Two months off the smokes today.
I celebrated the mini-milestone yesterday evening with a few hours of serve and volley in ninety degree temps. Because, nothing says “I don’t need nicotine” like heat stroke. I mean, why would I want to stand outside for five minutes at a clip smoking Marlboros when I can run around outside for an hour and a half and produce enough sweat to fill Tony Montana’s bath tub? Actually, I’m not being sarcastic for once. It is nice to be able to throw your body into different gears without having to listen to your lungs fillibuster the prospects of doing so.
There is another Phineas Clemente joy ride happening upstairs at his home page. In this installment, Phineas tries to explain new Uma face to Senor “My real name is Ignacio” Winces. All that hangs in the balance is his life, so . . no pressure.
As for this heat wave, I guess it’s appropriate timing considering the partay that’s just starting to shake loose on Biscayne Bay. I’m thinking that the Clevelander on Ocean Drive would be a nice spot to hang this weekend. Not that those guys need the excuse of an NBA championship in order to throw things into orbit.
But it doesn’t hurt.