Because we are esteemed members of Phoenix's elite, we had tickets for the swanky club level at University of Phoenix stadium. Among the benefits are a special express lane to enter the stadium and, once you're in, a comfy lounge area with other NFL games on TV, edible pizza, Stella on tap, and (the crowning glory) shorter lines for the shitter. I'm not sure that being told to enjoy the game fifty times by fifty people was necessary, but it's better than being manhandled by some police academy reject.
One of the highlights of the game was the giant inflated cardinal head. Players came rumbling out while flames shot skyward. I was disappointed when deflation time arrived.
Mexican-themed halftime show. I was hoping the dancing ladies would tackle the Mariachi dudes at the 50, but no such luck.
Throwball Limey showing the effects of massive weekend paahtyin'.
Unfortunately, the game kinda sucked (i.e., the Cardinals kinda sucked).
Apparently plenty of people ignore this sign and venture into the cave o' bees. What a buncha morons.
Man, this place is a death trap.
The view of the cave o' bees from the Go No Further sign. We could hear surround-sound buzzing as far away as the parking lot below and thus weren't tempted to ignore the National Park Service's instructions.
Talon, my aggressive and bad-ass office ceiling fan.
The neighborhood thug dove. Unlike most of his skittish contemporaries, he hangs out and calmly watches passersby. There is evidence that he shits a lot.
This ice cube formation appeared in our freezer without warning. We are preparing for more prophetic signs.
Prophetic ice cube spike in situ. Follow its trajectory from the wheat rolls.