While global warming is eventually going to end all life as we know it (tough break), this has been an unseasonably nice winter. And for that, I suppose global warming deserves a mild thank you. (Half of a rose, maybe.) But “warmer than usual” in New York is still coat and long-sleeves weather in early March. And because I’m a minor league baseball announcer, I’m in Florida for the week for the Washington Nationals’ spring training. Now that is warmer than usual.
This is, I believe, the sixth time I’ve been to Florida. I’ve been to Disney World twice, when I was in first grade and eighth. I’ve come down here to broadcast a Syracuse football game and a High Point basketball game, and this is my second trip to spring training. And every minute of the first five times has been just glorious. I’m not sure if trees actually grow in Florida or if people just put in thousands of artificial palm trees, but you can’t walk ten feet without running into one of these things. There is nothing to see while driving down the highways except for palm trees and, occasionally, water. And it is always 70 degrees or warmer. I honestly do not believe there is a better place on Earth.
I’m sure there are some bad things about living in Florida. For example…nope, I can’t think of any. Well, save from not completing this blog post due to spending excessive amounts of time in the sun. Could I ever live here, at least before the age of 75? Most people say no because they can’t deal with warm weather throughout the whole year. Well, call me crazy if you must…but I do think I could deal with constant temperatures in the 70s and 80s. Short sleeves are nice.
The greatest thing about Florida, which I’m sure applies to all of the South, is Chick-Fil-A. I have only ever had Chick-Fil-A in Florida since I have never been to a southern state outside of Florida, unless going to Charlottesville, Virginia counts. This is simply the best place on Earth. Where else do you get a lethal combination of honey mustard and Polynesian sauce? Its milkshakes are great, its fries are great, its chicken is obviously great…and it features the world’s greatest service. Every order is marked with a “my pleasure.”
I have to wonder about this. Let’s see a typical Chick-Fil-A cashier works an eight-hour shift and takes one order every two minutes – that’s 240 orders in a day. That’s 240 times telling someone “my pleasure.” If I worked at Chick-Fil-A and heard someone tell me “it’s my pleasure” outside of work, I would unleash a fury of caged-up emotions and likely strike them down with a series of punishing blows.
On the agenda for the next seven days? Mini-golf, the beach, a potential theme park visit, lots of baseball, and approximately 150 times where I say to myself “why don’t I live here?” I’m sure there are logical reasons not to live in Florida if you think long enough, but I have no interest in thinking about any of them. I don’t think I ever want to leave this place.
(Well, except for all my friends and family in New York…and the considerable need for suntan lotion.)