The Fray: New Posted

#2 BLOG POST -DAVE

“This is the first day of vacation that I haven’t felt like partying.” – Patriots fan, moments after the game.

The night before, I was a bottle of wine in at St. Elmo’s, Indianpolis’ legendary steak joint, sitting downstairs in a room that felt more suited to a restaurant in West Hollywood that Middle America: the NFL commissioner saunters through the room escorted by henchmen with earpieces; some dude from Glee at a table with manager-types; some other dude from Gossip Girl, I guess. At this point, the city was electric. A slight rain had hung a low ceiling above and nothing could escape, it was kinetic. The shrimp cocktail blows my face off, otherworldly shreds of horseradish packed so tightly in the sauce that your sins were atoned with each bite. More wine. A kid next to us, maybe the age to hold a driver’s permit, sitting with his father and colleagues, orders a steak the size of a football. He devours it. Send him the biggest dessert you have, with extra ice cream, I tell the waiter. The kids thanks me later with breath candied by a pound of chocolate cake.

In a way, I wish the Super Bowl was a series of anticipatory moments; that instead, people gathered in an otherwise quiet town and reveled in anxious celebration for nights on end. I some ways, the game itself was anti-climactic. How couldn’t it be? People are dynamic when something is about to happen. But I suppose, then, you’d miss the pay off.

Tomorrow — in fact, mere hours from the moment I write this — our third record will be released. Countless hours, untold revisions. Moments we thought would be great and then thought, try again. Thousands of theories on narrative and communication. But tomorrow we find out if anyone else thinks our shrimp cocktail is really any f**king good.

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