It's 9:05am Eastern time, which is where I am right now - in the East. I'm typing on a laptop at my daughter's kitchen table. She lives in Queens, New York, a short cab ride from LaGuardia airport. I flew in there last night around midnight on my way to see Purdue play Old Dominion in the NCAA tournament. 

The game's up in Hartford, Connecticut, but it cost about $500 each way to fly into Hartford from Chicago, and that's with at least one stop. It's better to fly into New York City, see my daughter Jeanie for a breakfast, and then drive the couple of hours in a rented car from Budge Rent-a-Car. The official price on the car is $48 per day, but after you add in all the taxes and fees, it's nearly double that.

It's really a two for one. I get to see Purdue play, which always fills my soul, and I get to hug my daughter, who lives in New York City. How she wound up in this massive confusion of a city, I have no idea. But here she is. Since I last hugged her, she has passed her nursing boards and got engaged. Over Christmas, her boyfriend, Daniel, had "the talk" with me. I consented. A couple months later he took Jeanie to Italy and asked her to marry him. It's a pretty good move.

Around 2pm I'll drive to Hartford. The game's not until 9:55 Eastern time. Who the hell plays a basketball game at 10pm? It won't end until after midnight. That's television for you. 

It’s 3:19 on a Friday morning in the middle of March. Come to think of it – it’s the ides of March. I’m back in a wooden chair in the last row of class mumbling Shakespeare from a book the size of a toaster oven. Beware of toaster ovens. ​