Month: June 2022

The Everglades or the casinos?

If you had to guess which states have the most casinos, Florida may not immediately come to mind. (I was certainly surprised by the casino presence when I moved to Florida in 2002.) In a state dominated by attractions like Disney World, it’s easy to overlook the fact that Florida is a top 10 casino state.

Prior to making the move from New York to Florida, the only time I’d ever visited a casino was in Atlantic City.  Does anyone else have memories of walking the boardwalk with the smell of the ocean in your nose, the wind in your face, and a jacket full of coins? In the 1980s coins were what you used to play slot machines. I laugh now when I think about the oversized Solo cups people used to carry their winnings around in. If you were having a good day, you carried around multiple cups. (It sure built up your arm muscles.) Coins made people happy, especially the sound of them falling into the slot-machine’s metal trays. But handling coins all day left a grimy film on your hand. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons casinos switched to a ticket system in the 1990s. Phasing out coins also saved the casinos money. (Imagine all the Coinstar machines they must have needed!) Today coin-operated slot machines are practically extinct (although I hear a few casinos in Vegas still have some, like El Cortez, California Hotel & Casino, and Circus Circus).

As a gambling destination, South Florida doesn’t compare to Vegas, but it’s home to about a dozen casinos. It’s also where you can find Everglades National Park, the largest subtropical wilderness in the United States, and the only place on Earth where alligators and crocodiles coexist. The guests at Donna’s birthday extravaganza had a decision to make: spin the wheel at a casino or spin around in an airboat. The group decided to split up. Let’s compare their experiences and see who had the better time:

• Driving Distance

Gator Group: About 45 minutes to the peace and quiet of the Everglades.

Casino Crew: Less than half hour in any direction to a gambling facility where announcements are made every five minutes about another lucky winner.

Advantage Casino Crew

• Thrill Factor

Gator Group: Speeding in a rickety boat that might overturn in addition to watching a man stick his head in a gator’s mouth scores high points in this category.

Casino Crew: But watching Marlene win $700 and do a victory dance? Priceless!

Advantage Casino Crew

• Bathroom Facilities

Gator Group: Are you kidding? Go to the bathroom in that swamp with all those endangered species watching?

Casino Crew: Luxury accommodations with all the hand soap a person could want—next category please.

Advantage Casino Crew

• Learning Experience

Gator Group: Hearing experts lecture about a unique habitat and the wildlife that thrives there.

Casino Crew: Learning that pressing all the buttons at once doesn’t get you a jackpot.

Advantage Gator Group

• Natural Beauty

Gator Group: Floating majestically on a grassy, slow-moving river far away from land and life’s hectic pace. Brings a tear to your eye. 

Casino Crew: Gazing blindly into the slot machine’s maddening lights for so long that you’ve developed a case of dry eye.

Advantage Gator Group

• Great Group Activity

Gator Group: Bonding with other travelers and hearing how far they’ve come to experience what so many take for granted.

Casino Crew: Casting voodoo curses at anyone who comes near your lucky machine while rubbing your rabbit’s foot and mumbling, “Go big or go home” before screaming, “Can someone bring me a bleepin’ drink?” (Donna eventually got her drink.)

Advantage Gator Group

So, both groups got some bang for their buck, although Donna and Marlene got the kind of bang you can wave in people’s faces or stuff down your bra. (That’s right, Marlene, I’m talking to you!)

#ifyouwrestlewithgatorsyoubetterwineverytime

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Never mind the blue pill or the red pill.

My wife is addicted to picking up the check. She does it all the time—on weekends or weekdays, in the morning or the evening, when there’s money in the bank or when there’s none. The questions was, would she do it while we were celebrating her birthday? Inquiring minds had to know. Technically, it was an early birthday celebration, but the date didn’t matter. The reason we were in Ft. Lauderdale was to shine a spotlight on her and raise a glass to commemorate a very special day. And if she couldn’t figure out that she was supposed to be the star of the weekend, the two birthday cakes in the fridge with her name on them should’ve given her a clue. But would she still try to pick up the check?

And what exactly is the etiquette regarding picking up the check? Everyone’s got their own formula about who should pay for what in which social situations. I presented the most common guidelines to Donna and logged her reactions:

Rule #1. The boss should always pay. If there isn’t a boss, then senior level people should pay.

