Ernessa asked “Are you going to do a column on the Super Bowl commercials again?” I had a good time doing the reviews last year, so the only possible reply was “Hell, yeah! I get to watch TV and be judgmental?! Sign me up!” So here are my Ultimate Pronouncements on the Best and Worst ads of the game. (I totally didn’t see the pre-game. Let me know what I missed.) Everyone has been talking about the Ferris Bueller Honda CRV ad for the past two weeks, so I’m starting off our Super Bowl recap with my thoughts on that. (Please feel free to add your thoughts on any commercials, game action, Faith Hill’s sparkly pants, etc., in the comments below). I thought the CRV ad was clever but sad. Clever as an homage to a classic movie. Loved that Chinatown parade. Sad because only Matthew Broderick was a player in this show. Where were Cameron and Principal Rooney (is he still in prison?) and girlfriend Mia Sara (Sloane) and Jennifer Grey? If this commercial had been sprinkled with the original cast, it would have been a classic. It wasn’t. Now can we please talk about something else? The Good Ads – You Get My Vote/Money Vrooom: Maybe I’m a little biased, because I am a proud Hyundai owner (2012 Cherry Tucson y’all!), but I thought The Dude and the creative team working for Hyundai brought their top game to Super Bowl 46 (that’s right…no Roman numerals for me. Keepin’ it simple.) The employees singing the Rocky theme was awesome and inspiring. My fav part was the bumpy road-test singer: The surprise for the Cheetah trainer in their Veloster commercial made me happy. I always root for the animals! If I weren’t a happy...

That is the question I ask myself whenever I see a Hyundai commercial. Yes, I know that Jeff Bridges is a man, and The Dude is a character. But, when I hear that voice, I can’t help but think of how a new Hyundai would really pull the room together. If you look in my driveway tonight, you’ll see how compelling that argument really is. Our old Saturn, Blue, was falling apart. At 8 years old, she was way past warranty. The struts rattled incessantly, the Saturn dealer had told us that was standard. Ole Blue’s check engine popped on and off at random and the mechanic said it had to do with a part that turned the check engine light on, which is an expensive and unnecessary replacement. So we lived with it. Over the past two months, we’d been scanning other cars, checking them out in ads, looking them up on the web, sneaking glances at them while we drove down the street. It felt illicit and to be sitting in my trusty car and lusting after a new one. This blue sedan had ferried me back and forth when I lived in Santa Clarita and worked near LACMA (that’s about 50 miles, in LA traffic). She had moved us from the Valley to the Sea. Blue was the car that had carried sick Weasel and Munchy to their vet appointments. That was the backseat where I had curled into a fetal position on the drive home after getting food poisoning at a wedding in Northern California. There were traces of my eye-liner, mascara, lip-gloss and a variety of lotions and sunscreens wiped under the driver seat. She has a indentation in her hood from my butt, from when I thought the...