Rules of Engagement follows the Rules of Situation Comedy

.

.

Contrary to popular belief, critics are not out to savage everything that comes down the pop culture pike. We don't hate everything-- in fact, it's our love of media that compels us to write about it. We're like loving aunts and uncles in our criticisms--we merely want media to be the best it can be. Unlike parents, we're distanced enough to see the potential flaws in the offspring, but close enough to emphasize their potential strengths.

.

When it comes to comedy, my primary-- well, really, my only criterion in judging it is this: did it make me laugh? The Marx Brothers movies, with their non sequiturs and double entendres, make me laugh. The Three Stooges, with their slapstick versions of reality, make me laugh. Woody Allen, with his urbane, neurotic visions of modern life, rarely makes me laugh. Albert Brooks, with his neurotic takes on urban life, almost always does.

.

Comedy is about incongruity-- taking reality and turning it inside out. From its title, one would conclude Rules of Engagement follows that dictum. It's a title that conjures up a spin-off of The Unit. What it is, though, is a comedy about the different phases of male-female relationships, with the marriage proposal being the pivotal point that somehow makes it make sense.

.

Adam (Oliver Hudson) confesses to Russell (David Spade) that he's proposed to Jennifer (Bianca Kajlich). Russell, a 40-something swinging single with a penchant for younger women, thinks its a ridiculous idea, of course. Oddly enough, the conversation takes place in the obligatory coffee shop, a mainstay of sitcoms since the earliest days of Friends. Of course, Russell switches gears and bubbles over with feigned happiness for the couple as soon as Jennifer joins them. It's trademark David Spade, and hardly surprising.

.

Fortunately, the pilot gains momentum once we're introduced to Jeff (Patrick Warburton) and Audrey (Megyn Price), married for twelve years and settled into the routine of married life. Think of them as a 21st century version of the Kramdens, more upscale than Ralph and Alice, but with a similar sarcastic bent to their relationship. Their bickering about trivialities belies their love for each other, and provides the show's best lines. Warburton, in particular, plays Jeff with deadpan resignation, unfazed and unsurprised by anything going on around him. When Audrey confronts Jeff about his beer consumption after a game of softball, he says in a righteous monotone, "Four beers, and three lights. . . so five beers."

.

In its exploration of the evolution of relationships through the eyes of its principals, Rules of Engagement has its moments. While it never strays far from the formula of the sitcom, right down to the annoying laugh track, it offers a light look at the foibles inherent in the mating ritual. It's not a great comedy-- a midseason replacement while The New Adventures of Old Christine is on hiatus--but it has a great deal of potential. Pitted against both 24 and Heroes, it's unlikely to survive in its current time slot.

.

Fortunately, CBS is making it available for viewing on its website, as well. It's worth a view.

.

Super Bowl Solutions For the Strong of Heart

.

.

I'm pretty sure my disinterest in American football stems from having my collarbone broken cleanly in half when I was running the ball during an eighth grade skirmish. I had no idea that running fast could inspire that kind of aggression from the opposing team. Having gone through that at an early age, it's been a wee bit difficult for me to sympathize with pro players who take off weeks over a sprained pinkie.

.

Once a year, though, I join with millions of other Americans to vicariously celebrate our fixation with the art of pummeling a guy who's just trying to make it from point A to point B while carrying a vaguely egg-shaped ball. I'm talking Super Bowl here. And yeah, I tune in mostly for the commercials. I freakin' love seeing the uncut versions of the advertising world's vision of what's going to rock our world in the coming year. It's a perverse pleasure, I admit, since MadAv rarely synchs with its target demographic in these lavish spots. But I like imagining how they pitched them to their clients in the first place.

.

Whether you're a couch potato quarterback or a clueless copywriter wannabe is irrelevant. What makes Super Bowl Sunday the most important unofficial national holiday in the calendar is the food. It's the one day of the year that we not only guiltlessly gorge on food and drink, but are actually encouraged to do so. This is not a day for carefully thought out dinners symbolizing thanks or penance. No, on Super Bowl Sunday, silverware is replaced with paper towels, and the only glassware you'll find are beer bottles. It's our annual homage to our baser instincts. We gather together in the dead of winter to feast and boast with wreckless abandon, shouting to the heavens (or at least our neighbors) in praise of warriors who were only weeks ago our rivals. In short, it's a par-tay of the first degree.

.

