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!  

Poor Christina

To say I have zero interest in football would be an understatement.  I watch the Superbowl for two reasons - the performances (pre- and half-time show) and pigs-in-a-blanket.  I mean, the only reason I rooted for Green Bay was because Ellen said so. 

I don’t know what it is about Lea Michele, but something about her makes me want to punch her in the face.  Maybe I’m just projecting her obnoxious Rachel Berry character from Glee and letting that taint my opinion, but I can’t help it.  I actually caught her in Spring Awakening before it moved to Broadway.  Her performance was sincere and unaffected - exactly the opposite of how she comes off now.  I also remember her voice being so clean and pure, but her faux pop rendition of “America the Beautiful” before the game was appalling.  I get it - she wants to be commercial.  But all that fake whining and breathless affectation merely amplifies her inadequacies as a pop singer.  Be proud of your Broadway belt, girl!

Poor Christina.  I actually had no opinion of her until a few years back when I caught a live concert performance of hers on TV.  I give her props ‘cause she sounded amazing and has stage presence to spare.  But to f*ck up the lyrics on National TV is pretty embarrassing.  Even when Rosanne Barr butchered the anthem at a baseball game a few years back, she sang the correct lyrics.  I know, Christina was nervous, blah, blah, blah…but the girl regularly tours arenas and admits she’s been singing the National Anthem for games since she was a kid.  In the Wall Street Journal, Christina said, "I got so caught up in the moment of the song that I lost my place."  Um, more like “I got so caught up in my riffing that I no longer had any idea what I was saying and the text stopped making sense to me.”  Seriously, can we have a moratorium on riffing the National Anthem?  The only riffed version of the anthem that’s worked for me is by the original diva, Whitney Houston (pre-crack, of course).  Oh, Whitney, we miss you (see her rendition below).

As for half-time, The Black-Eyed Peas have some catchy tunes and sound great on recordings, but live - not so much.  I can't throw all the blame on the performance, auto-tuned to death as Will.i.am was.  The sound guy was f*cking up cues left and right.  Poor Usher was left virtually un-amplified.  Oh well, there's always next year.  How about having Babs Striesand and La LuPone do a Broadway set?  That definitely would be the gayest half time show ever!  On a side note, the Doritos commercial with the guy sucking the salt off the other guys finger!?!?  That may actually be gayer than a Babs / LuPone pairing.