|Inside that grumpy old man is a young|
stud just bursting with enthusiasm.
I'm ready to face the day, the new, invigorated, optimistic and energetic Man of the Future, ready to storm the gates of the Holiday Inn and grab life by the neck.
Who am I kidding? I'm a 69-year-old codger on blood thinners who hobbles around with a cane and a bad attitude. (See yesterday's Special Self-pity Edition.)
From my room overlooking the lobby, I've already seen Leon Harris and Warren Weiss. Jo went down to say hi, and learned they'd just finished hauling the NMA gear to the hotel. They'll be back at 1:30 to move something--Jo wasn't sure what it was, but Leon referred to it as "The Widowmaker." I don't know what it is, but I'm not going to lift it.
Despite any possible negative editorial slant the reader may have perceived over the last few days, I am thrilled to be here and look forward to seeing old shipmates and meeting new friends. I am to pitch in to make this reunion a winner.
But I'm not lifting The Widowmaker. Whatever it is.