Super What?

I have no idea how this image fits the Super Bowl except maybe Linus got knocked out by a football, and Lucy is consoling him--or apologizing. But the picture struck my fancy more than a lot of footballs sailing through the air. Guess that tells you my attitude before I even begin.

Yes, tonight is that game. I considered inviting a couple of friends for a Souper Bowl party, but Jordan and Christian beat me to it. They know how to mark the occasion. They invited a few close friends, including some young people for Jacob, and Christian slaved all day over a huge pot of white chili. Someone brought a couple of dips, and someone else, a bowl of fresh fruits. We had a traditional feast.

The guests were all people I’m fond of, and I was glad to see them. But I really don’t have much interest in football. Christian said he’d be more excited if it was a team he likes—but I don’t particularly care for any team, so that cancelled out my interest. I had already seen a couple of the best ads—Budweiser, Jeep—and I’m not sure how interested I will be in the halftime entertainment.

So I visited, ate my chili, drank some wine, and came home to eat some chocolate. Turned on the TV just in time to see a super ad that had people passing a gold football at a banquet, crashing into tables, etc. Missed enough that I don’t know what was being advertised, but I admired the talent and skill of the acrobatic actors and the concept dreamed up by whatever PR firm.

Now the halftime show is on. I have no idea who the guy leading the entertainment is except that I’m quite sure it’s not John Mayer. My daughters will be so proud of me! Whoever he is, he just took off his jacket, revealing solid tattoos from wrist to shoulder on both arms. Do these people think what that will look like as they age and their skin begins to sag—and keeps on sagging? I hate to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but I guess I am. This entertainment does not restore my faith in mankind, but I am grateful that other things do.

Super Bowl of course makes us think of food. Have you noticed how advertising really pushes the seasonal foods of the moment? We’re about to go from dips and nachos and the like, for football watching, to chocolate for Valentine’s Day. I never object to chocolate—in fact I crave it. But somewhere the other day I saw mention that made me question my devotion. Chocolate hummus? I can’t quite imagine it. Not sure I want to.

This has been a weekend of recalling old times. Yesterday I had lunch with an old friend, and today my friend Linda went to a birthday party for another old friend, a woman my age who was once the nurse assistant to my ex-. We have not seen this friend for over fifteen years—she’s been going through a rough patch. But Linda brought back a good report on her and her family, who we knew well once upon a time when we were all young and optimistic. Fun to hear about people I’ve lost touch with, even if some of the stories are sad. It makes me realize, as my friend said yesterday, how very fortunate I am.

It’s no joke, folks

Everyone has thoughts on Trump, pro and con, so I feel a bit presumptuous putting mine in print. But here goes. He scares the living you-know-what out of me. Jacob asks his dad repeatedly, “But what if Trump does become president,” and Christian repeats, “Let me assure you that won’t happen.” But each time he says it, a niggling thought in the back of my mind says, “But what if?” Many voices predict that Trumps meteoric rise will crash and burn any day—but it hasn’t happened yet.

I had my hair cut today, and my stylist, who is a friend, and I were imagining Donald Trump sitting next to Russia’s Putin at a summit meeting—what a battle of the egos that would be. Rosa has definite political opinions, so when the subject came up, I said, “I don’t know where you stand on Trump.” She laughed, raised her hand, and said, “Hello! I was born in Mexico!” I’d forgotten to figure that into the discussion.

I saw on Facebook tonight a woman dressed for Trump’s Dallas appearance last night. She wore a sundress made of squares of portraits of Trump. As a friend of mine commented, “There are no words.” Other posts showed people, mostly women, with equal fervor for the Donald. Is there something about a misogynist that is particularly appealing to women? If so, I missed out on that gene.

Even Bobby Jindal declares he is a madman, though that gives one pause for thought—the pot calling the kettle black. I thought the Miss America candidate—was it Miss Alabama?—put it best when she said “He is an entertainer.” Political column after column has pointed out that he has no plan (beyond that darn wall in Mexico—and I hear the Mexicans would welcome it to keep spring break troublemakers from the States out). His speech in Dallas was a rambling, disconnected diatribe of name-dropping. No substance at all. I was cheered that the protestors outside greatly outnumbered the cheerleaders inside.

His outrageous attitudes and words frighten me because I fear some people think, “Isn’t he a hoot? I’m going to vote for him just for the heck of it!” I read an editorial recently that suggested to some extent that’s how the country elected George W. Bush—on his good-old-boy charm and persuasiveness, certainly not on his political career, his business failures, or his military record—the latter two should be an embarrassment. So haven’t we learned? Would we elect a comedian because he’s persuasive and charming and overwhelming? Would we overlook the facts that he’s declared bankruptcy (I think three times), knows nothing about government, international relations, is a racist and a bigot?

Dear Lord, I pray that the owners of all the sensible voices I hear around me will cast their votes in the next presidential election.