My pessimism has paid off. I went to get the "cyst" under my chin removed yesterday at a dermatologist office in Dania, only to find out at the last minute that it's not a cyst, that it might be "vascular," but, in fact, they don't know what it is. It would have been nice if they had told me that last week, when they were supposed to have looked at the sonogram which had been delivered to them. Instead, the doctors walked into the waiting room where my wife and I were waiting and said, "Do we have your files?" My answer, "You're asking ME?"

They had the files—electronic and physical—and didn't even know it. Dania Dermatology, a collection of careless amateurs posing as people who give a damn about you. Result: now I need an MRI and a head and neck surgeon—probably. Thanks, Dania Dermatology. It's been fun.

Next step upon arriving home? A call to the primary doctor who will be brought up to speed Tuesday at 11:40; a call to Sasha Barrio, the Peruvian immunology genius who is presently in Hollywood, Florida, a mere three miles from here (we will see him on Wednesday); an immediate appointment with Dr. Jack Daniels and Sly and the Family Stone at Woodstock, the pair of which ushered me, last evening, into a better world.

But then I had to make a show.

My favorite part? When the fire alarm in my building went off.