If that we could only incorporate the bejeweled allure of figure skating with the testosterone-fueled grunt-run-and-score primitivism of American (that is United States-ian) Football, this Sunday, I, for one, would be an even happier viewer! Alack. A lack indeed of sparkle, but not entirely the ethereal grace that is most associated with skating and gymnastics.
There is grit, grime, force, bravado, and almost embarrassing shows of machismo; however, unlike some of my friends (male and female alike) I find it thrilling to see a hail-Mary pass completed successfully or a complicated defensive screen, much of this is thanks to the near-holy reverence football is held in within my family--I remember nary a fall or winter Sunday where it could not be heard/seen somewhere in the apartments I grew up in. I did not inherit a fanaticism nor a total disdain, and that is a balance I appreciate in myself.
With this said, Andy knows all too well that this can only hold my attention for so long--I become fidgety and then my eyes start sweeping the room for what can keep me quietly absorbed until the next must-see playback. Since I do not believe the NFL has the time to take my advice on costumage yet, and I will not be able to be mesmerized with aerodynamic capes glimmering with silver or diamond-studded appliques I so desire, I hereby give my advice on keeping oneself happy and stimulated whilst the Superbowl reigns.
1. Snacks! Making them, eating them, this has become a favorite aspect of football for me. I love appetizers of any kind, but especially on Superbowl Sunday, you can indulge and indulge on all the fried, processed and guilt-inducing wings, chips, pizza rolls, dips, etc that any other day may provoke scoffing/the passing of negative judgements by your (graduate school) friends. (Well, I eat these things more often than SBS, so, I do not have guilt, but others may! For you, be free to eat greasy, oh football friend in fried foods!) Getting creative with snacks is great too! Upper echelon it up with some Gruyere in that baked mac n cheese, or make your salsa by hand with fresh vegetables. And on and on...
2. This should go without saying, but BEER! Plus cocktails. I can spend more time with football if I am taking my time savoring a delicious beer. Andy favors the Superbowl's sponsor on the actual day, COORS, but I find this makes me quicker to zone out. So, I will be sipping on one or all of the following: Magic Hat #9, Sam Adam's Winter Ale, Blue Moon's Rising Moon, Tremont Ale, Anchor Steam and La Chouffe (if I can find that sneaky little gnome). Cocktails are also great for this category! I prefer Gin and Tonic, but a good Margarita feels like the proper level of festivity.
3. COLORING BOOKS! This may seem insulting/childish to some, but this is a delightful activity wherein I can make my garment preferences come to life. Ariel no longer has a bra and fin, no! She is in a Cardinal's Silk Jersey, with a sequined cape (shoulder pads optional), and designer leggins that feature lavish faux fur tassels which would look sharp should she break through the mass of players and score a touchdown, the wind billowing naturally through the fringe. My friend Elise and I also had a coloring contest to make the sluttiest princess pictures last year. Hers won with Paris Hilton Extensions. It's the details that escape me sometimes.
4. PUPPY BOWL on Animal Planet! I have a hard time growing tired of watching this. It is so dramatic, adorable, furry, and funny! Plus, there is a Kitty Half-time Show and Mia (and I) loves this immensely.
5. TEXTING! I, definitely after a beer or two, can find it very engrossing to text snarky comments to friends/loved ones about the game or to swoon over an especially handsome puppy from the puppy bowl (ie, anything that is a big-bear-shaped dog)... There is the creative aspect (thinking of funny things to say) and then the joy of anticipated response (will they, too, love the same puppy? Did you just accidentally rag on the team their deceased great uncle loved?! Yikes! That was the beer talking!So many possible responses).
So, this usually gets me through, I mean I do check in with the game occasionally and snacking/beer is not to be underestimated.
This year, however, I find myself at a bit of an impasse/stand off. This is the first year of my graduate career, my second semester to be precise, and while last semester, I was able to get by not reading every single day, this term's courses are a doozy. I am enrolled in a course on the Poetic Sequence and there are FOUR (please don't count aloud) of us and it is a four-hour discussion course. With writings by the likes of Whitman, Dickenson, Eliot, Bhatt, Gluck, and on and on. Many of them I have a familiarity with, but I am in the course to correct my familiarity with them (ie, unlearn what high school taught me), and was expecting at least 9 people to join me in the occasional comment (as the enrollment stands online!!).
