So D2 has decided to run for Vice President of her high school class. She's doing this partly because she really is an involved and concerned student, who happens to be popular, but partly to have the sort of "leadership" credibility she thinks colleges look for in deciding whether to accept you.
This college acceptance thing has really gotten out of hand. D2 has above a 4.0, will do fine, I'm sure, on her SATs, is very involved in school and community service (she's volunteered hundreds of hours to help sick children), but is still afraid of college rejection. It's a far cry from my days, where, with the exception of SOME Ivy League schools (back then Penn was considered an easy admit) a good student had the upper hand.
Anyway --D2 made posters and bought 100 lollipops last night, piercing their stems with a "Vote D2" card. I told her MY idea for a campaign poster: a picture of our sad eyed Bassett Hound with a pistol held to her head, and a caption reading "Vote D2 or the Puppy Gets It." D2 opted instead for a more traditional strategy.
So, in the midst of the heavy campaign, the poor girl gets sick with a cold. She was coughing and shivering this am, and struggling to get her campaign materials into the car, so I dressed in 5 minutes and went with her to school.
I had a deja vu --arriving on a high school campus before classes begin. I guess I must have done some school activities back in Levittown in the 70s that required early arrival --and I clearly remembered the same atmosphere.
I helped D2 tape up a few posters. Some of the kids who were there early for detention, I guess, smiled and said "Girl --you got MY vote!" I gave them lollipops in anticipation of their help.
So, a little over 2 years of high school left, and then Wifey and I are bona fide empty nesters. Again, this time thing evades me. I was JUST in high school myself, and somehow my youngest is now over halfway done. I'd better check my watch...
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Da Noive Of Some People!
Well, it's been a great weekend. I took off Friday to meet my bud Mike, go to Flanagan's, drink 2 pints of Guinness, and watch the Canes win their first round NCAA game. Mike, a lapsed Catholic, commented that we had a much better Friday than Jesus did on the same date, over 2000 years ago.
Yesterday Wifey and I stayed in bed for hours listening to the rain while D2 was out shopping for a prom dress (more on that later). Afterwards, we went to a lovely neighborhood party, and had some good conversation, in part fueled by a huge tub of delicious mojitos prepared by the hostess, a Venezuelan, and not Cuban, who nonethless made a delicious concoction.
Still, I was to come home to a huge belly laugh, when my dear friend shared an email he got from some other folks we know. Dr. B, as I'll call him, because that's his initial, received a list of 10 or so questions from these wealthy and professional parents about everything from what kind of diaper to use to soy milk vs. regular. What's funny about this is that Dr. B is a huge MACHER at our top medical school, in charge of critically ill children as well as the training of future pediatricians. To put this into perspective, would you ask a Supreme Court Justice how to get out of a traffic ticket?
The answer, of course, is that you would if you were a completely self involved, selfish, and self important person, who somehow felt that you were justified in bothering someone with little free time about stuff you were too lazy to either ask your own doctor about, or spend an hour on the internet learning yourself!
Well, as I couldn't sleep, I graciously answered all of the questions for these folks on behalf of Dr. B, in a sardonic and satiric way. I hope Dr. B enjoys the laugh.
Wifey, on the other hand, reacted almost violently. She shares my view about the saint-like qualities of our friend, and was livid that wealthy people like the questioners would have "that much nerve!" She emailed Dr. B, and demanded that he ignore the requests, and, if called, answer that he was sorry he didn't get around to researching the qualities of different diapers, since he was in the intensive care unit keeping multi organ transplant children alive!
Well, Dr. B and I share a keenly developed sense of the ironic. Wifey's a bit lagging in this department. Dr. B and I WELCOME these absurd trespasses on human dignity, as justification for becoming increasingly crochety as we age, and as fodder for our humor.
So, I thank these spoiled UBER parents for their "Noive." It generated much laughter.
Yesterday Wifey and I stayed in bed for hours listening to the rain while D2 was out shopping for a prom dress (more on that later). Afterwards, we went to a lovely neighborhood party, and had some good conversation, in part fueled by a huge tub of delicious mojitos prepared by the hostess, a Venezuelan, and not Cuban, who nonethless made a delicious concoction.
Still, I was to come home to a huge belly laugh, when my dear friend shared an email he got from some other folks we know. Dr. B, as I'll call him, because that's his initial, received a list of 10 or so questions from these wealthy and professional parents about everything from what kind of diaper to use to soy milk vs. regular. What's funny about this is that Dr. B is a huge MACHER at our top medical school, in charge of critically ill children as well as the training of future pediatricians. To put this into perspective, would you ask a Supreme Court Justice how to get out of a traffic ticket?
The answer, of course, is that you would if you were a completely self involved, selfish, and self important person, who somehow felt that you were justified in bothering someone with little free time about stuff you were too lazy to either ask your own doctor about, or spend an hour on the internet learning yourself!
Well, as I couldn't sleep, I graciously answered all of the questions for these folks on behalf of Dr. B, in a sardonic and satiric way. I hope Dr. B enjoys the laugh.
