#11 PUPPY "Super-Pup/Super Bowl Half-Time"
Monday, February 3, 2020
That is, it was Monday, February third, when I first approached my computer’s keyboard, meaning to tell the exciting news that Scooter Sublime had “lifted his leg.” It’s not altogether unlike a human baby beginning to crawl. It’s news. It’s growth. It’s this little animal responding to urges and observations.
Now, it is Monday, February 10th.
Perhaps urges and observations deserve thought, I thought last Tuesday, after sitting in that morning on a women’s conversation about the Super Bowl Half-time entertainment—which was, without question, about urges and observations.
Half-Time 2020: a sexy, bold, daring, scantily-costumed, bring the house down, not-particularly-family-entertainment package of gyrations by two women of an age some would expect, rather, to share a small table, sip coffee with cream, and talk of tending their children’s children. At first glance . . .
“Disgusting!” opined the woman on my left.
“I loved it!” said she who sat to my right.
The conversation commenced. My thoughts coalesced later, as is the tendency of my thoughts. I had watched every musically guided half-time moment, taken aback by blatant sexuality. Yikes. That was one powerful statement. I just wasn’t sure what it said.
Women of my generation have barely adjusted to waxing private parts; we nervously clear our throats over the suggestion of thong underwear. Thongs were on our feet in 1967 when the Green Bay Packers defeated Kansas City Chiefs and the Grambling State marching band performed during Half-time. Get that! A Band! Then came a February Sunday Super Bowl, 2020, when the Chiefs won, and more than women’s character was featured in Half-time.
Once my moral shock settled, I worked to sort my sense of how many younger women see such things. Female Energy. Empowerment. Freedom. Joy. That JLo found it fitting to feature her 11-year-old daughter, and that a children’s choir sang, sent a message about females that differs greatly from that of my mother, and her mother, to me.
“Look,” the Half-time message shouted, “Women are sexual and strong. We celebrate that truth. We can choose not to be used by, or controlled by, men (this works in societies where men choose not to be brutal), or mothers, or the mores of a prevailing majority. Be in charge of your body, your mind, and point of view, came the pole-gripping, grinding message. This is female at her freest. That message so prevailed that it was possible to miss this one: Be proud Latino people – we are 18% of American population, fanatically family oriented, but rarely favorably featured in our culture. You find few of us in football or film. Let’s free those caged children. Let’s celebrate our contributions!
Oh! But Wait! There’s more!
My thoughts turned from the Super Bowl to Women’s Gymnastics, you know, those events where families applaud young women wearing skin-tight, next-to-nothing costumes, who swivel and spin, expose nearly every square inch of their bodies, move to mood-making music; gyrating, thrusting, jumping, swinging and stretching, and taking our breath away with the use of their “in your face” bodies. Family friendly.
Scooter lifted his leg for the first time. Did I mention that?
