Cheap Rich People

When I first saw my house in 2000, I fell in love. I guess it's yellow color set against lush foliage reminded me of Hemingway's house in Key West, a place I had long fantasized about living. After we moved in, I fell in love again, with the neighborhood. It's a hardwood hammock, and like living in a tropical garden. I never tire of walking through it --each day I'll see a plant, or bird, I hadn't noticed before.

Each morning when I rerieve the newspaper, I look around waiting for some stern voiced authority to kick me out. In the back of my mind, I'm trespassing on some rich guy's property.

We have a loosely constructed homeowner's association, which charges dues of $100 per year. This pays for the landscaping of the two entrances, electricity for the lights, storm cleanup, and 2 annual parties. Because of the storms of 2005, the treasurer decided to increase the dues to $125 per year, to have money on hand in case another hurricane hits, which it inevitably will.

You'd think a $25 per year bump would be meaningless to a neighborhood where homes START at $1 M. You'd be wrong.

2 residents, who happen to live in TWO million dollar houses, have objected, and demanded an accounting! The treasurer, a sweet lady who happens to be a CPA, probably spent an hour or two doing the audit, and responding to the concerns of these idiots. That prompted ANOTHER letter, and response.

I wanted to simply pay the $50 for the two malcontents, but Wifey wouldn't let me, since she knew that MY fee for this would be a drippingly sarcastic letter to the cheapskates which would probably escalate into a major feud.

When I was in law school, one of the members of our study group was the granddaughter of a very wealthy family in Miami. Linda, as I'll call her (because that's her name) lived off of a huge trust fund that came from ownership of tv stations, theatres, and the Miami Seaquarium.

The rest of us were struggling financially to put ourselves through school, and our favorite restaurant was the Blue Grotto, an Italian place on Red Road (since closed, sadly) where you could get an entire huge dinner for about $5 per person. When the bill would come, Linda would examine it closely, realize that she was the one who didn't have soup, and reduce her share by 80 cents or so.

On one occasion, I actually said "You know what, Linda? I'm buying tonight." She thanked me, walked out the door, and never reciprocated. Later on, I envisioned her getting $5 worth of quarters, spreading them on her bed, and rolling gleefully around on them, like a dog does when he finds the remains of a dead squirrel.

Years ago, I encountered another one of these beasts. D1 was a counselor at summer camp, and received thank you tips from every camper's family but one: the daughter of another heiress, whose father owns luxury car dealerships in town, and used to own a NFL team. Now, D1 surely didn't need the money, but it amazed us how creepy this woman was (she was recently featured in the paper for arguing with HER mommy over buying a $1M piece of art).

Hey --money is important, and I've spent the better part of the last 30 years preparing to and then finally learning how to make a lot of it. But, if I ever annoy my neighbors over $25 --like Pauly Walnuts would have said --'Jesus Crist! Shoot me now!"

Oh, Professor Harry P Schultz --you were proven correct again: the study of human nature is a matter of never ending fascination.

Don't Make No Difference What Nobody Says

...Ain't Nobody likes to be alone... This is an ungramatical but poignant line from Springsteen's "Hungry Heart." It's so true.

I have friends who claim to savor being alone, but never seem to be without a lover or girlfriend for more than a night or two. Wifey and I have friends, intelligent women, who fall prey to such obvious losers and con men that it's shocking.

Folks stay in toxic marriages rather than face being alone. I see this all the time. Spouses who have no business staying together , do. Some render true the joke about the 90 years olds who get divorced: "We were waiting for the children to die."

My nephew's girl just left him, and it brought back memories of a youthful broken heart. I was talking to someone about that, and she reported remembering a heartbreak over 40 years ago, wondering how it was possible to be so miserable without physical pain.

I guess this is why most people love dogs -- they share this intense hunger for company. When Wifey sneaks the obedient dog off for a walk, and the recalcitrant Bassett realizes she's been left by herself, she starts to whine and bay with a despair that's something to behold.

So, we feed our hungry hearts, hopefully in non destructive ways. It's the essence of being a human.

The End of the Bassett?

Yesterday there was a small fire in a FPL substation in West Miami, which caused the Turkey Point nuclear reactor to shut down, which led to 4 million people losing their electricity. Apparently, power blackouts result from a cascade effect. Life's like that, too.