Donna’s reaction: What kind of elitist bullshit is that? Like they’re better than me. Uh-uh.

Rule #2. If someone offers, you should graciously accept. Accepting an offer to pick up the tab is the equivalent of accepting a gift. You honor the giver by allowing them to treat you. Don’t start a fight. Just thank them and be quicker next time.

Donna’s reaction: Next time? Like tomorrow’s promised to any of us. Uh-uh. I believe in striking like a cobra and making no apologies.

Rule #3. If nobody makes a move to pick up the check, suggest that the bill be split. If everyone agrees, split the bill evenly. Never fight over who had what or ask the waiter for separate checks, no matter if someone had salad and you had wine.

Donna’s reaction: First off, what are you doing having salad while I’m drinking wine? Second off, are you even at the right table? Do I know you? Just have some of my dessert and get the hell out of here.

Rule #4. If you’re on a date, the person who arranged the date should pay. 

Donna’s reaction: Is this a trick? Did Michael die? Why is someone trying to date me? I’m a woke woman. You don’t date me. I date you. Waiter! Check, please!

Rule #5. If you’re out with friends, negotiate the best way to pay. You can split the bill, take turns paying it (for gatherings that occur on a regular basis), or, at the very least, you can offer to cover the entire tab but be ready to accept offers.

Donna’s reaction: Accept offers? You mean like Bitcoin or lottery scratch tickets? Why should I play Let’s Make a Deal? If you love me, you’ll let me have my way.

You don’t even have to be dining with Donna for her to pick up your tab. You just have to be in her general vicinity. During one of our stops on our way to Ft. Lauderdale, we pulled over for gas while Donna ran into the convenience store. But she didn’t reemerge until much later. She blamed the delay on the man on line in front of her.

“He took forever to pay. He was pulling out coins and buttons from his pockets. Finally, I just had to step in and tell the cashier that I was picking up his bill. It was only about $10, but you should’ve seen how happy he was. He said he’d never forget me.”

And no doubt that’s true. Who would forget an encounter with Saint Donna of Assisi? But there are ways to outmaneuver her. I happen to know that alcohol is her kryptonite. For example, when we stopped at the Sandbar Grill at the Sun Tower Hotel & Suites the other day, she ordered something blue served out of a mason jar. By the time she finished it, she was in no position to argue when Paul and Leah grabbed the check.

During this trip, of course, Donna was her usual self, fighting for the right to treat everyone—at the bar, at the toll plaza, at vending machines. She won a few battles. She lost a few. But, in general, Donna rarely loses. So, how would she do at Ft. Lauderdale’s famous casinos? We were about to find out. #treatingpeoplewithkindnessisthebestkindoftreat

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If you throw a party, they will come.

If you read yesterday’s blog, you already know that Wilton Manors (Ft. Lauderdale), Florida was the place you should’ve been this weekend to celebrate Donna’s birthday. Here are a few of the notable VIPs who showed up for the three-day extravaganza:

1. Darren Pough, CEO of Garlique-Free, the cholesterol supplement without a trace of garlic.
2. Pope Paul Pasante-Ortiz, Holy Minister of Education
3. Princess Leah, Senator of Alderaan
4. Duchess Tracey of New Port Richey
5. Queen Donna Worrell and her plus one, Bella, of the Boo-Tang Clan
6. Madame Marlene, Hollywood burlesque star
7. And an unnamed Special White House Envoy

That’s right. This who’s who list of celebrities cleared their calendars, beat back the crowds, and joined my Donna to celebrate her 60^th birthday. From across the country they came, by plane, train, automobile, and kayak (no, wait, the people who kayaked never made it). So, the pressure was on to do this thing right.

