So my hubby was off yesterday, and we went to have quesadillas. I ignored you totally to stuff myself with cheese and chicken, in a blouse that encouraged my man to ogle my bosoms. It was a wonderful day; sorry I didn't bring leftovers.
So that's why I waited until today to talk about the Premiere Event in America. No, not the primary election. The Superbowl halftime show!
Seriously, will these idiots ever get it right? I mean, at least twice in a row? I know they're battling back from Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction, but to be honest, seeing a tiny flash of Jan's nipple shield wasn't the issue there. The NFL, CBS, and all the assorted people involved thought that Justin Timberlake aggressively stalking her singing about ripping her clothes off was just fine for a family show. I was more horrified by his behavior than hers, especially when he ripped off the pasty. The look on her face didn't suggest hot and sexy; it looked like she was being raped. It was disturbing on a lot of levels.
The Superbowl is supposed to be about celebration. Why can't we get "I Wanna Rock and Roll All Night" or "Living On A Prayer?" How much fun would the Foo Fighters be? Or, to go country, Rascal Flatts would have been a hoot. But Sunday night gave us Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I've never been his biggest fan, but geez. Slow folk songs in that high, reedy voice does not spell "rockin' the house" to me. Hubby said it was like the easy listening Superbowl.
If they would just ask me about these things, everything would turn out fine.