The Big Apple was all abuzz over the weekend. Not only were the Obamas and Prince Harry in town, but so was I. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to rub elbows with royalty or the First Couple. While they were taking in Broadway, playing polo and whatnot, I was hanging out at the ballpark, trying to duck and dodge a stomach virus that had players on both teams (and one ump) puking their guts out. So far so good with me. And I ate the best hamburger I've ever tasted at a joint called the Shake Shack. It's a New York City institution and, let me tell you, the cheeseburger is to die for. It's so tender it practically melts in your mouth.
I flew up Friday after spending a couple of days helping J.G. move into her new apartment. We had our moments, which I'll allow her to explain in detail once she's up and running again on her computer. Early on in the moving process, she accused me of "bad behavior" for allowing the door to slam behind me while moving furtniture into her new digs (she contended it was probably annoying to her neighbors, which I can't argue), and that got me a little hot. But the spat was brief and everything was fine and cordial by the time we went for pizza and a beer at the Mellow Mushroom later that night.
Not sure about Prince Harry, but the Obamas and I are rolling out in the morning, if they haven't left already. The Prez has work to do, and I need to get back to Florida to mow my lawn. J.G. was tying up all the loose ends with her move when I spoke to her a moment ago. Let me just say for the record; that woman owns a boatload of books. I thought I had a pretty fair collection. But she had books stashed in every nook and cranny of her old place, and it took some doing to get those tomes hauled over to the new pad. Compared to the books, the sofa was a piece of cake.