Certain American customs have been known to enthrall me. I love the absurdity of graduations, the strangeness of birthday cakes, and of course, the overblown custom of weddings. I find great pleasure in BBQs with small piles of sliced white onions and sweating primary-color bottles of condiments. And the past year it's been football.
Football comes with fall, my favorite season. And with football comes drinking beer with Ben in a dark bar in Brooklyn filled with Redskin fans and free hot dogs and burgers in the back lot, getting a mini lesson on tactics and sport history. I am the last person to be an expert on the game, (viz. me constantly asking "what just happened") but I find it thrilling to watch and learn about. There's truely something amazing about the physiques--superhuman. Complete with masks and spandex.
Here's a kinda cool link to a billion football terms like Eligible Receiver, and Holding, or Hot Dog (A player who shows off by displaying flamboyant antics instead of going about his duties in a buisnesslike fashion).
With a line from my poem "Even Moon" published in Conduit this past year, here is the first drawing of the season. The kick-off, if you will. (It was a big drawing so a lot got cut off and the scan kinda sucks.)