Where the Game Is Big, the Dogs Are Bigger, and the Hugs Beat Them Both

I choose my Super Bowl parties carefully. At the bar I was at last night, the few fanatics had their posts by the big screen, but the crawfish being unloaded on the newspaper-covered table outside demanded just as much attention as the game.



I discovered king cake, a huge dog ...






... and the fact that Mike, the smart-ass, tactless, cartoon of a man who owns my gym, had pursued Sean, his girlfriend for more than a year before she stopped feeling revulsion toward him.





I also discovered that the city isn't as segragated as my shell-shocked New Yorker self had initially feared, when, after the winning touchdown, someone who looked like Kobe Bryant with a beard-fro wrapped his arms around my friend and hoisted her in the air repeatedly in exultation.

Her breasts were badly jostled, but she only noticed after the initial shock wore off.