STRONGLY VESTED IN GOATS

Indeed, I know that the biggest sporting event of the year is on television right now. But in all honesty, I am not vested in it, and have never even watched the superbowl. Who wins zal me een worst zijn (a Dutch colloquialism indicating complete indifference: it shall be a sausage to me). A number of the people with whom I happily spend time are also apathetic about the game. This is not necessarily a sign of greater intelligence. But it could be. Absolutely the only part of today's festivities that I care about, though not very much, is the Doritos commercial.
A few years ago they had the goat.
A classic.

Maybe this year they'll have two goats.
Or a whole herd of them.

But I shan't turn on the television to find out.

If I were interested in sports, or appreciated the loud camaraderie that goes along with watching it, I could have stayed at work. There's a passel of middle-aged delinquents who are snarfing barbecue and soft drinks there right now, in a room filled with cigar smoke. And I would imagine that there is a fair bit of testosteronic yowling going on.

No goats.



Part of the problem is that the spectacle doesn't thrill me.
Part is a strong dislike of yowling and group frenzies.
I'm more or less okay with cigars once in a while.



The city is quiet right now. My apartment mate is in her room slumbering.
And, given that the exertion of being at the job this morning (second day after my operation) kinda whacked me, I should probably go nap in my own bed too. In fact, I think everybody should sleep through the superbowl.

Wake me up if they have goats.




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