Gigantic Saturday

This truly is the most wonderful time of the year in Miami.  The weather is here, as Jimmy Buffet sang, and there's a ton to do.

My day started with an early meeting with a very nice Ukrainian handyman, who was referred by a surgeon neighbor, and came and repaired the Irma damaged fence.  We like him -- he's going to return post T Day to fix a baseboard that's seen better days.

At 9 my sister of another mister, a/k/a Hurricanes wife Mirta came by, right on time, and we cruised up to Joe Robbie for the last home game of the season.  The Canes were flat as day old beer in the first half, and I thought they might blow their awesome season.  Nah. Not so fast -- they came back like, well, a hurricane, and stomped Virginia.  The tailgate was Norman-less -- he was off in Texas dealing with fraternity dysfunction, but we had a great, classic Miami am party -- bagels and pastelitos...growing up on LI, I never new guava and bagels make a nice pairing.

We skipped out on the final minutes of the game, which proved wise, as the place was packed, and we got home in record time.  Mirta left, and I roused Wifey to get ready for our Saturday night.

The Miami Book Fair is in full swing, and this year I joined as a Literati level member, to get good seats to the talks.  The big one this year was Joe Biden, and we were 15 rows back in the gorgeous Knight Concert Hall -- the smaller venue at Miami's Lincoln Center, called the Arscht Center.

Biden was terrific.  He showed what a true statesman is -- really a man of the people.  He wrote a book about the loss of his wonderful son Beau -- the reason he didn't run for POTUS.  We all left there thinking we could have had HIM in the White House instead of the current cartoon character.  But Joe was hopeful of the future -- he said Irish people have always been nostalgic for the future.  We left the packed hall elevated.

Then, as I was feeling a bit, well, au courant, I Ubered us up to Churchill's, in Little Haiti.  I had heard that a talented guy, Roosevelt Collier, was going to play, at 9.

I used to go to Churchill's, named by it's English owner, in the early 80s, to see a guy named Charlie Pickett.  I worked with a fellow at Boca Hospital who dug him.

Churchill's hasn't changed a bit since my last visit.  It's across the street from Miami Jewish Home, where my Mom and Wifey's Dad spent their final months, but Wifey and I were by far the oldest ones there.

And Collier, who came on after 11, rocked.  Wifey was dancing the entire time.  I was swaying to Collier's jams, too.

We Ubered back to my car, parked in my office, and got home after 1 am.

It was a long and awesome day, and more awesomeness is due this week: T Day!  D2 is flying home Tuesday night, and will be fetched at MIA by Dadber, the Uber service run my me.  Thursday we'll celebrate at D1's brother and sister in law's house in Morningside -- first non restaurant T Day in 10 years.

I offered to be the provider of spirits, and ordered , or over-ordered, wine, beer, and vodka and gin to be delivered on Wednesday.  It will be our first Colombian themed TDay, and should be a fine one.

Speaking of TDay, today the Palace has their celebration.  I told Wifey I'll go to help get my suegra out of the place -- she keeps asking to visit my father in law's grave, but last week was too weak to leave the center.  We'll see about today.

So rock on, days of beauty in the 305 -- like Roosevelt Collier rocked Churchill's last night.