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Shakira

One treat from the half-time show was a renewed interest in "Hips Don't Lie."

This daffy song represents Shakira at the height of her powers.

A young gentleman admires Shakira's moves, and he exclaims:

She makes a man want to speak Spanish....

And he is then moved to attempt actual Spanish:

Como se llama....Bonita...Mi casa....Su casa....

This dazzling display arouses Shakira:


Oh, baby, when you talk like THAT....
You make a woman go mad!

And who could disagree?


Probably the gentleman doesn't *need* to learn Spanish; Shakira has a MENSA-level IQ, and she is obviously bilingual, at the least. (Something tells me she knows *more* than two languages.)

All this flirtation leads to a culminating metaphor--one of the great metaphors of the past few decades: "I'm on tonight....My hips don't lie, and I'm starting to feel it's right....The attraction! The tension! Don't you see, Baby, this is perfection!"

Shakira's hips--blessed with a mind of their own--have announced God's plans for the evening. "Be wise. Keep on reading the signs of my body."

This isn't Sondheim, but I'm never unhappy to hear "Hips Don't Lie." The blaring trumpet, the dramatic and weird background noise ("No fighting!") -- a masterwork from the recent musical past.
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