Well we made it through the graduation and after-party with minimal pain and drama. As for the pain part, why are graduation ceremonies so long? It's like they drag it out for the kids, who are probably thinking, "Come ON already! Wasn't four years of this crap enough? Let's get it over with!" At least, that's what was on the minds of many of us in the audience. Drama? Oh, you know there was some; there always is in big families. Fortunately, no blood was spilt, no one got falling-down drunk, no food was thrown, there were no blow-ups or temper tantrums and actually we all had a pretty good time. Strange...
After the party, my brother Bill and some friends and I came down to the beautiful town of Rye, New York (where I've stayed for the weekend with my sister). We went to a local restaurant that was offering what they called a "Kobe burger." According to the Food Network, Kobe beef is:
"An exclusive grade of beef from cattle raised in Kobe, Japan. These pampered cattle are massaged with sake and fed a special diet that includes plentiful amounts of beer. This specialized treatment results in beef that is extraordinarily tender and full-flavored. It also makes the beef extravagantly expensive, which is why it's rarely available in the United States."
Pampered, massaged, beer-fed beef? How could I refuse? I'm in!
Bill ordered a regular burger; I ordered the Kobe burger. The first clue was that it was not that much more expensive than a non-Kobe burger. We suspected something was amiss. And, in fact Bill's regular burger was actually tastier than my trendy Kobe one. Heh. When the guys at the mobile home dealerships try to get me to be a salesman when I'm not flying, I always decline. See, I'm not a very good salesman, but I am very, very good at being sold to. If you know your product well, and I have even a remote need (or even vague want) for it, you can "sell" me. As with the Kobe burger. Oh, plus they overcooked it. I asked for medium and they made it well-done. Bastards! (We joked that it wasn't a Kobe burger from Japan, but a burger named for Kobe Bryant of L.A.)
And so I sit here at seven o'clock in the morning, dreading the drive down the New England Thruway and over the Whitestone Bridge to LaGuardia Airport. And I'm equally dreading the two Delta Airlines flights that will take me home to Pensacola. It's been nice seeing and visiting with the family, but right now all I want to be is home.