travelmonkeys: West Palm Beach

So M and I did a pair of shows in West Palm Beach, Florida, and some of you sent your grandparents and in-laws to come see us. Thank you!

I'm a fan of older people. I grew up in a home with three grandparents, and my grandmother and I were about as close as could be and I miss her terribly. In fact, if any of you readers have leads on good places to volunteer in NYC in providing company to the elderly, please send them my way.

This pleasant preamble has an obvious "but" coming, doesn't it? And here it is: But having an audience that consists solely of people over the age of 70 is . . . challenging. They don't hear as well, they're not as comfortable with Mike's sailor tongue, and it feels like they don't have the lung capacity to laugh as loudly.

In any event, we had some clue as to what the houses would be like, and we did our best to keep up a good attitude. And after both shows we had great conversations with folks in the lobby who really connected with the material. And the sun was shining and we stayed at a hotel with a pool, so really, what is there to complain about?

Also, our dear friend Nancy decided to fly out and visit with us since her mom and sister live nearby, so we got to spend time with an old friend, too.

It's all about gratitude, people. At least today it is. That's why I'm not going to talk about the old man who crawled to the door in the middle of the show saying loudly, "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT BILL GATES."

Instead I'm going to mention the butterflies, dragonflies, and curly-tailed lizards who hung out at the pool with us (anybody know what these guys are called?).

And I'm not going to dwell on the audio technician whose neck I wanted to wring, because in the end, I got to leave. And I got paid. And I still have my youth. (While not actually being a youth who has to live in West Palm Beach.)

And I even have a bit of a tan. Which is a remarkable accomplishment for me.

In fact, I'm in such a good mood I'm not even going to make a self-deprecating comment about how this photo makes me simultaneously crave a drumstick and a pedicure. Uh-uh. My mama taught me that if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.