Our first stop on Donna’s 60^th Birthday World Tour was Casa del Mare Ristorante at the Sea Club Resort, just steps from Ft. Lauderdale beach. It’s an exclusive spot and easily confused with other restaurants with similar names. But the staff made sure we had a good table with no charge for the beachfront view. Even the mimosas were on the house. (If you ask for the Donna Rivera “extra pulp” mimosa special, I’m sure someone can hook you up.) I myself could’ve had all the condiments I wanted, but I abstained because I knew this weekend was all about pacing myself. We were going to be hitting a lot of restaurants, maybe doing a grub crawl or a pub crawl, or both. We were going to be hanging loose and fancy-free. Money would be no object. NOTE TO FT. LAUDERDALE WAITSTAFF: In the following days, if I ever hand you a card and it doesn’t work, just hand it back. The good one is in my other pocket. #whatgoesoninFortLauderdalestaysinFortLauderdale

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To boldly go where Donna has gone before.

After weeks of scouting out a location, finding a rental house, sending out invites to our VIP guests, deciding on an itinerary, and Google-mapping our route, we were ready for our South Florida trip. Oh, wait. Did you think I did all that planning? Heavens to Betsy, no. Donna is the mastermind behind our road trips. I’m the guy who packs the bags into the car, and I don’t do that good a job of it. I’m like that bellhop who throws your luggage around because you didn’t tip enough. However, Donna does allow me to do the driving. But you have to be careful when you hit the road because sometimes the road hits back.

The road is a dangerous place. I’m reminded of that all the time, so I take driving very seriously. Good friends of ours were recently in a rollover accident while driving from NYC to Florida. The car blew a tire, went over the guardrail, and flipped three times before it came to rest on the median. Our friends escaped with minor injuries, but I was haunted by the accident. I made a mental note: No doing wheelies or donuts on the highway.

Thankfully the ride to Ft. Lauderdale was without incident, unless you count getting robbed an incident. Those prices at the gas station were highway robbery. But nothing was about to dampen our celebrational mood. The house we rented was in a suburb of Ft. Lauderdale called Wilton Manors, so Donna was literally queen of the manor. She inspected the house and pronounced it fit for the festivities.

Some of the manor’s sweet amenities included sunken living room, billiards room, backyard mangrove oasis, helicopter pad, and horse stable (or was that the garage?). It even came with the iguana we requested. No, just kidding. You can’t request iguanas. They come free with every house.

Some of us spent the rest of the day lounging in the pool, while the rest of us took photos of the kayakers paddling in the canal behind our house. When the gators eat those folks, at least we’ll have some recent photos to show the missing persons investigators. #thisbirthdaycelebrationisgoingtobeamazing

We ate so much we felt a little eel.

Although this blog is about a seafood restaurant, there’s nothing fishy about the new hairdo Donna tried out a few days ago. Those braids look fantastic, honey (no matter what Leah says), and I’m so happy to be celebrating your 60^th birthday with you in a few days. Everyone knows that the only thing old about you is your husband. So, for his sake, please go easy on the partying. I have a feeling the celebration is going to last all week long.  

We’re already off to a fast start thanks to a pre-birthday visit to one of our favorite restaurants, the Boston Fish House in Winter Park. Bev and Steve introduced us to the place a few years ago, so when they asked us if we’d like to go there for dinner, we said, “Do fish have gills?”

Speaking of fish, on our way to the restaurant we heard an interesting story on NPR about clownfish, which are those cute fish from Finding Nemo. They live in small groups made up of a breeding pair and a few adolescent smaller males. When the female dies, the dominant male changes sex and mates with the largest of the adolescent males. So, when Nemo loses his mom at the beginning of the movie and searches for his dad, he’s really in search of his new mom, and let’s hope he’s not the largest adolescent male. Bottom line: Fish are delicious no matter what their family situation might be.

I don’t recall seeing clownfish on the Boston Fish House menu, but their entrees were no laughing matter. From catfish and clam strips to shrimp and broiled mahi-mahi, the sight of our food piled high was enough to test the cut of our jibs. (I don’t really know what a jib is. I assume it’s a nautical term for appetizers, which were also delicious.) I give the Boston Fish House a rating of five Pepperidge Farm goldfish. #thebestmusictolistentowhilefishingissomethingcatchy

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CLICK HERE to see the video starring me and Donna.

Now that I’m a blogger, if you’re local, you might see me around town. But just because I’m wearing sunglasses and a ballcap, don’t be afraid to approach me. I’m still the same modest guy I used to be. The only thing that’s changed is that I hobnob with the media more and you might see me being interviewed on your street corner. But, other than that, I still enjoy mingling with the people.

