The scrum at the La Quinta breakfast buffet this morning was so frenzied you might think they were giving away validation for all of your life's efforts, or freedom from prosecution, rather than individual slices of bread wrapped in plastic and 4 oz sweetheart cups of coffee that fold and splash hot dishwater on your hand.

I walked to Dunkin' Donuts like a reasonable person. It was so worth $1.84.

Down here in this part of the world, southwest Florida, the entire FM band is dominated by a mix of evangelical and hate radio. Sometimes you have to nudge the dial a smidge to get both, but the real pros provide everything you need- a three song set of Christian rock that plagiarizes the sounds of Sublime, Carrie Underwood, 3 Doors Down- anything really- followed by a plodding revisiting of the President's invalid birth certificate. I drift across the yellow line daydreaming of treason charges that will never come.

But that's OK. The weather is nice, if only slightly warmer than home. I am here to do a job, and it is a job that let's me sleep at night- or at least the job is not what keeps me up.

Juancho