn't really know what to do after they smacked the ball, of course, despite me running the bases with them before hitting practice. Almost all, in fact, stood there and admired their hit, something they probably picked up by watching baseball on TV. I explained to them that they were asking for a brushback the next time they were up, but they didn't seem to listen.

A few could even pick it up and throw to first.

And, most importantly, they all listened to me and were good to each other. The kids were great too.

Jayden, though, is the youngest - he barely hit the cutoff date - and while his body can certainly do all the things I'm asking him to do, his active little brain isn't quite grasping it. He liked to run back to me every time someone hit the ball rather than run to second or third. 

We'll get there.

The girls are an even bigger breakthrough, as they can talk quite well. That's reduced the tantrums by tenfold, as they're no longer so frustrated that diving on the ground and screaming loud enough to disrupt a robin's flight pattern seems like the best option. 

"Hi, Daddy," they say when I walk in the house, and they know most of the important words, such as "juice," "cracker," "I want some," "milk" and, perhaps most importantly, "I pooped."

Toilet training and pacifier rehabilitation will start before July, leaving us the (albeit small) chance that they will be out of diapers by the end of the summer. The day they are officially out of diapers, I go on a 24-hour bender of poker, queso and beer.

It's more than just the milestones. They are people now. They tell us what they want - I want to swing is something I hear every afternoon - rather than cry and force us to guess. They're picking the things they like. Dora The Explorer is popular with the girls (something, by the way, I'm all for, given that she hikes, spends her days outside and knows how to use a map) and Jayden continues to support the Pixar franchise practically by himself. They even pick their own outfits now, meaning they're choosing how they present themselves to the world (and Andie, every day, wakes up and says "Dress, dress," meaning she's more of a girly girl than I originally thought). It won't be long before they start to form their own identities rather than ride the ones we've selected for them.

The days can continue to be long, challenging and, at times, utterly exhausting. But not every day.

I've run three races this year so far. Two of them were hilly courses, with steep, sapping climbs. Usually, when I'd reach the top, I'd be out of breath, not knowing if I could go on.

I felt that way many times these last four years (especially during the last two).

But I always managed to catch my breath, and find my strength to go on, on the way down.

From Start to Finish

My running career - the serious one, anyway - started at the Bolder/Boulder.

The first time, Jayden wasn't born yet, and the twins were a dark joke, an unimaginable situation.

The Bolder/Boulder is one of the largest 10Ks in the country, if not the biggest. I can't imagine one being much bigger. There are more than 50,000 runners, as there were this year.

I was one of them for the fifth time today.

In many ways, the race has gotten easier, even as I've managed to knock almost four minutes off my time since I began running it seriously four years ago. This year was by far my best race. I ran 47:37, a PR on the course by a minute over last year. Not only that, but I rarely really suffered for the first time. I finished 3,000th or so out of the 50,000.

I've never felt good on the course. It's a tough, hilly, at times nasty course, with three miles uphill, and it's hard to say what's harder, the steady climbs or the steep, short humps. And the wave I qualified for started at 7:05 a.m., so we'd have to blow out of Greeley by 5 a.m, making it almost impossible to get a good night's sleep.

Yet this year my breathing was controlled and I was relaxed. These races are hard for me. Most of my life I've been an endurance athlete, someone who could go all day on the peaks for several days in a row. I'm still adjusting to the intensity of races, the edgy breathing, the occasional pains in my side, the ever-present slight sick feeling in my gut, the sweat in my eyes. Yet I am adjusting, and this year's race proves it. I have to say, I practically enjoyed it. I definitely see room for improvement - I should have pushed it much harder the last two miles - but I'm pleased with my performance.

If only I could say the same thing for my kids.

Days like today continue to challenge me as a parent, and sometimes I honestly wonder if these races are a good thing for me. Sometimes I honestly wonder why I feel the need to constantly push myself, why I need that ego boost that comes from the feeling of crossing the line after you've given it everything you had. Because it takes a lot out of me to do that, and weariness gnawed at me all day, and when I am that tired, my patience isn't what it needs to be for three young, incredibly active children.

My kids are intelligent and need a lot of attention and are, it seems to me, abnormally active. They push us all the time. Sometimes it's too much, as Jayden has started hitting his sisters, and us. But I prefer this in my children. I can already tell they won't be passive personalities. I want my kids to be a lot of things, but passive isn't one of them. It's no way to live your life.