Take the other day, for example. There I was covering my beat, keeping up with the news, making my rounds. The hot topic in my area this week is the 20-foot tall, 800-pound metal dinosaur statue named Clayton. Through no fault of his own, he suddenly found himself homeless. Who knew that the housing crisis could impact dinosaurs, right?

But it’s true. When Clayton & Sons salvage yard recently sold their property, they donated their dinosaur to the city. DeBary Mayor Karen Chasez was faced with a weighty decision: Preserve or destroy. That’s a whole lot of scrap metal, she probably said to herself. Thank God Mayor Chasez is a visionary. She knew how important that dinosaur had become. It was an icon, wrapped in a symbol, wrapped in an emblem of pride. When I met with Orlando’s News 6 reporter Crystal Moyer, I didn’t mince words. I compared the dinosaur to the Statue of Liberty. (That’s right, I said it.) Thus, it was of the utmost importance that the dinosaur’s relocation be handled correctly. A parade would be nice too. As fate would have it, the Mayor and I were on the same page. Not only did the relocation go smoothly, but residents lined the streets as Clayton was hauled to his new home, a spot where all the community can enjoy him, right in front of the community park and splash pad.

For the moment, temporary fencing has been placed around him, to prevent him from going on any dino rampages. (Those Jurassic Park movies have really been a bad influence on the T. rex population.) But visitors are encouraged to stop by. As for me, you can’t fence me in because I’m a ramblin’ man. I’ll continue to go where the road takes me. See you out there, amigos. #Michael’sheadhasgottentoobigforhiscap

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Come for the meal, stay for the show.

It’s my 19^th wedding anniversary today. And, no, I won’t be getting my wife anything made of bronze. She stole my heart many years back, and until she returns it…no gifts. Actually, she couldn’t give it back. It belongs to her at this point, along with the dusty man writing this blog. Whatever you want today is yours, honey. I love you. Happy anniversary. The rest of what I have to say to Donna is private. I wouldn’t want my words to melt whatever device you’re reading this on.

Anyway, we didn’t want to celebrate in any big way. We’ll save that for next year. Instead, we decided to grab a meal at one of our favorite places, the Waffle House in Deltona. If you can stop scratching your head for a minute, I’ll tell you why. As you may know, Waffle House has a reputation for hiring ex-cons. They tend to speak their minds, which can make for some very interesting conversations.

If you can, grab a seat at one of the bar stools in front of the grill. That’s where the action is. Once you place your order, the waitstaff and the cook will begin communicating with each other. They communicate about every minor detail. No one ever looks at the order pad.

“Where my grits? You hear I asked for grits? Darling, is that my grits?”

The cook says nothing. I’m waiting for him to say kiss my grits. He misses his window. Instead, he asks her a question. It’s inaudible because he’s a low talker. She answers in a Southern drawl and a giggle.

“Listen, I’m scatterbrained right now. Ain’t you noticed?”

He says nothing. Another window closes.

The more items you order, the more the dialogue. Donna orders a meal with four parts to it: chicken, eggs, raisin toast, hash browns. I watch the action as the waitstaff shuttles between new customers, the coffee machine, and the waffle station. The cook takes care of the toast and all the cooking. The waitstaff takes care of the nagging.

“Picking up! Baby, you got my toast? Where’s the meat on that plate? You be blessed.”

It’s another day in the life of the Waffle House crew. They work hard, even if the results aren’t always there. This time they are. As Donna and I get up to leave, she insists that I double the waitress’s tip. She says it’s the first time that Waffle House has gotten her order right. Going to Waffle House is like seeing a murder mystery. Someone’s always asking a million questions, and sometimes there’s a surprise ending.

Quiz: Do you know what type of gift your supposed to give for your anniversary? See if you know the 10 ,20, 30, 40, 50, and 60 gifts before peaking at the answers below from Bride.com.

