Let's Not Complain About Super Bowl Weekend.

Repeat after me: I will not bitch about the Super Bowl.

I will not complain about the added traffic. I will not roll my eyes at that the influx of people who will make ordering a drink at my favorite watering hole that much more of an ordeal.

I will not poke fun at the people excited at the prospect of running into celebrities at various hot spots—even if by "celebrities" they mean Jersey Shore's Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino and reggae-pop artist Sean Kingston, and by "hot spots" they mean the BlackFinn American Saloon in Addison, where both of these names-in-bold have parties booked this weekend.

I will not make fun of the people who pay good money to attend any number of Diddy's parties scheduled around town over the next few days. Nor will I lower their spirits by pulling back the curtain and telling them that the hip-hop superstar probably won't perform at these appearances—although he will, more than likely, grab the microphone at some point and make mention of his endorsement deal with Ciroc vodka.

I will not mock the excitement about all the other parties and concerts taking place around town, even if most of these concerts are from performers who, more than likely, will return to the region in the coming months (aside from Prince). I will not groan about the ridiculously exorbitant ticket prices for these shows—namely the $65 tag placed on tickets to Thursday night's show from Flaming Lips and Neon Indian, especially considering that, last time through, the former played a free show and the latter could be caught for about $15 a head. I will understand that these venues are simply trying to cash in on all the excitement and make a quick buck.

I will not ridicule the folks behind the Cotton Bowl's so-called XLV Party, who had to cancel their Thursday night event, featuring a performance from the Village People, because of lack of interest. I will certainly not make it known to anyone who'll listen that, according to reports in the Dallas Voice, this cancellation came because only 13 tickets were purchased to the concert.

I will not lay absurd amounts of praise upon, of all places, The Door, which, unlike so many other venues around town, made the smart move after initially planning a Super Bowl weekend party with mall-punk favorites Forever The Sickest Kids by cancelling their event, having realized that with all the shows and parties theirs was likely to get lost in the shuffle. I will not tell anyone who listens that, for once, The Door may be the lone venue in town with a head on its shoulders, and how it proved as much by choosing to cut its losses in advance.

I will not make stupid jokes about the inclement weather that debuted in the region earlier this week—nor will I point out the unfortunate fact that events like the Super Bowl and last year's NBA All-Star Game just happen to be scheduled in early February year in and year out, and that this also happens to be the one time of year when the weather in North Texas isn't so great.

Likewise, I will not point out the sad fact that, no matter how much the advocates for certain artists around town may try, they just won't be able to use Super Bowl weekend as a catalyst for various local music scenes—at least not to the degree that they're expecting. In particular, I will not disparage local hip-hop acts for trying especially hard to capitalize on this weekend's affairs. I will not tell these artists that the fans who see them every weekend won't be as excited about the prospect of catching them this weekend—not when acts like Lil Wayne, Diddy, Drake, Jamie Foxx, Nelly, Wiz Khalifa, Wakka Flocka Flame and others are coming to town and stealing their shine.

I will also not complain about the NFL's booking of the Black Eyed Peas for its halftime entertainment at the Super Bowl. I will understand that the Super Bowl is as mainstream as it gets and that, for better or worse, so are the Black Eyed Peas. I will similarly refuse to criticize the NFL for selecting Glee star Lea Michele as the Super Bowl's "America the Beautiful" performer because of the tie-in with the Fox show, which will air in the coveted slot just after the game's end. I will not make jokes about how long Christina Aguilera, the selected national anthem performer, will stretch out the word "brave" at the end of "The Star-Spangled Banner."

I will not wonder aloud why the NFL chose these performers instead of any number of North Texas-connected acts—like, say, Norah Jones or Erykah Badu or even Kelly Clarkson, any of whom would've made for fine selections—to showcase.

I will not point and laugh at the people who'll rush Victory Plaza the day before the Super Bowl to catch a free show from Maroon 5, whose new album is significantly worse than even their earlier efforts at sexed-up, R&B-infused pop. I will not wonder where the locals who'll turn out in spades to take advantage of events like this are the rest of the year. I will not daydream about how much the local arts and music scenes could improve if these folks showed even the slightest amount of interest in the just-as-interesting performances that take place around town the other 51 weeks of the year.

As such, I will not question exactly how much good an event like this actually does for the local art and music scene. Nor I will groan about the fact that it takes an event of this scale to see the city finally make use of the fine bare bones of neighborhoods like the West End or of the absurdly capable special events centers at Fair Park.

I will not point out that the coolest shows happening in town this week have nothing to do with the Super Bowl at all—like the debut of Police drummer Stewart Copeland's "Gamelan D'Drum" at the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center this weekend or the Tuesday night performance at The Loft from Chicago rock slackers The Smith Westerns, who may have already released the album of '11.

In fact, I won't bitch at all, as bitching goes against the Southern hospitality stereotype all the visitors coming to the region this week are expecting, right along with our 10-gallon hats, our thick accents and our incessant use of the term "y'all."

And God forbid we disappoint people who still think about North Texans like that.

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Pete Freedman
Contact: Pete Freedman

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