A single concern has developed over the course of this trip. Not would I get so conditioned to free beer that I’d expect it everywhere I go back in Philadelphia and end up in dozens of arguments upon being charged for a Bud Light despite my now yellowing wristband. Not would my existence lose meaning and direction because I’d be without a central monolith of awesomeness upon which to focus my sometimes-verbose lens. Not would my food start to taste like saw dust and stranger’s smiles make me cry and I become prone to a sudden loss of balance resulting in falling to the floor in the fetal position because of the rapid declination in my joie de vivre.
My concern, my friend, is this, would we raise the bar so high one night that it would make it impossible to enjoy the rest of the time here? I give you yesterday and last night:
After a full day of pretending to be a Saints fan, and after hanging out with a bunch of them actually becoming one, and after a night full of so many dance moves my hips continue to sway slightly when I walk confusing strangers and angering small dogs, and after coming within T-Rex arm’s length of Usher and Jamie Foxx and the NFL Running Back who carried me through my fantasy season on the braided ends of his magnificent frock, and after waking up to find the last picture on my phone was a perfect triple-high-five with our friend Marisa*, it’s a darn good thing tonight’s the Super Bowl, because otherwise the bar would have been raised way too high.
*It was brought to my attention by ____ that I omitted our friends Marisa and ____ from the other night’s dinner. Because of this I’ve made it a point to get her into this post and omit ____ again.