Beer.... And Cheesecake
by Kimberly Gadette
February'such a special little month! The month that celebrates a beautiful, balanced mingling of gender appreciation. First up: the male, with his annual sports holiday of Bud, brawn and bean dip that is known as Super Bowl Sunday. Though in reality only 22 men are on the field at any given time, the "we" of the team includes all 77.9 million viewers in the US, yelling for all their worth at HDTV's that keep on broadcasting, no matter how wrong a call that idiot referee just made.
Carrying on in the spirit of fair play
approximately two weeks later, well after the last can
of beer has been crushed on the last forehead, the
female of the species gets her turn to display her
physical talents ' with the annual Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Issue.
This year marks an extraordinarily smooth transition
from the first event to the second. It seems Billy Joel
is scheduled to open the Super Bowl festivities by
singing the National Anthem. Though Mr. Joel is a
pop/rock icon in his own right, he will probably always
bear the moniker of "ex-husband of supermodel Christie
Brinkley." A shocking coincidence, Ms. Brinkley is one
of the most popular supermodels in Sports Illustrated ("SI")
history, having graced its cover during three
consecutive years, from 1979 through 1981.
From Super Bowl to SuperModel: a perfect quarterback
handoff if ever there was one.
But it's puzzling'though many women appreciate the Super
Bowl (Nielsen Media Research reports that last year
"among all adult viewers in the country, 45% were
women"), the female readership for SI isn't as balanced.
(With over 3 million subscribers, read by 23 million
adults each week, the readers consist of over 18 million
men.)
As opposed to football players who can tackle opponents
with sheer brute force one minute, then dance a
victorious jitterbug in the endzone the next, maybe it's
the models' skill sets that are lacking. Though the
ladies are outfitted in less than a 3.5 gram container
of dental floss, perhaps the workaday woman is
unimpressed with such unveiled feats as carrying
(lobsters, a butterfly net, a pole); posing (holding up
a wall, holding down the trunk of a Cadillac, holding
still while balanced on a countertop); simultaneous
lounging, stretching and arching; and performing deep
knee bends on the damp sand while saltwater gently laps
onto the crotch area. Not to mention the requisite skill
of bare breast cupping'particularly necessary in cases
when, as rumor has it, the bikini top gets mangled by
wild beasts who are known to go nutty over a deep knee
bend in the sand.
Perhaps it's all about the name of the magazine. Exactly
what part of modeling constitutes a sport? Instead of
"Sports Illustrated," maybe the publishers could opt for
"Women Without Warts, Illustrated." Or "Girls Who've
Lost Their Shorts, Illustrated." More accurately, it
might be called "First Quarter Reports, Illustrated." In
1964, Editor Andre Laguerre found that there was a
dearth of sporting events in winter. It was his idea to
take on a new angle, via women who'd take off a few
clothes. Per the Dow Jones Market Watch of 2/15/06: "The
Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue alone brings in $55
million in revenue."
Let's revisit the boon of February, with the one-two
punch of first celebrating Him, then Her. Aside from a
new nacho cheese stain on the carpet the size of the
Vince Lombardi Trophy, the male's Super Bowl memories
are over. Now it's the female's turn. Certainly the 2006
cover, with its eight supermodels sporting the most
beautiful bodies in the world, prancing on the sands
wearing nothing but a white bandaid on their bottoms
spells out "You're Just As Beautiful As They Are, Honey"
like nothing else.
However, some of that sand must have gotten into SI's
eyes. It turns out that the publication date for the
upcoming swimsuit issue is scheduled for February 14.
That's right. Valentine's Day. Gee, dear, you don't mind
if I flip through a few pages during our romantic dinner
tonight, do you?
In unfair, over-generalized terms, most men are not only
clueless at gift-giving, but come up short on
Valentine's Day. Example: he may think that gifting his
ladylove with her very own copy of the 2007 Swimsuit
Issue is genius. (Especially since he'll be sprinting
down to the nearest newsstand at sunrise anyway.)
Say she's tired of her workout routine '
what a perfect opportunity to inspire her by way of
pointing out Elle Macpherson's sleek hips (with a new
baby yet!). Say she wants a few new clothes? Show her
Heidi Klum (also recently with child) and her latest
layout, wearing nothing but body paint. She's hinting
for jewelry? Well, there's a model naked as a jaybird,
except for a few well-placed sand dollars ' who knew
shell debris could look that good!
Urban legends abound that domestic abuse increases on
Super Bowl Sunday. Though the stories since been proven
wrong by the Washington Post and others (http://www.snopes.com/crime/statistics/superbowl.asp),
this year there still may be a problem. Oh, it won't be
on Super Bowl Sunday.
But with that upcoming, unholy commingling of Valentine's Day and SI's debut of the 2007 barely-there beauties, men might be careening toward certain danger. Emergency room personnel should stand by.
That is, if they can take their eyes off that magazine.
About the Author:
A writer based in the Portland area, Kimberly
Gadette's columns and articles entail a deep
dismemberment of topics including film, politics, pop
culture, male spectator sports, travel, dogs and dating
(though surprisingly, not that many dogs actually date).
Currently juggling six columns, she's been published
over 170 times in the last two years in publications
from the West Coast to the East, from The Oregonian to
The Boston Globe, as well as internationally. Though no
one's ever asked to see it, she has an MFA from UCLA.
She can be contacted at gadettek@yahoo.com
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