I suffer from a chronic indifference to football. I willingly watch one game a year and that game is the Super Bowl. I make snacks and drinks and get up to pee in between commercials. Ever since the whole Janet Jackson nipple slip, I try to watch the half-time show, just in case. It's really just about keeping pace with our vapid pop culture.
The Who's performance on Sunday was underwhelming. There were no wardrobe malfunctions or surprise performances from Britney Spears. It sounded like the opening credits of CSI Miami played in a loop for the duration of the show. Violet was far more entertaining.
I don't know why she's only wearing tights.
Seriously, it's not worth trying to figure out. Sometimes art cannot be explained with words.
*Actually, the outcome of the Super Bowl was moving, even to my cold, indifferent heart. A grown man crying with a baby in his arms under a torrent of confetti gets me every time. My husband decided that if the Saints won the game, we would go to New Orleans for our big anniversary trip. I rooted for them inspite of myself.
