Both statements are false. Who said which? Read on.

Tuesday night, I was in Lincoln at the Nebraska State Fair, where we attended the Pat Benatar concert — once again putting on the line the notion that free entertainment is always a good time. Foreigner, Styx, REO Speedwagon, and Joan Jett did not disappoint at previous shows. Benatar nearly did before saving face with an epic three-song finale: Heartbreaker, Promises In The Dark, and Love is a Battlefield.

She’d very nearly lost me when she introduced “Invincable” as being a song from “the worst movie ever made”. When she said that, Dick asked me what movie she was talking about. I drew a blank, assuming it was some obscure ’80s flick. A Google search turned up just one movie that features that song. The Legend Of Billie Jean. Starring not one but two Slaters: Helen and Christian!

(Maybe she did lose me: initially I remembered the “worst movie” introduction as taking place before she played “We Belong”. And which movie is that featured in? Talladega Nights. Not the worst movie ever, not by far. But that’s what I wrote. When Donovan corrected me, I changed this post to reflect my mistake. I don’t lie to my readers.)

The night had started in the parking lot, where we tailgated out of the trunk of the Mach V. Bud Light, outdoors in 70 degree weather, tailgating in a parking lot…how does it get any better than that? It doesn’t.

Last Sunday, Dick and I went to Des Moines for the Iowa State Fair. It was the last day of the fair, or “Extreme Sunday” as they call it. And, take it from me, it was an EXXXTREEEME Fair Experience. (Oh, right. Post-BIPTO Era, I don’t get to yell that anymore. Sorry.)

So “Extreme Sunday” at the fair means three things. One, gate admission is half price. Two, lots of food is on special so they can sell it out. And three, lots of EXXX, oop sorry, extreme entertainment is available. Entertainment like CannonLady, who shoots herself at 35MPH out of a cannon custom-mounted onto a pickup truck into a net some 200 feet away. Entertainment like Raven (you know her from Disney, or for people my age, from the Cosby Show), although we did not attend this show. And mostly, entertainment like Joan Jett and The Blackhearts. We most definitely attended this show.

The Iowa State Fair is known world-wide as one of the best fairs anywhere — every year, in excess of 1 million people come through the turnstiles. Once inside, everyone pretty much does the same thing: eat food, walk around burning said food off, rinse, repeat. I’ve only missed the fair 4 times in my 28 years. When I was a little guy, my grandpa used to work the fair at his company’s booth. He sold grain bins, and would spend the entire 10 days answering questions in front of prototype grain bins out in the ag section of the fair. I’d hang out, and the best part was when you’re a cute little kid with flirty eyes AND your grampa works at the fair, you get to ride around on a golf cart. Imagine being three years old, riding around amidst 100,000 people on a golf cart. You’re pretty sure that the world is your oyster, even though you have no idea what an oyster is, and have only vague notions of why you’d covet one so.

Thursday night, Dick and I made the 52-minute trek to Lincoln for Third Thursday. Yes, 52 minutes — the GPS navigation system in the Mach V told me so.

(Mach because its badass fast, V because the “V” in the new Civic logo is the biggest letterform. Maybe? I’m trying it out. Not saying it will end up as the name.)

This being the first real road trip in the Mach V, 1000 miles into its life, I was excited. We programmed the navigation system to guide us, took off about 5:15 and were into Lincoln just after 6. When we got there, we discovered $82 of the $100 sponsored money was already gone — damn you, expensive hotel bar! Dick’s Guiness cost him $7.50; my Bud Light was $6. Good lord, those are San Francisco prices without the San Francisco ambience.

So after an hour of sitting around with the likes of Nielsen, Sockrider and others, we made the executive decision to move TT to a cheaper bar. Namely, Yia Yia’s, where pizza is cheap and beer is even cheaper. $2 Old Style tall boys — 16 oz! — in commenorative Chicago Cubs jersey cans. “The Cubs jersey is not just a uniform. Its an honor we’re proud to share during this 2006 season.” Ahem, this 2006 last place season. They forgot that part.

When I went with the pepperoni/hamburger slice of pizza, I was roundly ridiculed — Dick manned up and ordered potato and corn pizza. Which sounds disgusting, looks edible, and probably tastes better than expected. But I enjoyed my hamburger and pepperoni just the same.

Late in the evening, we convinced Nielsen to go see the free Pat Benatar show at the Nebraska fair in a couple weeks, even though we’re pretty sure he has no idea who Pat Benatar is — just that the chance to get cheap beer at a free outdoor concert sounds like a good time so why not? So at least there will be one guy from that office at the show…which is nice.

At the end of the evening, it was time to program the navigation system, which turned into quite a battle. Dick tried for several minutes to program it to find Omaha. I tried for several more, at one point exclaiming “Dammit, we’ve made the drive back and forth a million times without navigation!” But still, having the computer lady tell you when to turn is pretty cool. So we persisted. Eventually we got it figured out, and navigation lady (“Navi”) guided us out of Lincoln and into Omaha.

You bet.

Motherfuckin’ Snakes on a Motherfuckin’ Plane! Damn!

Wednesday night after we got back from a delicious feast at Godfather’s, Gilby played for us a message left on his phone. A personalized voice mail from Samuel L. Jackson imploring him to go see Snakes on a Plane. Brilliant.

We immediately jumped online and found the website it had been sent from — the official movie site, as it turns out — and spent the next half-hour sending personalized messages out to everyone we thought would dig it. Dick sent one to his brother. I sent one to my brother (telling him to stop picking the lint out of his navel), and another to Continental (to stop showing off his prison tattoos). When I got home I sent out several more to other people that I knew would appreciate it. Some people just wouldn’t get it. To me, a personalized (if computer generated) voice mail from The Man would be DOMINANT. Not everyone shares my opinion, and I respect that. Nice of me, isn’t it? You bet.

You got to hand it to them, really. This is very likely the worst movie ever made, and yet with the kind of brilliant marketing they’re masterfully orchestrating, it will be a blockbuster. Only in America.