Super?

This being Super Bowl Sunday all the menfolk, usually in residence here at the Circle H Ranch, are elsewhere, presumably glued to a big-screen TV watching the annual hypefest. Did that sound underappreciative?

Alina and I took a "pass", which is the closest we get to Football Lingo.

Me: Do you understand football?

She: Well, I know there are guys who tackle each other, or something.

Me: Yup, and they try to run the football across the endzone line, but I'm never sure if the line they want is at the opposite end or not...

She: Opposite end of what?

Me: This is why we don't watch football.

[Where is Miss Cee, you may ask? She is with the menfolk, but of course...it was a no-brainer that there would be more excitement going on at Coach's Annual Super Bowl Party, not to mention lots of yummy grub, and the Loveable Lola.]

Our hunch was correct...as long as we stayed away from sports bars (not a real danger), we would steer clear of any long queues at eating establishments. In fact, it was if a giant testosterone vacuum had sucked up anyone of the male persuasion at our restaurant...even the bartender was a woman.

"Yeah," the hostess shrugged, "all the guys who work here traded all their hours with the girls for tonight. It's like an annual thing with them, I guess." Yeah. Annual, like in Super Bowl every year...I think there are some clever marketing strategies to be developed here, to capitalize on the preponderance of female clientele, but that's just a guess.

Even I figured out it was half-time, though, when the TV over the restaurant bar started blaring out The Who...well, to be honest, I at first thought it might be one of those demographic-niche cell phone ads, like the current one featuring Eric Clapton with the Fender-edition phone...maybe The Who ad is still in development.

But, no, there were Pete and Roger rockin' it at centerfield in the midst of a fairly respectable-looking light show. Surely there is some social/cultural commentary inherent in the fact that the 2010 Super Bowl halftime show features 60-something rock legends...but, I'll leave that to the sociology grad students.

* * * * *

Speaking of sociology or, perhaps, it's socio-pathology, I have a confession to make. No, nothing juicy. Just kind of a 'confession is good for the soul' and 'I indulged in further morbid curiousity' - courtesy of cable TV - mea culpa.

Do the initials "T & T" mean anything to you? If you can honestly say 'no,' I tip my proverbial hat to you. I, myself, have crossed the line.

For the uninitiated who still have their self-respect intact, "T & T"--as it relates to small-box media--refers to *inhale* "Toddlers & Tiaras". Yup. I said it.

It is exactly what you would expect. Tiny little females (with the odd boy thrown in) who are primped, prepped, and spray-tanned all for the glory of the rhinestone crown and obligatory savings bond. It's a contemporary blend of reality-docu-drama and vicarious parenting-gone-wrong that just cries out for an Intervention!!

Somehow, there is an inverse relationship between the age of the contestants and the pathology of their mothers...it is...surreal. As in, I-can-hardly-tear-my-eyes-away-from-this-bizarre-spectacle. Thus, commercial air time is sold.

One can only hope that the savings bonds won can be used for the future therapy sessions these little Regal Gems, Ultimate Supremes, Sapphire-Ruby-Emerald-and-Diamond Supremes and crestfallen Runners-Up will, no doubt, need. Or, perhaps, it's the unfathomably motivated moms and pageant directors who are in most dire need of help.

Wait...Silly me. Anyone who would imagine that a therapeutic perspective is called for here wouldn't be caught dead in one of these hotel meeting room pageant venues to begin with. So, it's all good. Isn't it?

I suppose the one thing that kept me watching all the way to the end (in addition to the fact that I left my Lunesta upstairs) was the uncanny perspective with which all this video footage was shot and edited. It was deftly balanced between wide-eyed buy-in of the whole pageant phenomenon and finger-shaking indignation at the willful exploitation...but maybe that's the point, afterall. Is it really exploitation if everyone in front of the camera is so knowingly cooperative?

I think one episode is enough.