In which your intrepid social critic recovers from all sorts of hangovers brought on by Sunday – and weekend – not all that Super – and all the sorts of bowls involved …
I’m not a fan of football. I tried. Two years ago I started watching because the people with whom I most often spent my weekends were enthusiasts. I managed an elementary grasp of the rules, but in the end, my zealotry was for obsessively noting not statistics or fine-points about the game, but, rather, catching VPL’s and determining who was too hung or manly for a protective cup.
Actually, my friends sort of got that I wasn’t REALLY interested in it the way they were when I spent forty minutes obsessively questioning them (there were quite a few straight men with a team sport background involved) about why it was that in high school one HAD to wear a protective cup; only in SOME colleges was it mandated; and in pro-sports it was a personal choice – and whether or not there was such a thing as a penis too large to fit comfortably in a cup and what did one do if one HAD such a penis in high school or a college where protective cup was mandated and . . . well, you get the picture . . . if not, I’ve posted one to help you! You’re welcome.
Still, SuperBowl weekend is SuperBowl weekend. In addition to which, since having received that football in the mail last week from someone who is still a mystery to me (CLICK HERE TO READ ALL ABOUT IT), it seemed as if I had to pay at least a little attention to the game – or, the culture surrounding it – meaning, it’s a free day for eating like a pig. Which I did. Many processed meat and cheese products, the cooking and ingesting of which – combined with all the Friday and Saturday night wine imbibing, absolutely exhausted me. So . . .
I actually napped during the game, mostly. I was exhausted. I was out Friday night. Way the fuck out, actually, and had a lot of wine. And while I was in Saturday night because I was still tired from Friday night’s Bacchanalia, I drank a lot more wine. So, last night, no wine. Just naps. However, I did think Bruno Mars was hot at halftime, in fact I Tweeted:
Shortly after, I switched over to Downton Abbey. Great, GREAT episode in which Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess, was in RARE, RARE form. Read the re-cap here at TBL. Best line of the night:
Cousin Isobel: “How you hate to be wrong.”
Dowager Countess: “I wouldn’t know. I’m not familiar with the sensation.”
That line was Tweeted like mad by many, myself included, and that made me oh so happy that enough people were watching Downton that I was seeing The Dowager Countess’s great lines sent through the twittosphere over and over. Score. Although, I believe, the BEST Tweet of the night goes to Hillary Clinton who sent this out:
But there were a lot of distractions this weekend. Troubled young manufactured pop-singer boy-star leaking a photo of his latest circling of homoerotic adventure, involving a stripper’s nipple. And the famous director alleged sexual abuse of his adopted daughter and the ways in which public reaction further reveal the rape and shame and insane culture in which we live. And the purportedly drug overdosed death of a famous actor.
All of those stories disturbed me in different ways for different reasons, but I think what most troubled me were the ways in which people who had nothing to do with these stories, who in no way had any personal connection to these people and no real, factual, firsthand knowledge of the situations, felt free to speak as if they did, to pass judgment, to pontificate and diagnose and condemn and sentence to punishment.
- Who the fuck do we all think we are minding the business of everyone else, inserting ourselves into their lives and publishing our opinions on matters of a personal nature? I find this despicable. It is why I left Facebook, frankly, because it was so epidemic, so hateful, and too – because so many people I knew personally were obviously using Facebook in ways meant to manipulate, hurt, and influence others. What a world.
I have better things to do. And there are WAAAAYYYYY more important things about which my opinion MUST BE HEARD. For example:
- Remaking Valley of the Dolls (CLICK HERE). ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? That film was PERFECTION. Never will there ever be actresses fit to fill the gowns of Travilla in the manner of Misses Parkins, Duke, and Tate (that’s the original billing order, thank you very much) let alone the shoes of Miss Susan Hayward who replaced original choice, Judy Garland as Helen Lawson; a role for whom, it is rumored, they are pursuing Madonna? MADONNA? WTactualF? Puhlease.
- I don’t have HBO. I don’t normally find myself wanting to pay for premium cable. I am one of those “wait until the boxed set” sort of people who like to binge watch. Or, binge watch when I house sit for one or another of my better-off clients who have the whole million-dollar-a-month package. Usually, fine with it – HOWEVER – right now, at this moment, the fact that I am missing my boyfriend Russell Tovey on HBO’s Looking is sort of killing me. Although, apparently, this article on Slate (WHY DOES HBO’S LOOKING LACK ERECTIONS?) tells me that what I most want from Russell will not be forthcoming. Damn.
Oh well, I have other things with which to fill my time. For instance, figuring out who did it and why in the case of the mysterious football. And, too, why is it that my computer is SO FUCKING SLOW AND GETTING SLOWER BY THE DAY. It is constantly freezing and I’m having to wait and then, of a sudden, mobility returns. I’ve a suspicion I’m being stalked by someone – that the combination of NSA and GOOGLE minding my business is making it hard for me to troll as quickly as I’d like.
- What I’d REALLY like to know is what matrix or algorithm is being used to determine which ads should be popping up everywhere I surf. I mean, I get The Glass Menagerie on Broadway – BUT I’VE SEEN IT SO STOP. And I get Mother Courage at Arena Stage starring Kathleen Turner, but I am NOT going, so STOP. I guess I get Verizon Wireless, but I hate and never will forgive you and yet, as in my love-life, cannot ever seem to let you go, so ENOUGH ALREADY. And, okay yes I do regularly cruise and lust after MACKWELDON.COM underwear, so that makes perfect sense.
I wish this ad would have popped up in my feed. (P.S. Thanks to Joe. My. God. blog for this. CLICK HERE FOR JOE.) Loves it:
But instead I get bombarded by ads for MOTEL 6 having Frederick’s cheapest rates. WHY do they keep showing up? Do you know something I don’t know? And let me say this; I have an almost obsessive fear of bed bugs, so the chances I would EVER walk into a discount motel chain are – oh fuck it, who am I kidding –
– anyway, I have to go and run about ten miles on a treadmill to undo the slothful eating, drinking, and resting of this weekend during which there were – alas – no adventures in Motel 6 or anywhere else I might have scratched – or caught – an itch.