Rhetorical Questions Round a Rectangular Dining Table
Vol.9 Was it really “The best Super Bowl halftime show ever?”. Why can’t I live in the moment? And what is a NFT?
Vol.9 Was it really “The best Super Bowl halftime show ever?”. Why can’t I live in the moment? And what is a NFT?
Hello and welcome to the ninth edition of my rhetorical questions series and as is custom I’m late to the party, behind the curve and snookered behind the 8 ball as usual. Why? Well, I’m writing about a game of football that finished long ago (very long if you consider today’s Twitter and Social Media immediacy) and I won’t be writing about the game. At all. Nor will I be writing about the half-time show, not really, and I’ll be questioning that nagging doubt as to why I can’t live in the moment like the rest of you seem to do so effortlessly and what in the name of all that is holy is a NFT? We’ll get to these questions, and more if I veer away on unexpected tangents, but was last night’s half-time show in the Super Bowl the best ever?
I only watched 60–90 seconds of it in all honesty as I was refreshing myself in a hot shower to prepare myself for the second half of the football, and the only reason I was watching in the first place. I’m a lapsed (American) Football fan, being as the team I support no longer carry the name I fell in love with in the mid 1980’s. Apparently, the football team from Washington are now going to be rebranded as the Buccaneers, or the Nationals or the Wanderers or some other empty headed throw of the vacuity dice. Political correctness gone mad? Not really. It’s perfectly in keeping with a world that’s gone so mad we create words and phrases without vowels and that would have zero legitimacy in a game of Scrabble and so I’m out. NFT? It’s already on a par with LOL, ROFL and FML and if we all throw in some emojis and other patently made up words then we can all revert to the cave with flints, stones and a volleyball named “Wilson” for company. What is a NFT, aside from being an illegal word in Scrabble? I have no idea at present, but I’ll delve into The Matrix and update you on my progress as we dive into the third chapter of this article.
Probably.
So the maximum 90 seconds I watched from last night’s half-time extravaganza looked, seemed and sounded like a roll call from two decades ago and one song in particular was at least that old, so the “best half-time show ever”? Please.
Have the kids of today not heard of Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, Michael Jackson or Coldplay? Or Prince, U2 or even Diana Ross making an arse of herself at the 1994 World Cup? Or indeed Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson making deliberate and publicity driven tits of themselves 20 years later? Churlish as it may sound and even defeating my own question in many ways, last night’s roll call seemed like a greatest hits parade, but at least when Tom Petty, Prince and The Boss played their hits they actually played them, you know, on guitars and pianos and drums and quaintly old fashioned items such as musical instruments. Yes they played their hits, but it was a joy to behold as Springsteen sang a pertinent football inspired “Glory Days”, Tom Petty broke hearts all around the stadium with “American Girl” and Prince combined “All Along The Watchtower” with “Best of You” and that wasn’t even the highlight of his show! All of these leave last night as a limp “safety” into the end zone quite frankly. I could rave about U2 and their show but their frontman thinks he’s King of the World these days and if we judge our heroes by the friends they keep, well Bono’s choices of George Bush and Bill Gates leave a very bitter taste in this music fan’s mouth.
Perhaps that’s the rub right there? I am a music fan but I doubt my musical heroes of Radiohead will ever grace a Super Bowl half-time show! All of their beeps, bloops, deliberate feedback loops, playing of guitars with violin bows and Thom Yorke screaming into a microphone isn’t what the glitz and glamour of the “Greatest Show on Turf” is supposed to be about. Last night’s musical interlude was exactly as required in a modern day of changing football team names regardless of it’s history and the disposability of cultural pop amid a world where history is for chumps and only made right now, in this minute. And then forgotten all about. There’s always some new instantaneous history to be made.
Behind the curve. Behind the 8 ball. And behind the times. I am a man out of time and only in love with the 60 minutes of the actual rough and tumble of the football, which was exciting if albeit disappointing, as I was cheering for the underdog and they almost bit their masters to ultimate victory. Alas it was not to be, and the LA Rams, who used to be from Cleveland, were victorious. Growing up, it was the LA Raiders, who used to hail from Oakland before relocating to Los Angeles and now even the LA Raiders have moved to Las Vegas.
So when are the Kansas City Chiefs going to be renamed? That’s as politically incorrect as Washington’s previous name, surely?
