The Apocalypse is now available in 12 different colors

The Hunger Games marketing machine is in full swing.  No doubt you've seen something about it online (and if you haven't, you might want to make sure a rock hasn't fallen on top of you).  From emails from Seneca Crane to not-so-subtle threats, err, reminders that viewing is mandatory courtesy of President Snow to a fashion site featuring Effie Trinket, it's clear that The Hunger Games is going to be big box office.

I mean, heck, you can even get nail polish.

And just like everyone else, I'm totally buying into it.  My husband reminded me to get tickets today.  I've been officially assigned to District 7: Textiles (the irony isn't lost on me), and I've seen the trailer more than once.  But can I be honest for a second?  This was my reaction when I first saw the film announcement:

My husband came home from work the day the news broke, and I told him, horror dripping from my voice, that there would be a Hunger Games movie, and he said:
"Cool."

Wait, what?  Isn't that book kind of all about the disturbing relationship between violence and entertainment?  If I went to see it, did that make me better than the Capitol ninnies?  He disagreed.  We discussed.  I remained unconvinced.

Then we watched as they chose the actors.

We peeked at the stills coming out of production.

We breathlessly watched the trailer.  We cried.  We shared it on twitter, facebook, blogs.

We clicked to be assigned districts.

We chose Team Gale or Team Peeta.

So clearly, we're nothing like the Capitol.

Wait.

But really am I the only one unsure how to feel about nail polish and computer games based on this book?  Am I the only one wondering if this is an elaborate extension of the novel's themes and core message? Is Suzanne Collins sitting, head in her hands, judging us somewhere?

Or did grad school warp my brain?

Regardless, I know I'll be there on the 23rd with a mockingjay pin, nails lacquered up in Cinna-mon, loving every minute.

Maybe I'm more like the Capitol than I like to think.

The Super Bowl, The Hunger Games, and me.

On Friday, my wife and I walked from our house near downtown Indianapolis to the Super Bowl village. The game was more than a week away, but the whole area was already crowded. It appeared that every pavilion and tent within 500 miles was either already set up or currently being assembled in the streets and parking lots of downtown Indianapolis.

There are giant Super Bowl sculptures, at least three stages, dozens of outdoor bars, a zip line down the middle of Capitol Avenue, and half a dozen buildings wrapped in enormous Microsoft Kinect ads. Here’s a shot of Monument Circle:

 As I walked around this temporary amusement park, I got more and more depressed. Why? For every scene like this:

There’s also one like this:

Now, I know that only a minority of the people holding signs are actually homeless or hungry. And giving money to panhandlers only exacerbates the problem. But the dichotomy between the glittering temporary bars and stages for Super Bowl XLVI and the panhandlers points up a real problem in our society—one that calls The Hunger Games to my mind.

Are the fashionable spectacles of the Super Bowl Village really that different from the glitz and glamor of the Capitol District? And while we don’t have any place labeled District 12, you could easily form one among the population of Indianapolis. Consider this:

167,000 residents of Indianapolis live below the federal poverty line

63,000 of them are children

34,000 residents will go hungry at some point this year.

3,000 will be homeless at some point this year.

About 50 homeless people in Indianapolis will die of exposure this winter.

And consider these stats:

Lucas Oil Stadium cost $750,000,000, of which $650,000,000 was public tax money.

The Super Bowl will cost at least $29,000,000 ($25,000,000 from private donors and $4,000,000 from the Capitol Improvement Board, which is publicly funded.)

No, we don’t kill 23 kids per year for our entertainment. Football only kills about four people each year, making it a relatively safe sport (gymnastics, cheerleading, and downhill skiing are far more dangerous.) But as I walked through the Super Bowl Village on Friday, I had the feeling that I was bearing witness to an inevitable slide—America becoming Panem.

What do you think? Please convince me I’m wrong in the comments. I’m getting depressed all over again.