For something like three years we watched as Bar Rita went up on Andrews Avenue, so naturally we went to the opening last night. The food was very good; the music, at 5:30, was deafening. “It’s early,” I said to Hania. “I’m sure it will get quieter as the evening goes on.”
“What is it with Americans and their loud music in restaurants?” Hania asked as we headed to the car. After waiting three years, we were out under an hour.
“It’s to keep people like us away,” I told her.
And it probably will.
Sunday we took a drive through Idlewyld, looking across the Intracoastal at the yachts squeezed into Bahia Mar Marina for this coming weekend’s boat show, and then we cruised up A1A. Three freighters sat anchored out on the horizon and I thought how delightful it would be if they were all plotting to crash the boat show.
Because our president seems like a fictional character, I’m holding on to a slim hope – especially now that Christmas is coming – that he will have a Dickensian dream and wake up with a new-found sense of charity toward the poor, the sick, minorities and immigrants.
Here in Florida, the favorite word in the political attack ads this season seems to be “shady,” which reminds me of Somerset Maugham’s description of the French Riviera: “A sunny place for shady people.”
Our friend Don was explaining the depth of his relationship to the Deep South: "In my town," he said, "even the Episcopalians worshiped snakes."
Trump is the political equivalent of the dress that half its viewers are convinced is one color and half are sure it's a different one. Many Americans watch him and see a man who is intellectually, emotionally, and morally unfit for public office (let alone the presidency), while other citizens are unbothered by the spectacle. Or at least they pretend to be.