So I lived in the moment yesterday and enjoyed watching two very different games of football, the association football version from England and the American version from across the pond. But I didn’t exactly “live in the moment” even then. I was too nervous watching Liverpool scrap their way to a vital win and whilst I wanted the underdogs to triumph at the Super Bowl I didn’t particularly care either way. I try and fail to live in the moment but I’m forever preoccupied with six/twelve months hence and even for the coming week and a mini trip that should be an exciting adventure but for which I see as a burdensome chore. All faintly ridiculous, as is the stress and anxiety I’ve put myself through just organising a little something for me, and what should be the epitome of enjoyment. Throw in guilt, anger, sadness and worries for a future that will never happen, even if it quixotically does, I’m all of a pickle and still not living in the moment. Why can’t I do this and why do I fail when I do? That’s for wiser heads than mine I guess.
The rub is I know, cognitively, that the past has gone, the future never arrives and the moment, THE moment, is now as I’m writing these words in this rambling stream of consciousness that is slowly but surely going off the rails. We only live in this moment, not 20 minutes ago when you dear reader were maybe enjoying a long soak in a hot bath or reading a book or having some ridiculously spectacular sex with your loved one. Today is Valentine’s Day after all and if you can’t have some of that spectacular nookie on this day of all days, then when can you? So I know that the only time is now. Now is the only time we’re really alive. Last year’s failed relationship is far into the mists of time so stop beating yourself up about it, OK? That unwanted bill is only really alive and in your consciousness when you open it and rustle up the cash to pay for it. Before you opened the letter it actually really didn’t exist at all, not really. It only existed on a computer screen, numbers and figures and now you’re “pulling the puzzles apart” as Coldplay’s Scientist sang about. Once the bill is paid (or dealt with) it’s in the past, gone. There is an existential question then as to whether the bill existed at all, but I haven’t drunk nearly enough cups of tea today to address such an enigma. Maybe you have? If so, you’re more than welcome to answer the question and you can either answer it here in the comments, send it via smoke signals, a carrier pigeon or write it down on a piece of paper, fold it securely, and then insert it into your own bottom for all I care. It’s your piece of paper and your bottom, do with each as you see fit, but remember, it’s Valentine’s Day, and I hope you’re having more fun with your bottom than inserting some folded up paper into it.
So this week hasn’t happened yet, but I’ve stressed for days about it and even now with plans afoot I’m anxious as to what the future may hold. But in happier news I’ve discovered what a NFT is and quite frankly, the world continues to spin on an ever increasing spiral into madness. According to The Matrix, a NFT is a “Non-Fungible Token” and since when has the word “Fungible” even be allowed into our collective vernacular? Now don’t get me wrong, I love new words and I’m pleased to report that this particular newbie has both consonants and vowels so we’re off to a good start. But a NFT is supposedly something, an every day object even, that is bought and sold as an identical virtual reality object, within The Matrix, and for virtually real currency. A baseball card perhaps, a piece of land or a pair of football boots (Cleats surely? American Football Editor) and although you won’t physically own these cards, land or sporting shoes, you pay with real money for the virtual object. This is nothing new if you’re a member of the Bitcoin gang or indeed if you’ve played an X-Box or PlayStation to use just 3 examples. A click of the mouse or gaming keypad and you can spend X on a virtual character, a “skin” or equipment for your computer game and this can prove expensive. Just ask the money counters at Microsoft or Sony.
But NFT’s appear to my innocent eyes as a whole new ball game and the sums I’ve seen spent virtually, within The Matrix, for a virtual object you’ll never hold in your human hands, are astronomical. Money for old rope you say? Sorry Madam, but the rope is only virtual. And that’ll be £50 please.
So on this most auspicious of days I’m thinking of selling myself as a NFT. Why not? I’ll create a NFT “character” built like The Rock and with the dashing good looks of Ryan Gosling. I’ll make a pretty penny for sure, but please remember, the buffed up and ridiculously handsome me in the virtual world is not just for Valentines Day. OK?
I’ve only given myself a breakneck 90 minutes for this one-off, stream of consciousness edition and my time is up. There’s a brilliantly lit and fullest of Moons here in the UK and I clearly have Full Moon Fever and I’m Freefalling and desiring of an American Girl for my trip. I’ll let you know how I get on.
Thanks for reading. My archives are littered with back editions from this series and many more, from film reviews to my scathing diatribes against Twitter, a litany of free form writing pieces to a number of articles on Liverpool Football Club. There’s 170+ to choose from if you wish. I’ll leave you with the latest in this series of rhetorical questions, thank you again, and wish you peace and blessings.
Rhetorical questions round a rectangular dining table
Vol.8 Is it worth monetising my writing here? Will REM ever get back together? And does anyone need a Podcast wingman?medium.com