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Superwhat

I love our little courtyard. The one that keeps the noisy riff-raff of this gritty city away from our windows at 3am when I really want to sleep. The one that I secretly think kept us a little protected from the winds of Hurricane Sandy. The one full of red bricks and ivy and big trees. It’s pretty. It’s quiet. It makes our new place feel a little more homey. Sometimes, I even get to see this girl who walks her pet ferret there on a little red leash. I don’t like ferrets- I really do not like them- but it’s funny. She carries that thing all around town, I’ve seen her.

Last night, we walked across the courtyard to our friends apartment for a Super Bowl party. No one was particularly invested in the game itself, but I don’t think you can go wrong with any situation involving three kinds of guac, hot wings and individually baked macaroni ‘cupcakes’. I actually liked the half-time show; I like to watch people dance. And what is better than one dancing Beyonce? Why, twelve dancing Beyonce’s, of course. I was really caught up in that weird hologram thing.

While not watching the game, I got to hear snippets of about 12 simultaneous conversations.

“I mean, what definition was it even in?”

That made me laugh the most, listening to a friend talk about the downfalls of re-watching old favorite movies (Ace Ventura, in this case) and comparing them to the fancy new 359845 frames per second films of today. Well played, HD technology. Well played.

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