If you wanted to find a single word able to kindle my imagination concerning a place I have never been to, and get it racing out of control, down a dusty backroad somewhere in the panhandle (driving my imaginary orange trans-am), past the party-all-night beaches on the eastern strand, to a forlorn stretch near the glades (?) where who knows what kind of "good ol' boys" might be "hangin' out" at the local gas station, counting their (extra) fingers and toes, playing their fiddles, adjustin' their baseball caps, cussing 'bout their low bowling averages, chugging cheap beer while lamenting the deteriorating (pronounced "dee-teeeeeeer-rio-ray-tin") state of the economy, that word would have to be: Florida. I can just hear someone asking (as they always seem to do): haven't you ever been to Florida? No, actually I haven't. Don't you have any family down there? No, I'm sorry but I don't. But you're going there for spring break - right? Uh....no. Spring training, then? Baseball anyone? No. Catch the Superbowl next time it comes around? Nein. Nyet. But you know someone who owns a condo down there? Nope. But there must be some elderly person you know who will be moving there before next winter? Negative. But surely you play golf, you must play golf; everyone with tired bones and sore joints plays golf, don't they? Uh.....not exactly. But you are at least curious about alligators and other reptilian life forms lurking in soggy marshlands - right? Am I? Do you not love palm trees? Do you never go in search of exotic birds? You mean like those chickens, peacocks, turkeys, crows, flying pigs, oxen - who roam the streets in that tropical resort town where Jimmy Buffet lives? Don't you ever wish to go boating on some idyllic stretch of ocean where you might hope to bump into one of the Estefans? As in Gloria and Emilio? Don't you at least want go on a literary pilgrimage of sorts to scope out the haunts of Hemingway, Hiassen and Hurston, to see where Dave Barry sleeps or where Wallace Stevens hung his hat? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....... Demographics, sir...you must have some interest in wacky demographics - people who never should go within 100 miles of one another all forced to get along within their early retirement enclaves? No answer. And do you shun sunlight? No answer. And do you abhor recreation? No answer. And Cuban cigars? No answer. And do you have have anything against transient sociopaths hiding out from the law for years at a time or roaming the streets unsupervised on a daily basis? Uhm, actually I DO have an issue with that! But surely, you can appreciate the need for sunny weather, for pure relaxation, for walking about in Bermuda shorts, showing off your new "bod," your chiseled physique, your iron "glutes" with an entourage of body guards in tow on roller blades? Well, perhaps... In dark sun glasses with matching sandals, you've got your "bro-bag" out, you're window-shopping, name-dropping, people watching, sauntering along, dressed to the nines, in the groove with your peeps - ever been there, ever done that? Answer: As you must know, Mainers don't typically do "stuff" like that - that's too much "chillin'" for our uptight souls to handle. Never been to Disney World? No. Disney Planet? What. Disney Galaxy? Oh. Disney Cult? Yikes. Disney Fraud? Sure. Disney Empire? Help. Disney Mind-meld? Whoa, there. Disney Walmart? No way! Disney Voldemort? Arrrhhhhhhhhhhh! Stop. Stop. But you'd still like to see Miami, right? Or Key West? Tampa? Tampa Bay? Ft. Lauderdale? Daytona Beach? St. Augustine (the town not the saint)? C'mon....Palm Beach at least! Okay, alright. Sure. Put me down for Palm Beach, but could I just show up there without an invitation? Sign on the dotted line...