Still, when I don't have the patience for it, I'm not nearly as good a father as I should be. I try to spend time with them, but I also zone out for scraps of energy or do jobs around the house, like mow the lawn, clean out the toy box or get them juice and fix dinner. All those chores take energy, too, but not patience, and it's my patience that's always in short supply. After a race the tank is nearly always empty.

Sure enough, I yelled at Jayden around 7:15 p.m., when it was gone and I could see the end. The end of a race is always the hardest because at that point, it's impossible for me not to wish it was over. It's a great feeling to be done with a race, but it's an awful feeling five minutes before. I fell into that trap today despite the good race.

Bedtime is the same way for me. I yelled a little too long and a little too loud after he hit his sister yet again.

He's 3, not 4 yet, though he's close, and I wish I could sit him down and explain how angry it makes me. I tried. I'm not sure it sunk in. I doubt it, actually. We left on good terms, but I don't like him looking at me afraid and sad.

There was a lot of joy today too. I hadn't seen the kids in a couple days, and the girls and Jayden both wanted my attention as soon as I got home. I was exhausted, but that felt good. Honestly my biggest frustration is they don't want it enough. I lay on the couch after helping Kate get them lunch, and Andie left the table, came over and started jumping on my belly. I'm pretty sure that's not how to recover from a tough 10K. But it was really fun. Allie did the same a few moments later.

I need to continue to remind myself that there is joy in my kids, just like there is joy in a race. The hard moments are hard, but the feeling you get from it when you cross the finish line and go to bed that night make it all worth it.

Defenders of the Faith

I was sitting at a traffic light blasting "Living on a Prayer," singing a bit, playing guitar on my steering wheel, oblivious to 92 degrees outside, when I looked to my left.

A dude in his 20, his back window thumping bass, gave me a sardonic grin, shook his head and hit the gas.

I gave him the devil horns.

I find myself in these situations more than I'd like these days. Lately, I find myself defending 80s metal.

Fans of A Flock of Seagulls, Asia or the Alan Parsons Project - if they're still out there - probably go through the same thing. But let's be honest. Most of that music sucked, and most everyone realizes it today. 

But the strange thing is 80s metal, especially hair metal, in some ways is more popular than ever. It's in regular rotation on classic rock stations, including those JACK-FM stations that also play the occasional song from Bread. This makes me feel incredibly old, but it's also gratifying and ironic at the same time, given that popular radio at the time wouldn't touch even the more popular groups like Motley Crue. You'd hear Def Leppard, Bon Jovi and "The Final Countdown," but that's about it.

Still, I find myself having to defend the wonders of "Living on a Prayer" to the younger generation, or explain that, yes, Twisted Sister looked pretty stupid, but Dee Snider not only wrote some pretty catchy songs, he could sing, too. 

Even a couple friends of mine who prefer today's demon growlers - music I listen to and enjoy as well - sneer at all 80s metal, save for Metallica and maybe Iron Maiden.

I realize that a lot of 80s metal, most of it hair metal, screams to be parodied. Just look at the pants, the hair and the lyrics. And the sappy ballads. Yeah, those sucked. And, yeah, some of bands sucked as well. Maybe more than some. For every Ratt, Crue and Cinderella, there was a Britney Fox, Bang Tango and Danger Danger. 

But a band like Steel Panther makes fun of hair metal and gets it so right because the guys appreciate the music. That's why I loved their show. They played and sang the songs so well - nailed them, actually - that only a fool would say they were ripping it. True parody, the best kind, comes from a love of the source.

I wouldn't want to bring it back, I don't think. I mean, I did buy Motley Crue's new album this year, and it was great, really great, but I can't see me buying anyone else's. I think Twisted Sister's new one, if there was a new one, would stay on the shelf. 

But that music has its place, just like Men at Work, or many of those 80s bands that were actually pretty good but would probably be horrible today. It has its time. And it influenced more bands than you might think. The music's better than many think.

Though I'm worried. The other day I was playing Whitesnake in the car, and Andie looked at me and said, "ewww."

She also does that when she has a poopy diaper. I'm pretty sure that's what it was.