Rock On, Wachovia!

This is from the homepage of wachovia.com, where I bank. Acoustic-playing, Army-jacket, ripped- jean, Chuck Taylor-wearing Rockerman is EXCITED about Wachovia's fixed rate mortgage loans. In fact, he's so pumped, he might just write a song about how his old adjustable rate mortgage was taking food out of his baby's mouth while The Man was getting rich and fat keeping him down.

Which reminds me; if I read one more sycophantic review of Springsteen's latest upchucking of pseudo-Americana, I'm going to...I don't what I'm going to do. But Springsteen releasing another buttload of whiny working-man, stop-the-war, what-happened-to-my-country songs is not worthy of the Google News homepage for 2 weeks. You're not the Boss of me, Bruce.

Yes, I am aware that the Springsteen Army is vast and vehement. Bring it on. You can't make me worship him. And I'm no less an American if I don't. If we have to choose a preacher of the singer-songwriter variety to be the spokesperson for our Collective National Angst, I'll take Canadian Neil Young any day.