Whether its the imminence of the full moon or the inevitability of change, the week has been a whirlwind. Single days have seemed so long that by sundown I have doubt that the beauties I woke up next to yawned that same morning.
As yesterday evening approached and orange people began drinking blue fluids I debated where to plug in to join the masses rooting for athletes on protein supplements.
I opened a bottle of Good Earth CabShiraz to compensate for the beer enemy and to warm the inside and with Tin Hat Trio and the like wailing from Pandora I began to Type A the kitchen that has been a project of mine since the semester began.
Susan rose from her afternoon slumber and joined me in the gradually sparkling kitchen.
After a Djarum and some story telling on the ambient front porch I mustered my dutch gator fever and courage and headed for the street.
On wheels I heard the countdown as the game tapered to a close and witnessed the immediate hoards that flooded the streets following some invisible pied piper named Tim Tebow.
Cell phones proved useless and so I braved the crowd with an open mind and “familiar face manifestation” attempt.
For some time I enjoyed moving without any personal effort or direction choice. The smells of sour beer were understandable and the high fives were returned in good spirit.
After a few attempts at making my way in and feeling like I was in a centerless maze I headed out and headed back to my resting bike.
I reconsidered and tried another entrance point. I perched myself on the edge of a concrete blockade and lost track of time and non-judgement.
Greeks, Punks, Hippies, Geeks (at least that’s what they told me by their clothing) stumbled toward the swamp, some smiling, some cheering, some confused, some flustered, some self-conscious. Kids were wearing fluffy orange hair and big alligator-head hats. Girlfriends clung to their boys who were screaming on cell phones about the plays. Creepy middle-agers were carrying around life-size effigies of football players and were taking pictures of adorable college girls in mini skirts who would pose with the star.
Some would stop and offer me a smoke and turn to the mass commenting on the craziness. I would nod my head and giggle.
As the festivities thinned so did my patience and my amusement and all I desired was to put this down on paper.
Whether it is the fact that I speak another language, that I was simply not in the mood or that the nonsense made me think of a bear bating tournament I couldn’t get my head around the hysteria and wished I’d had another cynic sitting next to me simply to validate my tsk tsk’s.
I guess the Gators Went.