In a Fort Lauderdale Minute, Everything Can Change

So the scary, crazy real world came a little too close for comfort yesterday -- a deranged gunman shot and killed 5 and wounded another 8 at FLL.

Wifey and I were home together.  I stayed away from Brickell, since no one else in my office seemed too interested in working, and we had a date with our English friends at Brickell City Centre later in the evening.  The news reports started coming in, and we watched, in rapt attention.

We rarely fly into or out of FLL, but plenty of our friends and family do.  Most of the budget carriers go there, as the landing fees are much cheaper than MIA, and if you live in North Miami Dade, it's more convenient.  Apparently a schizophrenic former National Guardsman started hearing voices last November, and went to the FBI in Alaska to tell him.  They sent him to local police, and from there no follow up was undertaken.  I guess the voices got more stringent, and he flew from Minneapolis to FLL with a legally checked gun, fetched it from baggage claim, loaded it in the bathroom, and came out and started his massacre.

So these days, if you're going to be senselessly shot, you have a choice: terrorist (usually Islamist) or nut case.  Either way, you end up the same dead or maimed.

It's sickening, of course, and there are no clear remedies.  The gun lobby is too strong to ever have gun control.  Many of my idiot FaceBook posters see it the other way: too bad more folks awaiting their luggage weren't themselves armed -- they could have taken out the maniac quicker.  Ha.  As if.  That's magical thinking.  Few other than highly trained legal killers, like SWAT guys, or Navy SEALS, can do that sort of thing in real life.  The average schlemiel with a Nine would more likely panic, and shoot more innocent victims in trying to thwart the bad guy.  If only reality were so simple...

By later in the day, the situation was under control, although the clownish BSO and TSA kept people stuck on planes for hours.  So Wifey and I did the only reasonable thing -- went on with our lives.

We drove to my building, and walked to the East Hotel, and its awesome restaurant, an Uruguayan grille.  D1 was there before us, and we went to the bar for a martini and glass of wine, and water for Wifey.  Paul and Patricia had to cancel, on account of some schlepping duties, but Lou came -- Paul's long time Philly friend.  And soon after our English friends Dave and Sandra arrived, with even MORE Brits in tow -- Phil and Jackie -- longtime neighbors and friends from Stoke.

Except for D1, we were the oldest ones in the restaurant -- typical these days on Brickell.  Phil is a retired RAF helo pilot, and had been in Miami before, but years ago, when it was more "sleepy."  We ate heartily -- lamb chops, steak, chicken, and great small pizzas.  We laughed a lot and caught up -- Dave and Sandra's girl is about to have a baby, and Sandra is dealing with the fact that she' s no longer a 19 year old hitchhiking her way across Canada...

Then we went up to the roof of the East, to a bar called Sugar, with absurdly great views -- I told Jackie if she looked hard enough , to the Northeast, across the Atlantic, she might make out the London Eye on the Thames...

D1 and Lou left, and then we walked around a bit, though Phil has mobility problems, so we ducked into Rosa Mexicana and their bar.

We toasted being safe, for our families, in this crazy and dangerous world, and being lucky enough to not be, so far, in the right place at the wrong time.

The Brits called an Uber, and Sandra had me translate for the driver, as he only spoke American English, and she couldn't understand him.  Wifey and I walked back to my building, got into the loaner SUV, and headed for home.  The Brits have another day in the 305, and then board a ship for two weeks in the Caribbean Sea.  They invited us to go on an Amazon cruise with them in May, but I've had it with cruising for awhile.  Maybe Wifey can go with her BFF Edna...I'll watch the dogs.

When we arrived home, it was lovely out -- a completely clear sky filled with stars.  I thanked the Big Man, and said a prayer for the victims in the airport.  Hemingway had it right -- in this nutty, violent, and cruel world, the best a man can do is stake out his own oasis of calm and peace.  I was happy to do that last night.