Will watching Super Bowl ads make me a hypocrite?

I will admit up front that I find the game of football less than scintillating.  Much less.  Oh, I’ve watched games (and have even rooted for teams like the Eagles and the Colts in the past).  I’ve always wanted my college teams to win, although not enough to actually attend games (waste of an afternoon).  So I don’t actually follow football.

 

Okay, I get that people enjoy watching and following football—I used to be quite the baseball and hockey fan.  And frankly, I didn’t care until recently.  What has changed is the increasing understanding we have of the effects of repetitive football head injuries (e.g. concussions) on the brain, specifically chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE).  Once primarily associated with boxers, the prevalence of CTE in retired football players has been generating much media attention.  This is an ugly, tragic disease, one that is both progressive and degenerative.  Memory loss, aggression, cognitive disturbances—these are the symptoms of CTE.  Dave Duerson, a former NFL star who graduated from a local high school, committed suicide three years ago, leaving behind a message that his brain be used for research (he was found to have suffered from CTE).  Even parents are becoming leery of having their kids play football, according to a recent study.  So, if I follow football (or ice hockey, a sport I really did use to pay attention to), am I somewhat culpable in the likelihood of these players suffering years from now?  Would I be contributing to a culture that lionizes a sport with the potential for endangering even children?  Surely if there are fewer fans, then the NFL (or the NHL) would have to institute changes to make these games safer for everyone.

 

Which brings me to the Super Bowl.  Super Bowl Sunday is a de facto (US)American holiday.  I’ve thrown very successful Super Bowl parties (and attended them at the homes of others).  Sometimes I might actually be rooting for some team, though usually not.  What I always enjoyed most of all are the commercials—some very good and some forgettable.  So my dilemma is whether watching the ads on Sunday is innocuous (I’m not actually following the game and promoting football) or whether it is morally wrong (if I pay attention to the advertisers, then I am contributing to the “importance” of football).  Am I guilty of being the person who didn’t speak up?

The Long Winter

Ah, the title of one of my favorite Laura Ingalls books, which I read several times as a child (and not once since then).  These days, I’m left to wonder if the atmospheric patterns that were in place then (winter of 1880-1881 in the Dakota Territory) are the same as those driving (and dreary-fying) the current winter in the Midwest.   This pattern is similar to that of three winters ago, when the concept of the polar vortex first graced media reports.  Colder this time, but the similarities are frequent snows that simply do not melt much.  And constant cloudiness (okay, that’s pretty common here).  And the cold, oh the f%#king cold. Oh, how ecstatic I will feel once spring arrives for good!

Another thought:  I know that we tend to acclimate to ambient conditions (which is why early-season heat waves tend to be more dangerous and deadly than those later on in the season), but I’m wondering if emotionally we have more trouble at the end (or middle!) of drawn-out abnormal seasons.  Continual cold, clouds, and snow tend to wear on me, so that by the time February rolls around I am ready to burst out of my skin, irritable.  And it isn’t just the cold.  The summer of 2012 was a long, hot, DRY one in the Midwest (devastating for agriculture–I believe it may have been declared an exceptional drought in places, which is the most severe of all categories).  Every day it was hot and dry.  I didn’t mow my lawn for 2 months.  And I felt the same way by the end of July as I do now, only with a temperature/moisture inverse (hot/dry as opposed to cold/wet).  Could it be that early heat/cold waves may be more devastating physically but prolonged ones more likely to affect one’s emotions or psyche?

Pile of snowGrill with Hat

She Who Must Be Obeyed

Especially at 4:15 AM. You see, I share my home with a remarkably spoiled princess, a striking green-eyed, black-furred cat with a small patch of white at the collar.  So, while I may want to stay in bed for, say, another thirty minutes, she has other ideas.

And she is ever-so-fashionable.  The lovely Miss Bella typically sports a red collar (that red-against-black is so chic!)  Here she is!
BellaBoat1

 

The real reason I go to work–to keep Miss Bella in Iams Adult Hairball Care and tissue paper.

OnHerTissuePaper

 

 

Is Radiant Orchid the New Black?

Radiant orchid, Pantone’s 2014 Color of the Year, is a rather vibrant, striking looking shade.  Indeed, I’m thinking about painting all of my doors in my combination office/laundry closet/cat-napping room*, providing some bright visual foci against the white walls and dark, dusty teal (aka Perfect Storm in Lowes-speak) trim.

Color of the Year?  How, exactly, is this contest run?  Are there hue equivalents of pageant moms?  Do they have to wear evening gowns made of cloth in their own shade?  Do people lobby for certain colors to win (or at least place in the circle of runners up)?  And what happens to the losing colors?  Do they go on to lead nondescript lives in far corners of a Michaels or Hobby Lobby?

*cat-napping, in this case, refers to an actual cat who likes to nap in office chairs.  Her name is Bella and she is quite the whiny little princess.

The Wonderful World of Eyeglasses

As much as I love my contact lenses, I’ve made a (partial) switch to Eyeglasses as Fashion Statement.  While I probably need a dozen or so pairs to accessorize all of my fashion moods, I’ll have to start with two.  Or rather, three (my old glasses are still rather stylish).  While I’ll have that dozen in due time, I can make do with my new ones.

Selecting the finalists was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in my life!  Oh, sorry, that is a bit of hyperbole.  Well, a shitload of hyperbole actually.  But it wasn’t easy–three frames were clearly calling my name (“petra, petra”, heard faintly in the background).  I so wanted that third pair, the one that let me channel my inner Diane Keaton, but paying the mortgage won.  Anyway, to view the winners, click on the Eyeglasses, Eyeglasses link at the top of the page.