I had planned to write sometime last week but, alas, planning and lack of accessible stolen internet access and life and oddly-long kind-of dinner parties got in the way. As a result, I was unable to properly preview my trip to New York, and I was also unable to properly preview the Super Bowl.

After-the-fact Super Bowl prediction:

With their largely blitz-free defense and pressure from their three fine defensive ends, along with timely big plays from the defensive backfield, the Bears will hold Peyton Manning in relative check. With the combination of Thomas Jones and Cedric Benson grinding it out, and with Sexy Rexy finding his customary one big play for the game, the offense will do enough. Devin Hester will generate one huge play in the return game and Robbie Gould will outperform Hall of Famer Adam Vinatieri. The Bears will win. 27-24. Mark it down.

Oh well.

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Thankfully, the Bears’ abysmal performance of Sunday night was far and away the only bad thing to happen this weekend. Otherwise, the weekend was perfect. Too-quick, but perfect.

Timing:

Thursday: 6:30-10:30 – From the Ring Fingernail to Ann Arbor.

Friday: 7:00-12:45 p.m. – En route from Ann Arbor to Detroit to downtown NYC

12:45-2:30 a.m. Saturday – Some lunch, some touristy-ness, some dinner-ness, some bar-ness with high school friend Chuck and his crew.

Saturday: 11-5ish – In the city with my sister. I don’t think we truly did anything of significance, though we have photographs that perhaps prove to the contrary. She took about 15 minutes to get gift certificates at some French restaurant, and we shared a slice of New York style pizza, properly folded, and we stopped twice - twice - at Starbucks. New York has several Starbucks locations, it turns out.

8-10 – Watching Annie in a pretty fantastic performance of Twyla Tharp’s The Fugue. No, I didn’t 'get' it, though it was properly explained to the audience. Yes, I could tell she nailed it – her smile was about six feet wide at the end of the performance, and she let out an intentionally-audible yelp once offstage. The performance and the aftermath were both tremendous. The gigantor grin was probably my favorite singular moment of the entire trip.

10-midnight – Diner food with her crew. The potato skins sucked, I heard. And heard. And heard. And heard again. The home fries were pretty good, and the rye toast worked out pretty well. I totally should have paid.

Sunday: Midnight-3ish, 4ish? – Sitting around, drinking a bit, talking about nothing. The company was perfect, the dates were half-eaten, and the gigantic mammal was successfully slain. Or something. I’ve not read the book, and get the beginning of the metaphor, but don’t completely think it holds up. Still, it’s a nice metaphor, in its way. As I go to sleep, I put on Band of Horses.

7:30ish – Sleeping on the world’s most uncomfortable couch, I stir a bit. But no complaints.

9:45 – As I wake up, I quietly put on Band of Horses, again.

10:30ish – Six of the eight housemates emerge for at least part of brunch, and three more fine individuals find their way over, and a variety of pancakes are served. (Pumpkin butter!) For my part, I sit in the corner of the room and say stupid crap. At times, I sit, silently, transfixed. College is pretty cool, you know.

12:30 – Departure. Too soon. Great people. Then there was a flight and a Super Bowl party and a drive home and a 3:15 shut-eye time. But it was worth every lost hour of sleep and every treacherous curve in the snow-covered Ring Fingernail roadways.

(My sister just sent some pictures along. I just looked at them. Generally, pure joy on my face. Seriously. It was awesome.)

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So, there’s really no way to write how perfectly everything went. I was explaining to a coworker today that I, quite simply, left New York as a Proud Older Brother.

Proud of the fact that: a) My sister’s pretty fantastic, and b) she’s pretty talented, and c) she’s found a great group of friends, and d) she’s pretty clearly an adult, or almost there. I last spent a lot of time with the girl when she was, what, 13 years old. It’s eight years later now and, obviously, you know people change and get smarter and cooler and funnier and more mature, but you can’t truly realize that until you spend some time – even just 24 hours – in their territory. And, let me tell you, friends, she owns her territory.

Also, her friends are truly 100 percent fun. I don’t know if my sister was joking or not, but there was apparently some drowsiness-and-booze-induced discussion of a trip to The Ring Fingernail this spring. Whether it will happen or not, I don’t know, but, if things are working that way, I will do my part to wholeheartedly encourage it. Truly, truly awesome.

I also should tell you that these kids are much more grown-up than I was at that point in my life. I said this in response to the high quality of Sunday’s brunch. (And perhaps in response to the fact that their refrigerator had nothing resembling Miller Lite, though I’m not sure that’s a good quality.) It was quickly pointed out to me that, duh, they’re girls – they appreciate high-quality brunches more than, well, I do. But, also, they’re probably more grown-up than we were. (Noted, however, is the fact that I already had a job by this point. Hmmm. One for me?)

It would be interesting if they still made answering machines. Eight names, some with several syllables, and none that rhyme with the word “Lyin’.” I wonder if these kids could have come up with a message to the tune of “The Super Bowl Shuffle.” Probably not. Score another one for E2. Go Bears.

Except for the one kid who flaked on the diner and then showed up drunk, I liked everyone. I enjoyed hearing about horses and chainsaws and India before it was cool and pesos and Poland and the World Series Champion Chicago White Sox and ‘tech’ and I liked lecturing ever-so-briefly about the beauty that is Stanley from The Office and I liked seeing “The Thumb Trick” and I liked giving crap to the girl who needs to be given more crap and I liked giving crap to the girl who handled it pretty well, really, and I liked most everything that happened. I particularly liked the locals at the diner.

Anyway, I’m clearly not doing this trip justice, but I also don’t know what else to write. It was fantastic. Fantastic. Thanks to everyone involved.

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I’m really, really, really, really happy that my friend Nemo is okay. Our walking-to-the-other-store-in-an-effort-to-get-Old-Style-for-the-party male-male hug was a little awkward, or at least not as good as usual, or at least not as planned as usual, but it was really nice. Maybe the unplannedness and anti-theatricality of it made it, in a way, better. Though they’re always good.

Anyway, he’s one of the four greatest male individuals I’ve ever met. You can probably figure out the other three. (Note: Michael Jordan is not one of them, though he’s in the team photo.) I’d be really, really, really sad if he weren’t okay. Crushingly sad.

If he weren’t okay, this post would be a lot less buoyant, for instance.

Wear your seatbelts, everybody.

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I’m also happy that the car was okay enough that my iPod made it through. That wouldn’t have left me crushed, but it would have left me upset.

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This shit’s so not funny. There are probably some disappointed first-time readers. Generally, actually, it’s not that funny usually. Just over-comma’d, for the most part. Get ‘em next time, I guess.