Now, it feels as though 1/4 of the class's meeting will be on my shoulders and this is a commitment I was not prepared for. I am excited to overwrite my understanding of some of these more traditional poets with the subject matter being one that asks us to think of their writings as a new poetic emergence--one that is both narrative, lyrical and disruptive to the standards of each. So I hope my excitement can get me carefully through the fifty-two sections of "Song of Myself" in addition to many many fascicles of Dickenson and the chapter in The Modern Poetic Sequence that is due the very day following SBS.
It is maybe very true that if there was just a bit more glamour and glitz with the spectacle that is the Superbowl, I would not be very worried about doing my work. I would sit without thought of reading, my irises dancing, as the light and sun glinted off the many-hued rhinestones at work, shimmying and floating their way down the field upon the broad backs of some of the biggest men in this country.
Sadly, I suppose I will just have to sneak away occasionally to the solemn sanctity of the backroom while Andy and Jeremy and Rachel (our friends/guests for SBS) hoot, holler, dance, and drink without (probably much) care.
Or, at least I will read in the morning. After all, this is once a year and if I start taking myself so seriously that I can't even procrastinate properly, well, that will be a damn shame for the future of my personal beliefs and aesthetics.
With (ALL) that, I say, Happy Superbowl Week and in the name of it's-what-I-do-daily, here is a great poem to feast your eyes upon. You know what they say, a poem a day...something something... I may try to post a poem or poet I enjoy each time...You may hate them (both a fact and a permission)...Without further ado:
"Practice"
You know how a word comes
To you like a face that's familiar
But without a name to which you can
Attach--not a complete stranger,
But not a friend either?
You stare into the features of this word,
Hoping the letters will find you--
You know they will find you;
You repeat the word to yourself
As if tasting it will help.
Mother looks at the word
On the index card--
Not at me, but the word--
Nodding her head as if my repeating it
Were an answer; she hangs on to my voice,
Trying to reassure me, but her eyes
Are not convinced. This makes me nervous.
I begin writing the word in the sweat
Of my left palm with my right index finger.
I repeat the word, again, louder,
As if I have a receipt for it in my pocket:
IRIDESCENT, I-RI-DE-SCENT.
And the question of origin comes to mind.
So I ask: What's the origin?
She reads: formed from Latin, iridis,
rainbow, 1796
What's the definition?
You don't know this one? She asks.
The judges aren't going to ask that;
They're going to give me the definition, Ma.
Sigh. She reads from the dictionary:
iridescent: adj. 1. Producing a display of lustrous rainbow like colors. 2. brilliant, lustrous, or colorful in effect or appearance,
I feel sorry for those of you
Who don't know moments like this:
My palms dry. We watch ten letters
Lift off the page and spill
From my mouth like a magician pulls
A prism of scarves from his ear:
i-r-i-d-e-s-c-e-n-t. I watch the light catch
The brown of her eyes. I ask if I'm right.
Is that right? I say, I wasn't sure
If it had two Rs or just one.
She pauses for a second, still
Looking down at the word.
Yeah, baby, each word just like that.
I nod my head. She's still looking down
As if afraid for herself.
I realize nothing I spell sounds true.
Every round will be like the first time.
The light has run from her eyes.
She's quiet again.
Next word, I say.
--From A. Van Jordan's Macnolia: a beautiful poetic sequence-length book that re-imagines the experiences of MacNolia Cox, the first black young woman to reach the final round of the national spelling bee competition in 1936. She would have won but for the fact that the judges changed her final word to a word not on the official list, likely because of her color and the overwhelming racist sentiment of the time. MacNolia left the world of academia, married, and became a housekeeper. Van Jordan does wonders with his collection--at once memorializing a trail blazing young woman and intricately exploring the impact of this competition on her life, before and after the Bee.
