Give me an N! Give me a Y! What does that spell? Football!

When people ask me if I'm a Broncos fan, or a Cowboys Fan, or  Steelers fan, or whatever, my usual response is, "Uh, I don't really follow any sports, but I can be if you want me to be." When pressed, I'll say that I'll root for the Patriots, generally--because it makes me feel patriotic. Or the Ravens, because of that movie The Blind Side. But really, the only time football is on in my house is normally as background noise in the fall, because it reminds me of my dad.  If I have to root for someone,  I usually just choose whoever's defensive line looks smallest, because they feel like the underdogs.

My husband, bless his soul, cares even less about sports than I do. For instance, if I said, "Hey, do you know whose defensive line is smaller?" his reply might be something like, "Um... what's a defensive line?"

He has many other redeeming qualities, though. To illustrate: last weekend we took a day trip to look at foliage and hunt down some covered bridges in Vermont. We went to lunch, then walked into a co-op art gallery downtown with my parents. The long-haired, bearded, tie-dye-garbed guy behind the counter squinted at Sean for a few seconds, and then said, "Hey. Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ryan Gosling?"

Sean looked startled for a second, then looked at me, then laughed and said, "Actually....yes."

The first time it happened, it was a little old lady at the grocery store or somewhere. So when I told him that of course I always knew he was good looking, and even strangers agreed with me, he was able to shrug it off and say that she probably needed new glasses.

Hard to come up with that excuse for the young tie-dyed hippie man behind the counter, though.

"Or a little bit like Ryan Reynolds, too," hippie man said.  "Like a famous Ryan combo!" Sean and I squinted at each other. Ryan Gosling, ok. That's rooted in truth. But Ryan Reynolds? Not so much.

And my dad really helped. As we were leaving, he said, "Who did that guy say Sean looked like?"

"Ryan Gosling," I responded.

"Who is Ryan Gosling?" he asked.

So anyway, to recap--I just said that my husband's passing resemblance to Ryan Gosling is a redeeming quality for not caring about sports. That both suggests that not caring about sports is something for which redemption is necessary, and that I am shallow enough to accept good looks and relative hotness as said redemption. I don't really feel like either is true, but meh--it makes a good story. (Plus, I've been told by a regular reader that I can't publish any more posts without including Sean as comic relief--so that's naturally going to result in some non-sequiteur stories.)

My original point was that I'm so out of touch with sports that when someone asked if I could make a flat cake shaped like a New York Giant's helmet, I had to do a Google image search and check out the logo first, before I gave an answer. When I saw that the logo was a simple NY on a blue helmet with a red stripe, I said yes.

I printed the logo out on regular paper, then cut it out on top of marshmallow fondant with an Xacto knife. With the exception of the NY, everything else is buttercream. To get the smooth effect, I did the classic coat, chill, and smooth with a Viva paper towel. It works, people. It really works.

I would really love to post the picture of the birthday boy enjoying his cake, but it's against my morals to post other people's kids on a public blog. Let's just say that the little boy was SMEARED with blue, and had to make an immediate trip to the bathtub before he turned smurf-like. You know frosting is kid-rated good when it turns your mouth (and your hands, and your face) blue!