Before the mouse took residence in Orlando, Florida, to me, it was a state filled with old people. Early-bird dinners, coconut patties, and gold squiggly pineapple necklaces are my childhood memories. Everything about Florida screamed last stop before the grave. Even after a trip to Disneyworld, I wasn’t swayed. The Magic Kingdom was like the Vatican, a separate entity stuck in the middle of the breeding grounds of senility. Spring break in Ft. Lauderdale did nothing to convince me. The strip of beach and hotels populated with girls gone wild and their drunk counterparts was another anomaly. At the time, I was visiting my ancient aunt and uncle, and they drove me down the main drag in their old-school Cadillac. It was a traumatic experience. Over the years, as my family grew, it was wonderful visiting my parents in Delray Beach. There is a funky main street with trendy bars…