From The Travel Bureau

 Dear Governor DeSantis,

Can I call you Ron? Everyone else seems to. I'm not going to waste a lot of time making fun of your name here, but I thought I would like to send you this note not as a fan, but as someone who has a very tiny stake in the mess you're making out of your state. 

I live in California, so I don't have to worry too much about finding a beach or an amusement park lorded over by a large rodent. These are things that you also have in abundance in the state you "govern." Kind of like the rodent we mentioned previously. But here's the deal: I have some very fond memories of visiting the Sunshine State, and I confess that currently I have no interest whatsoever in recreating them. 

A very long time ago, I flew in a single engine aircraft from Colorado to Miami to see the 1990 Orange Bowl. It was quite the experience. I had an amazing meal at an Italian restaurant on New Year's Eve, and then attended the game the following evening. Even though the Buffaloes lost, it was a fascinating look inside bigtime college football. On the way down, we dropped into Orlando just long enough to check out a little corner of Walt Disney World. It was here that I put on my bucket list a return to the sprawling expanse to see even more. 

Somewhere in there, I celebrated my first anniversary of sobriety with a trip to Key West with some friends to see what all that fuss was about. We were not disappointed. The sunset cruise lives on in my mind as one of the most serene moments of my young life. 

This is probably why I insisted on making the southernmost tip of the United States as a port of call when planning my honeymoon cruise. I also coerced my new wife into driving from Miami after we docked al the way back to Orlando for a a few extra Disney Days before returning to the not quite as magic reality of the rest of our married lives. The image of a guy dressed in a cow suit standing on a street corner in the heat of Florida summer promoting a nearby steakhouse remains forever the worst job ever. 

Ah, and then there was my fortieth birthday. A reunion with my pals in Key West, and then a hop up the coast to land in Disney's Animal Kingdom to celebrate. Echoes of Jimmy Buffett songs and the sounds of zebras braying in the morning return to me even now. 

But would I return to Florida myself? Now? 

Thank you, no. 

But thanks for the memories. And good luck trying to sue the large rodent. 

Your pal, Dave