I take back almost everything I ever said about Florida. After a flight delay of one hour plus an hour lost changing time zones; finding a 7-11 down the street which not only sold Cheeseburger Big Bites but also Yuengling Lager was . . . well, it made me a good deal happier than it ought to have.
And the Yankees lost. To the Angels. Who were so soundly whipped last year. Delicious.
After two weeks in the Old South, it is pure delight to hear flat accents again. To be able to understand the people and the flow of life. It is pure pleasure to drink the hooch of an ancestral home and chew the nosh of the old neighborhood.
If you could ignore the chattering spanish everywhere, get past the constant thumping beat of jungle music and forget the fact that the heat and humidity are so oppressive as to cover every building in the area with thickening layers of mold you could nearly convince yourself you were back to civilisation.
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