Wifey remains incapacitated from a bad back, which leaves her unable, she reports, to walk our stubborn Bassett Hound. Wifey DOES walk our obedient Labrador, and leaves the Hound home alone. This causes the Bassett to engage in unacceptable behavior, like peeing in the house, and worse, swallowing rocks.

For the second time in a few months, Miss Molly is under observation and hydration, in hopes that "this, too, shall pass." If the 2 inch rock doesn't find its way clear by today, the vet will perform a rock ectomy.

Wifey has concluded, after consulting world class animal behavioral experts in Atlanta and Orlando ( a housewife and nurse), that indeed the proper course is to give away Miss Molly, to someone whose house lacks rocks.

As the cascade flowed, this led to tearful protests from D1 and D2, with D1 sobbing on the phone last night with greater emotion than she displayed when she broke up with a boyfriend.

So, what to do? Well, D2 and I have agreed to walk the Bassett more frequently, in hopes of reigning in the rock swallowing. In the meantime, we're hoping someone among our friends or family will find themselves just starving for the unusual experience of owning a comically clumsy, low rider of a dog.

The power came back on yesterday, and the rhythm of life in Florida resumed. This Bassett related problem too shall pass, hopefully as will the rock through the dog's gut.

Alpha Helicopter Jewish Mothers (AHJM)

I returned yesterday from D1's family sorority weekend. For the second year in a row, Wifey didn't make the trip on account of her back, so I was the only single father there. As such, I spent a lot of time observing the dynamics of the families at the event.

To my lay anthropological eye, it is clear that in all of the families (at least in this world of upper middle class Jewish sorority girls), the mothers call the shots. There were a few instances where both parents were wage earners, but the typical presentation was a stay at home mother (or a mother with play jobs, like writing articles, part time teaching, etc...) while the fathers provided the financial support.

Still, these moms were LARGE and IN CHARGE. They knew their daughters' lives in detail, and were not shy about suggesting, no, telling, their undergraduate children what to do, and how to do it. The fathers, presumably big shots in their law firms, medical practices, corporate boardrooms, etc... hung around sheepishly. It was a sight to behold.

I watched one mom on her cell phone coordinate tutoring sessions for her younger child, which consisted of several calls to her son AND tutor, including follow up calls when the tutor and tutee didn't agree on an appointment right away. These mothers could run Fortune 500 companies if they weren't so busy running their kids' lives.

On the positive side, D1 had a great time at the events, and it was a delight to see the close bonds the sorority girls have. Some graduating seniors spoke about their bittersweet thoughts about leaving college, and the constant togerthness with their sisters. It was moving.

Maybe Wifey has a secret agenda here --she is avoiding being the helicopter parent like I saw. We both believe that our girls must make their own decisions, and figure out life on their own.

So, D1 is now halfway through college. She's made some great friends, and is learning, both inside and out of the classroom.

I'm learning, too, about a creature I'd never seen before in full action: the AHJM.

How Do You Know?

This shooting at Northern Illinois University is really getting to me, even more so that the tragedy at Virginia Tech last year. Somehow the Va Tech tragedy is understandable, as the killer there was truly crazy as a loon --writing dark, murderous stories, and relating to no one in his life.

The NIU guy was, by all accounts, much more "normal." I just watched a video of his girlfriend, a pretty graduate student who spoke articulately about him. He was loved, he was accomplished, he drew praise from his professors.

I would imagine that the girlfriend's parents were happy about their daughter's companion. After all, he was getting an advanced degree, was doing well in college, and seemed destined for a bright future.

How do you know who's right for your children? Is there a good way to vet future children in law?

My friend the Rabbi comes from a community where it's expected that one chooses a mate from among their tribe. Marriages aren't arranged, but there's no thought about "marrying outside." Even marrying another JEw isn't acceptable --these folks know that the values so prized by their Chasidic group would be alien to an outsider. They have about a 1% divorce rate, and sociopathologic behavior is virtually unknown.

So, what happens if D1 or D2 bring home a young Jason and tell us that "he's the one?" Well, it goes without saying that the young man will be thoroughly investigated, but is that enough? Apparently not.

So --another thing to worry about, someday. I can hardly wait...