1st Anniversary: Paper

2nd Anniversary: Cotton

3rd Anniversary: Leather

4th Anniversary: Fruit or Flowers

5th Anniversary: Wood

6th Anniversary: Candy or Iron

7th Anniversary: Wool or Copper

8th Anniversary: Bronze

9th Anniversary: Pottery

10th Anniversary: Tin or Aluminum

11th Anniversary: Steel

12th Anniversary: Silk or Linen

13th Anniversary: Lace

14th Anniversary: Ivory

15th Anniversary: Crystal

16th Anniversary: Wax

17th Anniversary: Furniture

18th Anniversary: Porcelain

19th Anniversary: Bronze

20th Anniversary: China

25th Anniversary: Silver

30th Anniversary: Pearl

35th Anniversary: Coral

40th Anniversary: Ruby

45th Anniversary: Sapphire

50th Anniversary: Gold

55th Anniversary: Emerald

60th Anniversary: Diamond

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Both are getting old.

Recently my Android phone sent me the following message: “Storage Space Running Out.” I immediately went to my Settings to look for the Power-Up button. (Is that only a thing in video games?) Failing to find one, I searched my submenus. (If my phone had an Airplane Mode, why not a Blogger Mode?) What I was trying to avoid was having to go through all my apps and photos to delete stuff, which always feels like going through the fridge looking for expired food. I hate throwing stuff away that I might miss later. Plus, cleaning house takes time, and who has time for taking time?

I started with my Photos folder. That was two days ago, and I still haven’t gotten past the first batch of photos, which are from the Elton John concert we attended in April at the Amway Center in Orlando. Elton John’s Farewell Yellow Brick Road The Final Tour officially began in September 2018, which means he’s been saying goodbye for almost four years. It’s scheduled to end in July 2023. But I have concerns about whether Elton will be able to make his end date. He may need to take another break. I say “another break” because we were originally scheduled to see him in 2020. That’s how long we’d waited for him to come to Orlando. For two long years we endured the pandemic and the uncertainty about whether we’d actually get to use the tickets, which were a Christmas present from Brad and Leah.

Every day leading up to the April show was suspenseful. What kind of show could the 75-year-old put on? Could he walk to his piano? How was his bad hip? (He was injured in a fall in 2021.)  And, more importantly, could he still fit into any of his flamboyant outfits? Finally, the night of his show arrived. The Elton John faithful packed the arena, but would Elton show up? I’d never seen so many laser lights. And don’t get me started on the fog machines. I half expected a magician to open the concert. But it was Elton John who came out, slow and steady, but still on his two feet. And when he didn’t walk, he floated around the stage on a mobile piano, playing for one side of the arena, then gliding over to the other. He worked hard that night, banging on those keys, doing one hit after another. At one point he playfully pantomimed being out of breath, but I’m pretty sure I saw him puff on an inhaler.

When he left the stage, it took him forever to come out for an encore. (I imagined he had to soak his feet first.) But when he did reemerge, he sang his part of the duet in Dua Lipa’s Cold Heart. He finished the show by ascending the heights of the stage in a motorized chair lift. It seemed fitting. He was exhausted. We were exhausted. But he finished the show strong. Now I must finish deleting all those photos, but not before sharing a few with you. #thanksRocketManforsendingmetothemoonandback

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The rest of us just want to be forgotten.

It’s a well-known fact that many entertainers started their careers waiting on tables, folks like Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj, Chris Pratt, Jon Hamm, Jennifer Anniston, Kristen Wiig, and Amy Adams. Which means there are a lot of future Oscar and Grammy winners out there right now asking, “Would you like your iced tea sweetened or unsweetened?” What a waste of talent. But does it have to be? I mean, what would happen if, before placing your order, you asked your server if they have something special they’d like to perform—maybe a short song or monologue, maybe something from Hamilton. Sure, you might get some weird looks. But if you discovered a potential celebrity, wouldn’t that be cool?

I thought about that the other day when we dined at Carrabba’s in Daytona Beach. Donna, Darren, Marlene, Paul, Leah, and my Donna were with me to celebrate Father’s Day when a particularly charismatic individual stepped up to wait on us. Did he have the required star power to make it to Hollywood? Was he the next Denzel? I measured him up with a keen eye.

For sure he had the look of an actor (he was a little short, but his dark hair, sleepy eyes, and perfect-size man bun were worthy of attention). He introduced himself as Michael, but what I heard in my head was that his name was Johnny Carrabba, the disinherited heir of the Carrabba empire, who was trying to get back in good with the family. Like all those guys in The Godfather, he had a thick Italian accent as he explained how he’d fallen from grace. “There was an incident. I, eh, took the gun and left the cannoli.”