Rites of this magnitude require a bit of attention. Mind you, I said a bit. While ordering in for pizza was ample in earlier days, the Super Bowl has taken on a life that requires at least a hint of a personal touch. It needn't be anything fancy-- in fact, that would be just wrong given the context of the party. Burgers won't work--grilling takes too much time away from the event, and homemade party trays require, for want of a better word, lots of labor. I googled Super Bowl recipes, and found a wealth of totally worthless information-- unless June Cleever is preparing the feast.

.

There are two sacraments in the celebration of Super Bowl-- hot wings and guacamole. And in keeping with the spirit of the event, I like to keep it as simple and painless as humanly possible. And that means no frying is involved. Health issues (which I won't debate) aside, frying requires too much attention, and the end result simply doesn't taste right to me. Nothing should be fried beyond bacon or the ocasional egg. There are better, and tastier ways to make hot wings.

.

Here's what you do. We'll just go with the basic formula, and you can do the math according to your needs. Here's what you're going to need:

.

24-30 chicken wing drumettes

1 cup barbecue sauce

1/2 cup hot sauce

2 one-gallon ZipLoc bags

.

Those are the essentials. I use drumettes rather than whole wings for two reasons: firstly, I don't have to spend time cutting the worthless joint off, and secondly, I've convinced myself it's more economically sound. Pat them dry, and lightly dust with kosher salt and black peper. Let them stand.

.

Meanwhile, mix the barbecue sauce and hot sauce, along with whatever other spices you might want to sprinkle in (depending on your level of bravery) and whisk vigorously. A word here for best results: do NOT buy bargain brands, particularly on the hot sauce. Louisiana Hot Sauce and Jack Daniels Hickory Smoke barbecue sauce yield the best results--and no, I'm not on their payroll.

.

Put half the wings in a ZipLoc Bag, and the other half in another. Guess what comes next? Yep--pour half of the mixture you've just concocted in one bag, then the other. Seal the bags, and shake vigorously. Make sure there are no air pockets, reseal and place in the refreigerator for a minimum of 2 1/2 hours. Overnight is best, but these are trying times.

.

Once all that's done, put the little suckers, uncovered, in a shallow baking pan, separated in a single layer, drizzle with one stick of melted butter and bake at 400 degrees for about an hour, turning once. Otherwise, you're done.

.

Now I could be all metrosexual PC, and say "serve with celery sticks and blue cheese dressing", but you're not going to do that anyway. You're going to serve them alongside pizza. Fries are better, though. Trust me. First preheat the oven to 400 degrees. All you need to do then is wash and slice the potatoes , dry them with paper towels and toss with vegetable oil until completely coated. Spray a cookie sheet with PAM and add the potatoes in a single layer. Bake for 20 to 30 minutes, then broil on the center oven rack for about 10 minutes or until potatoes are golden brown.

.

That's the main event. But the Super Bowl is a day of snacking, and that means chips and dip. In Dallas, that means either salsa or guacamole. Salsa , at least what I serve, is Texas hot, and that encourages more beer drinking, which depletes my finances. Guacamole, on the other hand,has a cool, but spicy flavor. My wife Elke has devised the perfect recipe for guacomole, and it goes a little something like this:

.

For the guacamole you mash the flesh of four soft avocados, add two diced Roma tomatoes, juice of one medium lime, and one tablespoon of finely chopped cilantro. Season to taste with salt, pepper and onion powder and a dash of Cayenne pepper if you like it hot.

.

It's a quick and simple recipe at the surface. A bit chunkier than commercial versions, it cries out for a worthy chip. It has to be sturdy first and foremost, able to withstand generous dollops of dip without breaking. And it has to be tasty on its own, but without artificial flavors that compete with the dip.

.
What you want for a dipping chip comes either from Mexico, at best, or failing that, South Texas. There are no other options. Tostitos, Doritos and all the other mass-marketed -itos don't cut it. You want a good dipping chip, you have to go authentic tortilla chips.

.

It's pretty much a given that your beverage of choice for Super Bowl feasts like this is going to be beer. Assuming you've made the hot wings hot, you're going to need it to extinguish the fire in your mouth. Whatever you do, don't buy a light beer-- it's a marketing oxymoron. Budweiser is most in keeping with the theme of the Super Bowl, if for no other reason than their commercials. I've yet to hear anybody mumble complaints when served Bud. If you want to go more uptown, Corona is an excellent choice.

.

That pretty much covers it, I think. Oh, one more thing--don't everybody flush at once. It has national consequences.