File this under: Why do I care about this crap?

Superbowl, schmuperbowl. Who played? Who even sang at half-time? Do they even do that in a post-JJ/NI* world anymore? Really, who cares? We have some critical issues that need our attention (or at least mine), kittens.

Like the Chupacabra, the Holy Grail, Stone Henge and how in the world itty bitty capers can pack such a culinary punch, my fascination with these things is oft-pondered (what else are you supposed to do while you're painting your nails and IMing during conference calls?), over-analyzed (no really, my therapist thinks it is fine for me to fork over $125 an hour to discuss the Curse of the Celebrity Spears) and over-shared (mostly during painfully long road trips that require several hours, multiple Big Gulps and more turns through an old Us Weekly and the one unscratched kiddie song CD than any adult needs ever).

Join me, won't you in enabling the concentration on complete and useless crap:

I admit, I didn't just look at Jenna Bush's bridal gown options, I studied them. Sad sad sad. Totally #9, right?

I confess, I'm curious how many crazy folk sent Brit Us Weekly subscription extensions while she's a-wasting time in the get-happy house for the next two weeks.

Honestly, if I can pull myself out of the creepy hypnotic chasm that is Tori Spelling's cleavage, I am slightly mesmerized by her ever-changing belly.

Come clean, you want to know how this wondrous disaster deflated too.

*Janet Jackson/Nip Incident, if you're nasty.