HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY, bed-head and all!
The trip to Crazyland was fine, but I was glad to have a colleague there with me. Miami is, essentially, Crazyland on steroids. Crazyland magnified and saturated. I felt like I was in a Carl Hiaasen novel, one of the chapters set in Miami.
It surprised me to notice, gazing from the restaurant window at Biscayne Bay and the seafood-rich waters beyond, that seafood in Miami is more expensive than anything else. It's probably because only cruise liners and luxury playboats are permitted to land at Miami's port, and fishing vessels are redirected elsewhere.
My colleague did the driving while I watched for lunatics, such as the 5 or 6 cars that ran every red light, pick-up trucks heading down the wrong side of the road, sports cars driving over the median to pass cars stopped at a red light, cars backing up at stop signs to turn around in the middle of a busy road. It probably didn't help that many of those cars were filled with drunk Spring-breakers.
Last night there was terrible weather in the Northeat, so many people didn't get home at all. We were fortunate that our flight was only 30 minutes late, which means I got home at 1am. Against all folk wisdom about letting sleeping babies lie, I woke up e-baby to eat and she gave me a big smile. I sure missed that little booger.
Speaking of traveling and my little St Patrick's booger, if you live around here, be sure to pick up a copy of Sunday's paper. She's famous!