super bowl sunday

It's a big day in the ole U.S. of A., and I spent it like a good American: I spent lots of money, ate lots of greasy food, and watched lots of TV. That in itself is nothing special, hardly worth talking about, but I can tell you a few interesting things that happened today.

I met Alison this morning at Nordy's and we were successful in purchasing new suits (hers had to be ordered -- black, gorgeous -- but she'll get it in a few days, mine was gray and on-sale), boots, frilly girly tops, and a sweater. All things I need. Soon I will be able to go through my clothes and throw away everything with a whole or permanent stain. I also plan to actually use a dry cleaner -- something I haven't done in a long time. Anyway, I am very happy, if a bit poorer.

So I had three packages and I decide to hang them from my handlebars on the way home (about 3 flat miles in traffic). This worked for about 3 blocks until my suit got caught in my front tire. The front tire stopped, the rear wheel did not. I flew over the top, landing in a splat on the roadway in front of my bicycle. All the hangers broke, the carrier was ruined, my elbow skinned, but otherwise, we, my frilly new clothes and all, are fine. And I have plenty of hangers at home.

This occurred in the heart of the tenderloin, in front of at least 3 girly show venues. Nonetheless, two people stopped, helped me, made sure I was fine, and gave me a new plastic bag to hold everything. Humans really are fundamentally good.

So, the Boston Patriots played the Philadelphia Eagles. We ate about 5 lbs of guacamole, chicken wings (or leg-lets, we weren't sure), jalapeno poppers, potato chips, nuts, brownies, chocolate, rice crispy treats, and... peach cobbler (by me). We also drank beer -- big surprise.

The Patriots were the favorite, and they did win. Half the fun of the game is the commercial, and probably due to Janet Jackson's nipple last year, the commercials this year were... boring... with the exception of the ones with the monkeys (some job search web site). Paul McCarty played old Beatles tunes at half time, and the whole thing made me feel like America is the pasteurized, repressed place where the only things that are both good and acceptable are 35 years old.