I didn’t watch the Super Bowl. I wasn’t interested.
I did remark to my husband over dinner that the whole spectacle was overblown to the point that it had the feel of a pagan rite. But that was the limit of my thought about it.
I woke up Monday to internet outrage among my fellow silver-hairs about the Super Bowl half time show. Evidently, these folks were scandalized by all the sexualized bumps and grinds the female performers engaged in.
I didn’t see this show, but I imagine I wouldn’t have liked it either, but not exactly for the same reasons. I don’t like seeing women and girls treated like meat. I also don’t like it when I see them treating themselves that way, not even when they are highly paid to do so.
But, to be honest, I found granny and gramp’s outrage a trifle disingenuous.
These are the exact same people who called me names because I didn’t want to put an attempted rapist on the Supreme Court. They are the same ones who backed a child molester for the United States Senate. They all, to a person, bow down before a serial-sexual-predator-in-chief who bragged on tape about committing sexual assault, has joked repeatedly in public venues about wanting to “date” his own daughter and who put his wife in a porn photo shoot.
Granny and Gramps are all in for any depravity at all so long as it’s being committed by a powerful Republican. But they faint and keel over because of a halftime show. Or at least that’s what they’re telling us.
Not, I hasten to add, that I don’t think they are sincere in their half-time show fit of peak. I believe they mean it, that despite the fact that most of them evidently watched that half-time show all the way through. I mean, maybe the off button on their remotes were broken, or their little legs were so weak they couldn’t get up and walk out of the room. They had to watch it.
Just like they have to back the sexual predator in chief no matter what he does.