Sick of hearing about Superbowl parties?
On Seinfeld, when George's father felt excluded because he didn't celebrate Christmas, he invented Festivus... for the rest of us. I can relate to this TV Dad. Each year around now, I visit the supermarket and see cola pyramids stacked higher than the ones at Giza. The cellophane bags of salted snacks could raise the blood pressure of the entire population of China.
I have absolutely no idea what any of it is about, other than it is once again, Super Bowl time.
It could be worse. I could be a football widow like tens of millions of other women. But my husband isn't a fan. He says there's only one true manly contact sport - boxing. Football and all the others are just skirting the issue with padding, uniforms, rules and inflatable balls. Boxers say, "I'm gonna punch your face in" - and then do it. Football players want to do the same thing, but can't. I have to agree with my husband. I admire the honesty of boxing.
I never know who is playing. All around me are people with team jerseys and team flags on their cars, jabbering about the half-time entertainment and while I can't say I feel left out, I'm certain I'm not alone. There must be others who don't give even a teensy darn which bunch of over-paid men as big as parade floats manages to get the pigskin down the field?
Each year, I delight in the ripple effect of Super Bowl Sunday, beginning with traffic - there is none. Wanna shop? Stores are practically there for private viewings. Museums tend to have normal sized crowds - probably not a lot of overlap between Raiders fans and Rodin fans. But still, I feel like establishing some kind of resistance to it all. So... here's my idea. Each year on Super Bowl Sunday, I propose we have... Savoir Faire, for Those Who Don't Care.
Savoir Faire parties won't ever be as big as Super Bowl parties, and that's okay. Coach will always dwarf First Class. There won't be pyramids of malbec at the specialty stores, perhaps just a tasteful rhomboid, using wedges of brie as shims to shore up the corners.
If there's a widescreen TV, it will be showing La Strada, and Zampano's chain-breaking pecs will out class any gauche running back's gridiron exploits. There will be no half - time — we won't deign to such plebian fractions of time. When the Savoir Faire devotee requires a recess, we'll do so at precisely nineteen minutes after the hour, as that is a dignified increment of time. How long it lasts will depend on the stability of the pause button on La Strada, or, if we need to make a sudden run for foie gras.
When it's all over, it won't be over. Savoir knows no time limits punctuated by whistles from portly men in ridiculous caps and vertically striped shirts... Savoir Faire is a state of mind as much as an event. We can keep our canapes chilled and our noses in the air all year long.
Please join me this February 3 - Savoir Faire, for Those Who Don't Care! Snark off will be at 3 pm - ish.