Beyonce’s Warm-up Act OR Super Bowl XLVII: A Gay Man’s Perspective

Our fancy Scoops ice cream cake.

I am not a football fan.  Though I am a fan of chicken wings and tight pants, so deciding to attend Juan and Val’s Super Bowl party was a no brainer.  After scraping the snow and ice from Trish’s car, we drove to Juan and Val's Jersey abode for some game day gluttony. 

In true Pineda style, upon arrival we headed straight to the kitchen.  Sure, the TV was on in the living room, but the real action was happening in the kitchen.  Val was at the stove frying up pierogies, Juan was at the fry daddy tending to the wings and Juan’s white son, Chris Grimm, was implementing some “quality control” at the hors d’oeuvre tray.  I’d spent the morning preparing a 2-pound tray of bacon mac and cheese, so I immediately usurped the oven to re-heat my lactosean nightmare - that’s right, 4 cups of heavy cream and 2 kinds of cheese, bitches! 

Eventually we settled into the living room for the start of the show - er, um - game.  First off, what's up with the Ravens’ costumes?  Um, I mean uniforms.  Who picked that shade of purple?  Just terrible.  They could have at least gone with a nice aubergine or grape for better contrast with the Astroturf.  Perhaps, in a good will gesture the 49ers can forward the Ravens the name of their stylist.  I mean, the 49ers are from San Francisco, right?  Of course their outfits are fierce.

Speaking of outfits - who talked you into wearing that S&M turtleneck, Ms. Hudson?  Yes, you have a bangin’ new bod thanks to Weight Watchers, but that top is a little too “50 Shades of Grey” for my taste.  I hope you used a lot of baby powder because that’s gonna’ chafe.  Not that I would know.  Oh well, you still sounded amazing.  And nice touch with the back-up chorus of step-touching elementary school children.  Although the white and khaki outfits need to go.  It was like watching a convention of midget car salesmen.

Ms. Keys fared much better than Ms. Hudson in the wardrobe department, but her muzak version of the National Anthem was a real snoozer.  Here’s a helpful tip - if you need to take a breath every two words, either you’re tempo is too slow or you’re in desperate need of better vocal technique (or both?).  And it is absolutely never appropriate to riff for thirty seconds AFTER you’ve sung the last word of the National Anthem.  Self-indulgent much?

I’m not exactly sure what occurred between the coin toss and Beyoncé half-time extravaganza, but there seemed to be a lot of running, pushing and shoving.  Oh, and a lot of slow motion.  For athletes, there sure was a lot of awkward jiggling in those tight outfits.  Note to self, slow motion and spandex - not a good look.  My main concern during the first act - er, um…inning - no, wait - um…oh, I give up - was that my seven-layer dip was missing it's crucial sixth layer.  Since avocados are out of season I had to - gasp - skip the guacamole.  Oddly, no one seemed to notice.   

And then there was (insert angelic “Ah” here) Beyoncé.  To paraphrase Brian Hart’s facebook status (a former Pineda Conservatory student), “That’s what heaven’s like.”  Preach. And can we talk about her “sex face”?   Don't even get me started on her luscious weave.

Post half-time was sort of a blur to me, I think someone forgot to pay the electric bill or something.  To be honest, I couldn’t concentrate on the TV because Val was piling more food and dessert on the table. I mean, ice cream cake crunchies or Super Bowl?  There's really no contest. 

Since I usually root for the team with the cutest quarterback, this year left me with a particularly difficult quandary - Italian-American hunk or young tattoo-ed hottie?  In the end, it didn't really matter.  I got my caloric intake for the year and one team won a really big, tacky ring.  

I won't even comment on the all the lame commercials this year except to say I threw up in my mouth a little watching that hot model make out with the frizzy-haired nerd. Isn't it totally possible to be both hot and smart?  Of course it is.  I'm looking in the mirror right now at a prime example.  Call me, GoDaddy. 

Trish and I are already planning on making millions by renting out our bedrooms next year when New York hosts the next Super Bowl.

Congratulations, Ravens!