The Lighthouse

the lighthouse

12 February 2011

Of bowls and bottles and boys

If you have any contact with the outside world, you know that last weekend was the annual glittering extravaganza known as Super Bowl. There are always roman numerals following 'Super Bowl', but I don't know how far along the number line they've moved. If the years go by as creepingly as do the yards in the actual game, then they should be at Super Bowl 2.0 by now.

According to our custom (10 years in the running, though for me it was only take two) friends of the Nuts came to spend the weekend with us. Among them are four boys, mom and dad... and the occasional Korean (this year there were two). In case math is not your strong suit (I had to count on my fingers) that brings the population of The New House to 16, broken down this way: 3 females, 13 males; 9 children, 7 grown ups.

In previous years we tackled the Super Bowl weekend like a military challenge. We planned, made lists, had run-throughs, laid up supplies, and cooled as though for an actual army. We used disposable plates, bowls, cutlery, and glasses. We had enough liquids on hand to quench the thirst of every person actually at the Super Bowl.

This year we simply didn't have the time or the inclination to get all het up about the details: they were coming, the game would be watched, and along the way, people would eat, drink, be merry, and sleep. And so they did. On our daily dishware. 16 people use a lot of glasses! And 7 grown ups go through a lot of bottles. Super Bowl ads feature beer, you see, so of course we were compelled to drink beer. Canada is so smart to control liquor advertising: alcohol consumption among Canadians is virtually nonexistent now that advertisements for the stuff are controlled. (Actually, all that has happened is that we are left with really dull commercials, while our American friends get to see the really fun ones) In any case, by the end of the weekend, our bottle return could have funded a Super Bowl beer ad of our own. I was quite proud of myself, for one of the bottles was mine.

During the pre-game hooplah when divas were singing and men were running through banners, our living room reached maximum capacity. Not a square inch of open space could be found on the floor, as every little bit of real estate was filled by gangly limbs in constant motion. We were fairly evenly divided in terms of team support and boys would valiantly and enthusiastically defend their choice against suggestions of lunacy from opposing supporters.

Swept up in the excitement buzzing through the room, and the larger-than-life-ness of the event itself, Four was completely overcome with excitement as his chosen heroes strode forward to face their fate. From amidst the sea of eager faces, he stood up, shouting, "Pittsburg!" with all his might, pumping his fists in the air with glee.  Then he quickly sat down, because he knew if he was caught standing, he'd be banned from the room.

I couldn't tell you anything about the game now that it's a week old, but wasn't that Darth Vader Volkswagen commercial brilliant? Which makes me think: if we limit beer ads to control drinking habits, shouldn't we also limit foreign import ads?

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