His voice snapped me back to reality.

“Are we, eh, celebrating anything special today? Do we have any fathers at the table?”

Two of us raised our hands, and he lifted his as well.

“Me too, by two months. I wish I weren’t here.”

The comment wasn’t meant as an insult. He went on to explain that he was a new dad, and he was so in love with his newborn son that he couldn’t bear being away from him. Then he sighed and went on to read us the specials of the day. That was some good acting. But before we knew it, he was talking about his kid again. He went on and on about how little sleep he was getting and how he just couldn’t wait to hold his baby, and that’s when he lost my future vote for an Oscar.

I’ve been a new dad, and between the lack of sleep and the diaper changes, you walk around in a haze most of the time. I was convinced this wannabe actor was just playing on our sympathies to get a bigger tip. (I’m surprised he didn’t complain about the inflated cost of baby formula.)  He even pretended to be concerned when Darren said he had a garlic allergy (not even vampires have real garlic allergies). He should’ve just laughed and brought Darren the meal he ordered and said something like, “Ha ha. Garlic allergy. That’s a good one.” Instead, Donna had to assure him that if anything happened to Darren, we would assume responsibility for resuscitating him (or not).

That was the best line of the evening, delivered not by some classically trained actor working at Carrabba’s waiting for his big break but by my wife, a classically trained realtor. I walked out of the restaurant a little disappointed that we hadn’t discovered a rising star but proud that I was married to one. #andtheOscarforthebestcomedyroutinegoestoDonna

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I hear their planes are made out of yellow building blocks.

For those of you who get grumpy when you receive that phone call from a friend or relative asking if you can pick them up from the airport, the best reason to do it is this: You’re not really doing them a favor, you’re doing yourself a favor. The self-satisfaction is amazing. When we got the text from Colette stating that she might miss her connecting flight at Orlando International Airport (she was flying in from her bachelorette party in New Orleans—Go Brad and Colette!), we immediately started driving in case she got stranded at the airport. As we rushed out the door, we asked her what airline she was flying. Her answer chilled us to the bone and Donna exclaimed words to the effect: “Spirit Airlines? Oh, Lord, why!” We pictured all four of the plane’s wheels falling off or the plane running out of fuel midflight because the pilot used the wrong credit card when he pulled up to the pump. If you have to ask why Spirit Airlines would evoke that kind of reaction, you need only look at their business model.

Spirit Airlines is considered a ULCC, ultra-low-cost carrier, not to be confused with a paper plane, which is in the category above Spirit’s. Spirit’s goal is to provide customers with the cheapest fares possible, while also sucking the life out of them. They charge for things like baggage, seat selection, food, oxygen, armrests, and bathroom passes. The in-flight entertainment is group prayer. But in February customers got excited that Spirit might soon upgrade their service when the company announced a planned merger with Frontier Airlines. Other customers remained skeptical, making statements like, “Hopefully this merger won’t change the God-awful customer service I’m used to.” Four months later, the merger is still unconsummated, leaving many to wonder what awful disease Spirit has that Frontier won’t get with them.  

In last year’s annual Harris Poll of airline companies, Spirit Airlines was ranked last for reasons that include overpriced bag fees (including checked bags), nonreclining seats, lack of complimentary drinks, and number of canceled or delayed flights. People said these cancellations or delays sometimes caused altercations. If you’re an airline and your customers say they’re tired of all the “altercations” on your flights, it may be time to get into the retail business, where fighting is approved. This year Spirit didn’t even make the Harris Poll rankings because listing them as an airline might confuse people into thinking they were an airline.

Thankfully, this story has a happy conclusion. Not only did Colette get her money back for the Spirit flight she missed, but she was able to find a flight home on JetBlue (and we got to spend some time with her—Go Brad and Colette!). What a relief it must be to fly on an airline where people don’t take their shoes off and put their dirty feet against the windows. Spirit pilots should really stop doing that. #Spirit’sfirsttestflightwastheHindenburg

Go Brad and Colette!

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