Perspective

So D2 had a bit of a panic attack last night. She's been keeping nearly straight A grades, in a tough curriculum, and has hit a rough patch. Chemistry and Math are getting to her, at the same time the class she loves, European History, is ramping up.

Amazingly, I still remember my Chemistry from college, and I tried to help her. We went over molecular bonding last night, and I set my alarm for 5 this am to go over it some more. She's convinced she's going to fail this major exam, and left for school saying "I guess it's going to be Miami Dade College for me." She was very, very sad.

When you're 16 and striving to do well in school, it seems that there's nothing more important. Of course, through the wisdom of years, there is...

I read all about the latest horror on a college campus, this time in Illinois. Details are still emerging, but apparently a graduate student from IU went to Northern Illinois U, shot and killed 6 undergraduates in a lecture hall, wounded 20 more, and then killed himself.

Of course, I can guarantee that none of the family members of the victims care a whit about their loved ones' grades.

As the wicked witch said as she was melting, what a world, what a world...

D2 -- good luck on your test, but keep it in perspective. If we're blessed to have you come home safely, that's all that truly matters.

Rock on, dude!

Among my curmudgeonly traits, I've stopped going to concerts, with rare exeption. I still enjoy an outdoor show in a nice setting, or a singer in a small concert hall (Bruce Springsteen in the 3000 seat Sunrise Music Theatre about 8 years ago was a grand show). I just don't like the crowds, or the noise.

Still, last month Mike called, and told me he bought 4 good seats for us to take our 16 year old daughters to see Van Halen. He was so excited about this show, and his daughter, who is a favorite of mine, had never been to a concert. I didn't have the heart to turn him down, so D2 and I agreed to go.

I never much liked Van Halen when they were making hit records, despite how huge they were commercially. I like SOME heavy metal (AC/DC), but never got into Van Halen.

Mike's daughter, D2 , and I took MEtro Rail to Mike's office. From there, Mike drove, while the girls worked on an AP European History power point presentation. I told Mike that when I was 16, I'd have sooner gone to Mars than see a rock concert with my parents. Times have changed.

Van Halen was LOUD --riduculously loud, to the point that it was hard to make out lyrics or even melodies. The arena was packed, with what Mike's daughter remarked was " a lot of trucker types." Many wore long hair, like Wayne and Garth, so I kept exhorting the girls to "party on!"

A group of women sat behind us. During a break, one was pointing to a couple "Check out the lesbians!" I turned around and told her solemnly that I was there with MY gay partner, and that we were offended when people made a big deal out of gay couples. The woman looked horrified, and started to apologize, but then I told her I was kidding --Mike and I were parents and not partners. The woman laughed, and I had thoroughly embarrassed Mike's girl and D2. Mission acccomplished.

Van Halen played, energetically, for over 2 hours. Eddie and David Lee Roth looked fit and sinewy. The bass player was Eddie's 16 year old son, who was rather zaftig, and looked more over the hill than his father, Roth, and uncle Alex, the drummer.

We had some laughs, and D2 and Mike's daughter had a great time. For me, though, it may well be the last arena show. Mike was excited about Tom Petty. No thanks, I told him, I've seen Petty 4 times, the last in the 80s. These days I prefer listening to his CD in my car.

Party on, Dave, indeed.

The Old and Wise

There are some folks in life who elevate you. When you spend time with them, you always come away from a meeting thinking you've learned something, that you were fortunate to be in their company. I feel that way about Judge Murray.

My law partner calls him Murray, since he's been retired from the bench for years. I always call him Judge, since to me, once you earn a title, you get to keep it.

The Judge is a mediator, and has been for 20 years. He was a Judge, practicing lawyer, mayor of a city, and policeman. He is 78 and widowed. He has no children.

He has been there, done that, and had a corned beef sandwich with everyone else who has. Still, he loves to hear folks' life stories, and never stops learning.

My partner and I ran into him at breakfast next to the Courthouse today. He and my partner share a love of Las Vegas, and always compare notes. The Judge's trips include some gaming, and visits to the singles areas, where he always approaches a lady with the same line: "Have you ever danced with a perfect stranger?"

There is little doubt that His Honor gets more action than virtually anyone else his age, with the possible exception of Hugh Hefner.

