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Greetings from West Palm Beach, FL (2)

Sitting in the airport, waiting for my flight to Charlotte to board. I just had my full-body scan and my pat down. Needless to say, I didn't have any Taylor Ham wrapped in tinfoil in my underwear to cook in the full-body scan machine. My laptop got knocked to the floor while I was being patted down, my cell, my wallet and my key in the rollers. It looks like the Mac still works fine.

My talk yesterday at Palm Beach State College (famous alumnus: Burt Reynolds, who lives up the road in, get this, Jupiter) went well. After I spoke, a Cuban guitarist played. Man, was he nervous; his hands were shaking before he started to play. Once he started though he was fine.

Sunday I went to Riviera Beach, strolled and took a dip. Then I went to a bar and ate oysters and drank beer. I had a nice chat with a Haitian taxi driver on the way home ... home? You know what I mean, the hotel. I asked him if he had family back in Haiti. He said he did. I asked if they survived the earthquake. He said some did and some didn't. We talked a little politics, some Haitian and some American. I told him that the only credible challenger I saw to President Obama is New Jersey governor Christie, but that I wasn't sure that America was ready for a fat president. I had him laughing with that.

In the evening, I was invited for dinner (Panamanian fare) at a Panamanian colleague's house (she's the one who invited me down).

Yesterday, I sat by the pool and edited my talk, had a quick swim, put on my Monday best, and headed for the college.

After the session, dinner at a Cuban restaurant, Don Ramón's, in downtown West Palm Beach with my colleague and her son.

I'll be glad to get home. Like the Dave Dudley tune, "Six Days on the Road":

ICC is checkin' on down the line
I'm a little overweight and my log book's way behind
I can dodge all the scales alright
Nothing gonna stop me tonight
Six days on the road
and I'm gonna make it home tonight.

(I quote from memory.) In my case, it was seven.



June 2019



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