An overstuffed love seat in Aunt Bert's warm apartment in Queens beckoned today. The occasion? To watch the New York Jets take on New England in the wild card playoff game. Aunt Bert has been a Jets fan for decades and she alternately praises and denounces them. Chad Pennington is either a saint or a bum. And well, there's practically a shrine to Joe Namath there; "Broadway Joe" is one of her favorites.

I really don't know that much about football, but that's not a concern. Today, I read the paper and called out the remaining time per quarter, made general announcements when New England took possession of the ball and offered the odd grunt when Tom Brady threw a good pass. Despite all the positive karma emanating from the assembled group at Aunt Bert's, the Jets got beat. They played well--New England just played better.

Still, it wouldn't be a visit to Queens without an ongoing dialogue between plays. Some of today's topics included the fascination with McDonald's dollar menu. Bert was concerned. "How can they sell food for a dollar? How do they make any money?" It was sweet she was concerned about McDonald's revenue, but I think they're managing just fine. That segued into a cataloging of the foods that were the worst trans fat violators and how they would taste under the new non trans fat regime. There was a general discussion about Hilary Clinton, John McCain and respective Presidential runs for 2008. A hearty debate ensued over the correct Polish word for turnip. A ragged Polish dictionary had to retrieved to settle things.

Snacks in the form of mixed nuts, pretzels, ruggalah, babka and Polish hard candy were set out.
The bird clock was no longer chirping on the hour (the batteries were in backwards) so that was remedied and the back secured with duct tape. Fang peeled and cut up vegetables for Aunt Stella. We drank coffee and watched our team choke.

The day was growing long so we left just as the curtain rang down on the Jets' season. The 7 train back to Manhattan was also humming, full of colorful characters (though not as colorful as the characters we had just left!). There was an older woman who entered the train, whipped out a recorder and started playing a musical medley that included "La Vie en Rose," "Laura's Theme," some kind of tarantella, a Russian folk song that Fang identified as "Black Eyes" and a rousing version of "La Cucaracha." And then for some reason, I spent the rest of the train ride imagining how Ethel Merman would sing Justin Timberlake's"SexyBack," especially the part that goes:

I'm bringin' sexy back
you mother fuckers watch how I attack
If that's your girl, baby watch your back
Cuz you're burning up for me and that's a fact

That's a sure sign I better make it an early night.