South Florida Hospital News
Thursday August 6, 2020

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March 2008 - Volume 4 - Issue 9


Publisher’s Note - The Reluctant Party Animal

By the time you read this, I will have hopefully survived … Drew’s Bachelor Party! You see, it’s almost wedding time for our son Drew and the beautiful Carly, and no self-respecting man can get married without the obligatory night on the town.

I honestly don’t think I ever had a bachelor party back in Brooklyn in the early 70s. Some friends might have taken me out – but to be honest, partying hardy took more creativity and cash than most of my friends had at the time.

Flash forward to 2000 and my older son Josh’s bachelor party in good old Birmingham, Alabama. Logistically challenged, I rented a bus, which barhopped for most of the night, only losing one or two of the groomsmen along the way. But, at least I got to sleep in my own bed the next day, recovering with the TLC that too much liquor and bad country music require.

And now it’s 2008, and I’ve been usurped by Josh as the party planner and there are some distinct "Josh" differences – a.k.a. big bucks must be spent. For one thing, it seems that no longer can a bachelor party just stay at home. So the three of us, plus future father-in-law Bob and brother-in-law Greg are winging our way to New Orleans for a wild bachelor weekend (reminder to self: take health insurance card!) We haven’t clued Drew in on the destination yet. He’s just been told to pack one small carry-on (and for Drew that’s trauma enough.) Drew takes 5 changes of clothing when he goes to the gym! But the truly scary thing is that’s all I know about the party – just the destination. So this 57-year-old Dad, who has never been confused with a party animal, is basically at the mercy of his sons for 48 hours. About the only pre-planning I’ve done is to check out the locations of Best Buy and Circuit City – maybe New Orleans has some open-box specials I haven’t seen in South Florida.

But I figure the worst will be the first night – Cajun food, liquor and late hours. Some men have glass jaws; but the Felix men basically have "glass stomachs." So I figure most of Saturday will be spent recuperating with no desire for a repeat performance on Saturday night by any of us. Carol, of course, has given us all dire warnings – like no tattoos, no emergency room visits, etc. For some strange reason, whenever I get together with the boys she insists my common sense (what little she thinks I possess) leaves the building.

And so, as I wing my way toward the "Crescent City" with our little group of "merry men" be sure to look for next month’s publishers note, where I will attempt to answer the questions, "Does what happens in New Orleans, stay in New Orleans?" Please note that all readers of said article must first sign a nondisclosure clause and promise … NOT TO TELL CAROL.

Charles Felix, Publisher

You can reach Charles Felix at
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