A few years back I held a superbowl party. I did so much cooking and cleaning that I never had a chance to find out who was playing, never mind who actually won. Since then—and because of my hatred of the game anyway—I've tried to avoid it. PS If you just watch to see the "cool" commercials or some has-been's breasts: kill yourself. This year I had a few friends over and we watched a faux documentary on dragons, a bunch of cartoons based on the Prisoner of Zelda game (I suppose it's better than one based on a candy), and played both Crack the Case and Unexploded Cow (I won!). Worlds better than a homoerotic violence festival staring people who get paid too much while producing too little for society. Super Tuesday/Mardi Gras (also called Fat Tuesday by those who like their Catholic holidays to sound like mob nicknames) was disappointing as Bill, sorry, Hilary Clinton conned most democrats into thinking she cares for others. But that wasn't the focus of my day. I was more concerned with having my skin cancer removed and hearing the disheartening news that my favorite recreational pastime—public at least—of sun worshiping needed cutting from my schedule. And, ok, granted, laying on an operating table, naked except for a short smock and having my chest shave by a hot doctor's assistant pre-surgery might not be the best time to ask her out. But how was I to know? They really should teach that in school.
Wanting to celebrate being alive, I went to a Mardi Gras/New Orleans's library fundraiser sponsored by the Desk Set (Hipster librarians!) with my friends Ingrid and Suzanne. I had hoped to chat with some likeminded librarians, but the bar was far too crowded and loud to make decent conversation. I was also almost jumped by a couple of children's librarians after having won two prizes in the raffle in a row. I managed to fight them off only to give the prizes away regardless.