We talked about politics, and he told us that alwthough he's been a lifelong Democrat, he'll probably vote Republican in this presidential election. He thinks both Clinton and Obama are too left leaning. We talked about vice presidential selections. "Vice PResident is a job no one wants, yet no one turns down." He always has some chestnut like that to share.

The Judge recently mediated a case for my firm, and settled it, as he usually does. My client, a 30 year old Black working woman, would seemingly have little in common with a wealthy semi retired Jewish white man. Still, at the end of the mediation, she was asking me about the Judge's marital status. She had, like so many others, succumbed to his charms.

So, here's to many more years of Judge Murray. Next time I see him at Joe's Stone Crabs, I'm picking up his dinner tab.

Not The Fun Part

So, I brought home a cold from NYC and decided to stay in yesterday and today. D2 just came home from school, and left, DRIVING! She's been learning for a full year, passed Driver's Ed, and even had 3 hours of private lessons with Wilmon, the fellow all of us in Pinecrest use --and he reports she's ready. Still...

I inherited my father's habit of excessive worrying. On top of that, I make my living representing people who die or get maimed in all variety of awful car crashes. D1 has been driving for over 3 years, and I still worry about her, but the first year on the road is the worst!

So --should I have enforced a rule some of the other folks have: no friends in the car for the first 6 months? Then what --all of a sudden the now 16.5 year old is distraction proof? I don't know...

I bought her a safe, small car --a Volvo S 40, loaded with airbags. D2 knows she's subject to a zero tolerance for mistakes policy: ANY moving violations or accidents --she's out of the car for a full year. Wifey's best friend's girl --a delightful young lady, got ticketed at age 17 for driving 90 on a highway! The girl is 21 now, and survived her motorless grounding.

So, I guess now I wish I were a religious man --I'd pray. Are there any atheists among fathers of new drivers?

I wish D2 luck, and FOCUS, and wisdom.

I wish for myself the ability to sleep, and survive these next few years...

Trip to NYC

So I flew up to Laguardia on JetBlue Tuesday, a lovely and uneventful trip. I taxied to Midtown, checked into the Affinia across from MAdison Square Garden, and went to a meeting to close out an old case involving a one eyed Russian boy who lives there. Mission accomplished.

I went to a bar and grill on 7th Avenue which was filled with Giants fans coming from the ticker tape parade Downtown. It was a jovial atmosphere. I ate a great tuna melt and watched replays of the parade on TV. When I paid my bill with my Dolphins credit card, the guy at the next table said "Hey --youse owes us for keeping you da only perfects!" It was classic NY linguistics.

I went back to the hotel, and took a fine, noisy (is NY ever quiet?) nap. I read the Times, and then it was off to dinner. The concierge told me about a pretty new steak place on 6th Avenue and 34th, which had a bunch of Rangers fans coming from the nearby Garden. I had a martini, ate a filet, and drank in the atmosphere.

Wednesday after walking around the Fashion District for a few hours, checking out some neat bookstores, I went back to the hotel. Turns out the Westminster KEnnel Club show was starting at the Garden, and the hotel lobby was filled with some really cool dogs. I met an enormous brown Newfoundland, who I initially mistook for a bear rug on the lobby floor. I wished him luck. He drooled.

Back to Laguardia, and then aboard the return flight. As I was in my seat waiting for boarding to end, I felt a bump. The pilot, an amiable fellow named Dan, came into the main cabin and told us the NY Port Authority worker just crashed the jetway into the aircraft's door, and our Airbus was no longer airworthy. We all deplaned through another door, and they bussed us to JFK for a replacement flight.

I met a fellow Gator Dad (he had the T shirt) and the time passed quickly. I arrived at FLL at 1245 am. Yawn.

NY IS the world's greatest city, in my humble opinion. IT's greatest to me in small doses.

Sunny Days I Thought Would Never End

Literary cliches are unimaginative, but they're true. One of the clearest is a novel where the weather is mild, and the sun is shining. Typically this is a metaphor for sweet, nice things.

Yesterday was a sunny day in my house. Wifey and I woke early, and set up a breakfast party for D2, who turned 16. I hung a "SWEETSIXTEEN" banner on the front porch without falling off of the ladder, and I went to Publix to pick up the cake, fruit and vegetable platters, and two dozen pink balloons. As I was walking through the parking lot trailing the balloons in the breeze, a young Black man stage whispered to his friend "Look --it Mary Poppins." We all laughed.

