WEST PALM BEACH, FL – Once again down in God’s waiting room whooping it up with the in-laws in celebration of my wife’s Dad’s 70th birthday. We flew in early Saturday and all surprised him at dinner that night. Needless to say, he was tickled. Now, three days later as I sit here writing this, slaking my thirst with a cold beer, I am getting a bit ornery over the thought of heading back to New York first thing tomorrow morning. In fact, by the time this gets published I’ll already be halfway back to gray skies and cold temperatures and a healthy dose of reality. I’ve got fewer than 24 hours to live! Live, damn you! But first a brief recap:
On Sunday, my sister-in-law Heather (a Boston fan) thought that another good way to celebrate her Dad’s birthday was to rent a boat, load up the kiddies and grandparents, not to mention a couple of coolers with sandwiches and beverages (adult and otherwise), and go cruising down the Intracoastal. It proved to be a blast, and Heather a worthy captain. Among other things, I was reminded how good Nacho Cheese Doritos taste in the great outdoors and that you aren’t truly well-off unless you have a tiki bar and hammock in your backyard. Trust me, you’re a 99-percenter. By Sunday night, the sea shanties, sangria, and Yuengling’s got the better of me and I crapped out less than halfway through The Oscars. To me this doesn’t even begin to make up for the myriad Debbie Allen choreographed dance numbers that I failed to fall asleep on over the years.
Monday was spent recovering from the previous couple of days (did I mention my daughter took a shine to waking up at 4 or 5 am every morning?) and swapping some funny anecdotes with my brother-in-law. 
The best being the one we were told by a mutual acquaintance who’s an Emergency Room doctor about an elderly hispanic man who brought his grandson into the ER after the tyke apparently consumed a modest quantity of a cleaning solution called AWESOME while in his charge. Turns out drinking AWESOME isn’t fatal. Good thing too, because Gramps drank a glass of the stuff himself just to see how bad it might be. In an unrelated bit of consumption derring do, we hit P.F. Chang’s for lunch, completing my Chick-Fil-A/Chang’s double for this trip.
Tuesday was my final day here and the one I had to cram full of fun. So what do I do? I wake up at 5 am with the kid and then agree to go to some Boot Camp fitness deal with Heather a bit before 8 am. What can I say, she shamed me into it. A word to the wise though, unless you are a veteran of these types of things, when someone floats the words “Boot Camp” anything to you, run the other way screaming. It will serve as an ample workout and save you from potential vomiting and certain humiliation. After a mere half hour of this circuit-from-hell I can honestly say that I am in awful shape. God knows what I’ll look like tomorrow when I walk hunched over through airport security. I smell a strip search in my future.
Just returned from my second part of the day to finish my post. My wife, who’s been under the weather for a good portion of the trip, heroically agreed to head 15 minutes north to Jupiter to watch the Mets take on the Marlins. This was also my daughter’s first baseball game. We sat out on the berm at Roger Dean Stadium–which those chintzy Marlins share with the Cardinals–and had a great time. I even taught my kid a little “Let’s Go Mets” chant, which eventually earned her a baseball courtesy of Mets bullpen coach Ricky Bones. A great way to end the trip.
Looking forward to burdening you people with my New York miseries upon my return. In the meantime, come back tomorrow for a fan of the Marlins’ timeshare partner, Missouri’s own, Cam Purcell.
