Oh, quarterback, I'll steal your axe. - 01.26.03 - 9:16 pm
Look!

It's surprising, but I'm not even pissed that I can tell you exactly what's going on in the game just by turning my head towards my open window. I'm actually, kinda sorta, really interested in watching the Super Bowl. Also, I'm actually, kinda sorta, really hoping the Bucs win. And it's not because I have a little crush on Warren Sapp (He was on the TV! Cooking! He wore a chef's hat!) but I feel bad for them.

OK, almost an hour has passed since I wrote that paragraph; something you, the reader, would not know had I not mentioned it. I just ate about three pounds of snow crab and am planning on eating a whole pint of Edy's Dreamery Raspberry Brownie A la Mode when I finish this entry. I was going to tie up my comments on the Super Bowl with something interesting and maybe make an analogy to some poor fucker that's always getting beat up for milk money, but I can't remember. Oh, wait, yes I can.

I never used to watch football unless the Dolphins were playing. And even then, I would squirm around and start rating asses on firmness and shape. Football was one of those things where my gnat-like attention span made it hard to enjoy. I thought maybe if they used lassos or played nekkid it would be more interesting.

And then I went to New York. All I did while I was in New York was watch football and admire my boots in the snow.

Story time!

I may have mentioned this before, but I have a very large family. My father has six brothers and one sister. My grandparents had about twenty siblings between them and my great-grandparents even more. I believe that we are responsible for populating most of Western New York. The ICU waiting room always contained at least five members of my family.

(Oops. There goes almost another hour. I watched the SNL Halftime Special. And Jesus fucking Christ, Jimmy Fallon was one hip thrust away from me jumping on my bike and riding to New York for some serious make out action. Rrrowr.)

There was another large family hanging out in the ICU waiting room, too. My uncles dubbed them The Jerry Springer Family. And they were. There were three or four brothers and their grammar was so bad, it was like listening to a different language. They were burly and dirty construction workers. They smoked Kools. They were some of the nicest people I met while in New York. The matriarch, on the other hand...she was in a wheelchair due to a weight problem and smoked Pall Malls with the hand closest to her oxygen tank. She yelled a lot and called the men mean names. She didn't really talk to me that much, but she seemed concerned so maybe she wasn't that bad. I don't know. They had this weird dynamic and no matter how often the lady in the wheelchair called them shit-for-brains, you could tell that they really loved each other.

Anyway, all the men had bets riding on whichever game was playing that day, so the TV was always tuned to football. My father and uncles and the Jerry Springer Family bonded over those games.

Oh, holy shit. Tampa is kicking some ass. Sorry, but that was like, the second touchdown in five minutes.

What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Football. I watched a lot of it at the hospital and now I kinda like it.

Speaking of the Jerry Springer Family, my aunt stayed at the hospital while my father and I went searching for an eggplant sub. The Family was there and apparently, while we were gone, they started a rousing game of "Oh, Yeah, They're Dead." My aunt sat there for an hour as The Family brought up one person after another..."Hey, you know Dale, right? The guy who was restoring that Mustang?" "Yeah, I knows Dale." "Oh, yeah, he's dead." My aunt said that there were a lot of car accidents and hunting mishaps. She even heard someone say that some guy's last words were "Hey, you guys! Watch this!" and they weren't kidding.

I am so upset that I missed that.

Anyway, this is very long and I haven't even rambled about my birthday, yet. I think I'm going to smoke a cigarette and write a different entry so heads don't explode or something.

Oh, wait. One more thing. To illustrate how goddamn excited this area is about having Tampa in the Super Bowl: The paper did a special about all the different signs of support around town. They showed a picture of a church marquee saying, and I quote, "See, Tampa? We told you there was a god. Go, Bucs!" This amuses me on levels I shouldn't even be on, considering how much alcohol I consumed last night. So, yeah. There you go. Jesus loves football.

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