My roommate, a source for much material without intentionally trying, is the inspiration for this week's article. As I came back from a night of waiting tables despite the fact I am not a waiter nor have any waiting experience (call me a team player), he asked why I looked so exhausted? "I just spent a night of serving and bussing tables," I replied, not knowing that when I went to watch an Oscar party, I would be called upon to help serve a very well attended event.

"Waiting tables has to be the most degrading profession," he replied. And here folks, lies the task at hand in this week's rant of the week: to review and contrast a selection of the world's most degrading professions.

A funny thing happened to me this week. I can't really say how it came about or what was so different about this week from all the others I've lived. But for the first time, in a very long time, when a situation called for a drink, I chose to say "No thanks."

There were two things I could have done this week in celebration of the New York Giants being declared the best team in America this year.

One: I could have skipped work and taken a trip to the Canyon of Heroes and basked in the glory of what could have been the greatest Super Bowl performance I could have ever hoped for as fan of football.

Two: I could have celebrated my right as an American to vote in the Super Tuesday elections, which generally provide insight as to which candidates will win their parties’ nomination.

I am basking in the glory that is the NY Giants football season this year. Super Bowl, Schmuperbowl. They've defied expectations, silenced critics, and given a city decimated by recent poor sports performances a chance to root for something more than "maybe next year." In the course of one season, Eli Manning has changed his voicemail from "Please leave a message for the shy kid without a prom date," to "I'm sorry but I'm currently having sex, but if you'd like to leave your name, number, and dimensions, I'll get back to you, maybe." Tiki Barber, the beloved running back who retired on top of the world, is now forced to watch his old team contend for a title while he's attempting to rally a crowd at 6 am to watch the Today Show crew discuss hi-larious scripted situations. Tiki, at least when you were waking up at 6 am for the Giants, you were playing for something. And Jeremy Shockey, that kooky caveman we all love to cheer for until he snaps his ankle two minutes into the season, no longer serves as the team's unofficial spokesperson on why he's right and everyone else is wrong, though I hear he is in negotiations to be the official spokesperson for Ank-Lutz, the new gold ankle bracelet made for men. In fact, the only person who seemed to stay consistent, aside from the immortal 87 year old badass punter Jeff Feagles, was Tom Coughlin. Because he is a tough Irish bastard.