Pompous Circumstances

Last night's Superbowl Halftime show was the most out of control bit of self-worship I've ever seen. Beyonce (if that is her real name) is marginally talented, sure. (Name three of her songs, if you can; I know I can't.) She's very pretty, but frankly she doesn't need me to like her because clearly she likes herself more than enough for both of us. From the huge lit up profile of herself that appeared at the beginning of the show, to the video effects of multiple images of herself dancing with herself, the entire show from start to finish was one long (very, very long) demonstration of just how much she thinks about herself.

If I'm ever invited to someone else's party, a party that is being thrown for the express purpose of determining a world champion and then celebrating their victory, I highly doubt that the time I'm allotted during that party will be eaten up with a hubris-riddled scene of me demonstrating how awesome I think I am. I hope I'd have the sense to offer what I could to the celebration and then go take my seat and shut up.

You can only take so much of someone's crotch (and that's not much) before you want to ask them to please put it away because it's frightening the children. Dressing up like a puttana and having 30 paid "friends" dress up just like you and dancing around you isn't a chorus line, it's conceit. Get a grip on yourself and reel your fat head in before it floats away.

Not only was the whole affair not entertaining, it was extremely uncomfortable to watch. Go stand in a corner and think about what you did.

Next Superbowl, instead of having some overpaid and under-talented fool parade their legs around and make eyes at the camera for 20 minutes showing us all how great they think they are, why don't we have some wounded veterans stand up at the 50 yard line and tell us why they love their country and what we ought to be teaching our kids to make them love theirs too?