Hug It Out

It's true, half my people come from New York by way of Kiev. I should've been rooting for the Mets in the World Series. Historically, when do I ever root for any team, unless one of the sons is running back and forth, doing something sporty? But these days, my heart belongs to Kansas City, my adopted town. Still waiting for them to sign those papers, by the way. "We hereby adopt the SJG as our favorite visiting Jew." The fact that I'm flying to KC on Thursday (as opposed to parachuting in, or teleporting) is just an added bonus. Is it wrong for me to expect some sort of parade? I don't think so. I thought I made myself clear to my co-conspirator of playwrighting, Cathy Hamilton, when I emailed, "What time's my parade?" 

Today she sent the following update, from which I may never recover: "I called the mayor this morning and asked him to postpone the parade until Thursday when you arrive, but he said the train had left the station. Union Station, that is. I'm so glad I have a few days to recover before Hurricane Carol hits town. See you on Thursday in the home of the world champions!!!" 

Hurricane Carol. Well, at least she's getting a hurricane named after me. That's nice.