Greetings from the State of Ogeda

Florida. What a place.

We came down to visit Alex’s family, his dad and grandparents, who live somewhere north of Boca Raton. On the flight from Seattle, I began experiencing severe stomach discomfort. It continued straight through my stay. And I blame it on Florida.

What is it about Florida? The state is full of crazy people. Granted, I only visited one section of south-eastern Florida, a section where the median age is 82 years and the driving privileges of every citizen should be revoked, so I shouldn’t speak of the entire state. However, my time here has colored my view of Florida, and my continuous stomach discomfort has given me a nasty taste in my mouth which makes me want to complain about all of it, the whole damned state. So I shall. I’m sure there are many hip and happening places to be in Florida. I’ve heard tell of South Beach and the parties and the nightlife and the Don Johnson look-alikes (okay, I can’t help but connect Miami to the glory days of the ‘80’s) and bikers love to cause trouble in Daytona, and the gays love the Keys, and so forth. But for me, Florida is a state of crazy cranky octogenarians who find great pleasure in complaining about, well, everything. I say this after having had a lovely visit with the family. Alex’s grandparents are wonderful people, and I could listen to their stories for days. I am so happy that they’d like me to call them Bubbe and Zayde (I dearly miss my own grandparents, but none of them were Jewish, so this is a whole new world for me) and I look forward to visiting them again soon. I just wish they lived in New Jersey. Oh well. They spent decades in Camden, back when it was a nice place to live, rather than the place where people from Newark go to feel good about Newark (I stole that line from Jon Stewart), so they deserve to spend their golden years wherever they please. And supposedly, it’s sunny all the time in Florida. I say supposedly, because it rained for 3 days straight for me. Florida. Ugh. There were car accidents every 2 miles on the highway, and I think it’s because the people tend to forget they’re driving. I got honked at more times than I can count, and I could never figure out what I was doing wrong. I think that’s because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Four-way stop signs don’t cause most drivers to stop at all. Right turns on red are the rule, even when there are 3 lanes of traffic moving at full speed across the intersection. I saw a woman driving with her eyes closed. For real. It’s a terrifying place to be on the road, if you’re aware of your surroundings. And dining out? That’s all the people seem to do. And it’s less about the pleasure of going out or sharing a meal with friends or trying something new. It’s all about the pleasure of finding something wrong with the meal: the soup is ice-cold; the asparagus is raw; the brisket is cut like deli-meat (this complaint was given in a deli). Complaining is a state pastime. As is bingo. And chicken tic-tac-toe. (No joke: there is a dog-racing casino near Miami where customers line up to play tic-tac-toe against a live chicken. The chicken always wins.)

Florida is a trip, that’s for sure. And there are beautiful beaches and palm trees galore. I appreciate such things. But I don’t appreciate them in the rain. Next time, there will be sun. And I will come prepared with Alka-Seltzer. And Pepto. And Gas-X. And whatever else is needed to cure myself of the ills of the State of Ogeda. (NOTE: Ogeda doesn’t seem to be a word recognized by my dictionary. I know I’ve heard this word before, and it refers to some kind of stomach upset. Maybe it’s a Yiddish word, I don’t know. But in my time in Florida, this word has been held much meaning for me. And so, I shall add it to my dictionary. I will define it: Noun, a series of stomach ailments, including but not limited to cramping, gas, nausea, indigestion, diarrhea, which is brought upon not by consumption or virus, but by a feeling of aging before one’s time. Oy vey.)