Bienvenidos a Miami.
Welcome back me.
In my absence accumulated 538 emails, unpaid bills, incredibly virile grass (which must be mowed this weekend, scorching heat be damned!), and 16 pounds of laundry.
Not 48 hours backs and one thing I am certain of: There is no charm, no nobility, in living in South Florida without central air conditioning. Case in point: I can grow a respectable crop of coffee beans in my living room that would make the mythical Juan Valdez quiver in his Columbian boots. Even the mini-lizards that find their way into the Wild Kingdom of a house I inhabit make their way to the quickest exit they can find preferring the sultry outdoor humidity to the stifling sweatbox I call mi casa. That's right, it's pretty friggin' hot in here.