The crepe maker we hired arrived, as did 15 of D2's gorgeous young friends. Football coaches have a saying about, ultimately, how much one can train an athlete: "You can't coach speed." A corolary to that applies to physical beauty "You can't coach youth."

The girls giggled and chatted, while D2, blessed with the ability to slumber deeply, slept on.

At about 11 we all crowded into her room, and the girls pounced on her, shouting "happy birthday!" D2 was disoriented, but quickly came around, and we all went to the porch and enjoyed Franz the crepemaker's custom creations.

D1 taped the whole affair, and it truly seemed that the Miami sun was shining even more brightly than usual on this assemblage.

Later in the afternoon, several folks called to send their birthday wishes, including a precious version of happy birthday sung and left on the answering machine by D2's cousin's two enchanting daughters.

At 230 D2 and I drove D1 to the airport, and they exchanged tearful goodbyes. D2 drove home --she gets her license on Wednesday, and I'm already steeling myself for many hours of worrying about a second teen driver.

But those clouds of anxiety can wait, along with the darkness that's a part of every life.

This morning I'm still savoring a day that was, cliches and all, in the sunshine.

Stuff

My firm settled a nice sized case last week, and I celebrated the way I usually do: I went out and bought myself a little something. It came in the mail yesterday, and I showed it to wifey. "Look sweetie --I bought myself a new Rolex --best one they sell. No, I mean it's the title to a new Lambourghini." Wifey just smirked. She knew me.

It was the confirmation of a tax free municipal bond, a vanilla investment that pays 5% per year and comes due in 2035 --quite possibly after I come due! This is the type of large purchase I tend to make.

I have friends who love expensive toys. One fellow, not a wealthy guy, has a $50,000 dollar collection of motorcycles, that his wife thinks is worth less than 1/2 that. Another guy I know who has made a lot of money HAS bought over $1/2M worth of cars --including a Lambourghini. One of my office roommates buys $5,000 suits, and has a watch collection worth nearly $1M.

I don't know --I never was much into stuff. My sister says I collect people instead.

By 1992 Wifey and I were starting to make some money, and we bought a nice house, and filled it with some nice furniture. Hurricane Andrew came along and literally blew it away, like the big, bad wolf. I took it as a sign that caring too much about tchotkes, as my father would have called them, is inherently silly.

Now, that said, I do own 5 cars --one for each of us, and my one toy --a 2002 Ford T Bird, which I drive on weekends. I paid about $30k for the car, and I've had it 5 years. It has less than 9000 miles. MY plan was to keep it 20 years, and see if it became a collectible. So far --no dice. I checked online the other day, and the car is worth less than $20k. So much for my financial acumen with collectibles.

There is one thing I do savor collecting: memories. I know the problem with that is that senility will be the Hurricane Andrew of those someday.

In the meantime, when the sun rises, I'm taking the T Bird out for a spin --about the same time my in laws come over today. I'll drive it around to do "errands" while they make their visit. Sometimes material possessions DO have real value!

Sweet 16

Chris Rock said that while they don't give out grades for being a daddy, if your daughter works in a strip club, you basically get an "F." Of all the wonderful things in my life, being a father is by far the most fulfilling. And, so far, no stripper poles...

I've made is clear to D 1 and D2 that one thing is paramount to me: that they be best friends with each other. I believe strongly that blood is blood, and that bond is the strongest there is. Friends and boyfriends can come and go, but I insist that my girls be there for each other.

Mission accomplished. D2 is turning 16 this Sunday, and D1 was willing to drive 5 hours, alone, each way just to be there for D2's birthday. I found out from a yenta mother about D1's surprise, and booked her a seat on a commuter flight instead. D2 was with Wifey at a charity event this afternoon, and D1 walked in and gave her a hug. We were all misty eyed.

Our cups runneth over with our girls. They're both great students, and associate themselves with fine friends. D2 hasn't had a boyfriend yet, and D1's 2 selections were both MIT students. So far, every daughters' fathers' fear of his girl going for a loser isn't materializing.

Still, all of that takes a back seat to the love they share for each other. They have different personalities, and they fight over silly things, but their bond is very strong.

And that makes me one very, very lucky Daddy.