You cannot truly escape, not legally anyway.

My wife and I took ourselves off to Florida for a few days of leisure and libations. We actually stayed in Fort Lauderdale at The Atlantic – right on the beach – very nice hotel. Spent some time on the beach, wading in the Ocean, got some pool time, took a boat ride, plenty of exotic drinks in frosted glasses, it was a nice time. We celebrated her birthday with dinner Friday night at Trina  – a highly rated upscale restaurant right in our hotel.

I’m no restaurant reviewer  – but I have to tell you, this was one of those meals that one remembers for a lifetime. We had a braised rib ravioli appetizer that was unbelievable. Entrees of lobster and scallop risotto and a huge perfectly prepared Filet Minion solidified this dinners’ legend even before the delicious key lime pie dessert.

I caught a whole lot of flack from Chrissy after dinner at the bar with my thirty dollar snifter of The Macallan 21-Year, but a quick reminder of her seventy five dollar room service breakfast from a few years back quickly backed her off. Besides, how does one compare hash browns and toast to a fine oak single malt? Exactly.

We read a couple of good books – nothing deep or serious, “I Only Roast the Ones I Love” by Jeffrey Ross and “What Would Susie Say” by Susie Essman. Both excellent reads worthy of a Bonehead Book Club recommendation. We had opportunity to talk with Susie  a few weeks ago upon the release of her book, and were happy to both sit and enjoy it. Got stuck in some nasty delays flying home due to storms in the northeast Saturday night, but it’s ok – there was a bar so we managed to entertain ourselves.

We had a great time – just wish going away could for once be truly free of distractions.

Wanted to really get off the grid so to speak, if only for a short while. We left our laptops at home, and only popped into the business center to check e-mail a couple of times. It’s that constant feeling that something’s going on that needs attention. Of course it was. There were clients we’ve been pitching finally getting around to calling us back, attorneys insisting I address certain probation violations, Spielberg texting yet more script re-write ideas, you get the point.

Did get a rare phone call from my father, which can only mean one of two things, someone is dead or he fucked up his computer again. As I expected, someone died, a great Aunt we haven’t seen in many years. Of course my father asked me to drive him 400 miles to the wake. He had a difficult time grasping how I could be in Florida if I answered the phone. I had to explain that he called a cell phone, which rings anywhere except when I’m in a dead zone and expecting an important call .

So I got out of playing car service for the umpteenth time, he did of course lay the usual guilt trip on me wondering how come I’m always away when someone dies and I can’t drive him to the funeral. I refrained from arguing the fact that for years he showed no interest in going to see these people when they were alive, why is it so important to show up when they’re laying somewhere in a box. Still I was wrong for being away at the wrong time.

Before you go on getting the wrong idea that I’m a heartless son of a bitch, let me just say this; for most of my life my father has only acknowledged my existence when he’s needed something, particularly the most recent thirty years or so. Yet time and time again, I do what I’m asked, and often what I’m not. As I’ve gotten older I’ve grown resentful and have made an effort to try not to let the old school guilt get to me, but I learned over these past few days that I’m still not quite able to escape it.

I knew I should have packed Frank.

Pass the dutchie.