Wifey, on the other hand, reacted almost violently. She shares my view about the saint-like qualities of our friend, and was livid that wealthy people like the questioners would have "that much nerve!" She emailed Dr. B, and demanded that he ignore the requests, and, if called, answer that he was sorry he didn't get around to researching the qualities of different diapers, since he was in the intensive care unit keeping multi organ transplant children alive!
Well, Dr. B and I share a keenly developed sense of the ironic. Wifey's a bit lagging in this department. Dr. B and I WELCOME these absurd trespasses on human dignity, as justification for becoming increasingly crochety as we age, and as fodder for our humor.
So, I thank these spoiled UBER parents for their "Noive." It generated much laughter.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Honor Society
It's truly a fascinating aspect of neurophysiology that memories from 30 years ago are clearer than events of last week. At least they are for me.
Maybe it was the candle lighting ceremony, but I have a clear recollection of standing in the MacArthur High auditorium, being inducted into the National Honor society, in March of 1978. I was a junior then, and my parents were there, beaming. A bunch of my stoner friends went too, since they figured they'd never actually be invited to such a scholastic club.
I remember my parents took us all to Friendly's for ice cream. I'm pretty certain my father, as sharp as he was, had no clue that my friend Mark had taken LSD, and Gerry and Mike were high on pot. The few times they giggled inappropriately, I shot them icy stares, and they came back to reality.
Well, tonight D2 provided Wifey and me with the same joy. She was inducted into NHS, along with the lighting of the candles.
D2's friend Jason was there, with his long, curly blonde hair. Wifey, having seen pictures of me in high school, exclaimed: "Look --he has a Jew-fro, just like you did." Jason's a sweet kid, and always looks to me like he's been smoking mother nature all day. D2 tells me that no --he just has that air about him. Hmm.....
So, thirty years have come and gone. Back in March of 1978, although my parents were older, I couldn't have imagined in my worst nightmare that my father would die just over four years later. I had a vague idea that I wanted to be a physician, and now I just defend them, in court, for free.
The stoner friends? Mark, who was a Peter Frampton look-alike, is bald, chunky, and a computer something or other. Gerry, last I heard, lives at home with his mother, in the same Long Island house, working very little. Mike was a printer, but hurt his back, and is living off the considerable fat of the generous New York State Workers Compensation Board --going fishing in Great South Bay every day.
I remember being told by the leisure suited principal to blow out the candles before we recessed --no doubt after some future scholar burnt down a school auditorium somewhere.
The candle was rekindled tonight. The memory was sweet.
Maybe it was the candle lighting ceremony, but I have a clear recollection of standing in the MacArthur High auditorium, being inducted into the National Honor society, in March of 1978. I was a junior then, and my parents were there, beaming. A bunch of my stoner friends went too, since they figured they'd never actually be invited to such a scholastic club.
I remember my parents took us all to Friendly's for ice cream. I'm pretty certain my father, as sharp as he was, had no clue that my friend Mark had taken LSD, and Gerry and Mike were high on pot. The few times they giggled inappropriately, I shot them icy stares, and they came back to reality.
Well, tonight D2 provided Wifey and me with the same joy. She was inducted into NHS, along with the lighting of the candles.
D2's friend Jason was there, with his long, curly blonde hair. Wifey, having seen pictures of me in high school, exclaimed: "Look --he has a Jew-fro, just like you did." Jason's a sweet kid, and always looks to me like he's been smoking mother nature all day. D2 tells me that no --he just has that air about him. Hmm.....
So, thirty years have come and gone. Back in March of 1978, although my parents were older, I couldn't have imagined in my worst nightmare that my father would die just over four years later. I had a vague idea that I wanted to be a physician, and now I just defend them, in court, for free.
The stoner friends? Mark, who was a Peter Frampton look-alike, is bald, chunky, and a computer something or other. Gerry, last I heard, lives at home with his mother, in the same Long Island house, working very little. Mike was a printer, but hurt his back, and is living off the considerable fat of the generous New York State Workers Compensation Board --going fishing in Great South Bay every day.
I remember being told by the leisure suited principal to blow out the candles before we recessed --no doubt after some future scholar burnt down a school auditorium somewhere.
The candle was rekindled tonight. The memory was sweet.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Not Dead Yet
So last night almost 88 year old Grandma came down from her Delray retirement village to watch D2 perform in a dance show. If there's something better than watching your kid perform in front of 1000 people, I don't know what it is.
D2 did wonderfully! Plus, she danced for a group called "Kids to Kids," which raises money for children on ventilators to go to camp, a place called "VAAC Camp." As an aside, when I told my friend Dr. Eric the story today, he laughed and said, after mishearing, "The have fundraisers for FAT camp?"
Anyway --some of the campers appreaded onstage, and the organizers announced that the show raised $10,000 for the camp. Talk about doing good while doing well...
One of our friends came over to meet Grandma. Grandma told the lady she was "glad to get off the reservation." Lori, a sweet person from the Midwest, turned to me and said "Wow --I didn't know you were native American!" I explained I was from an obscure tribe from Long Island, the Fukawees.
Anyway --this morning, Wifey came to the car as we were leaving to relate a Grandma statement -- that she had slept so well, she wanted to call 911. Grandma heard this and said to Wifey "Really?!!!! You wanted to call them, too?" Oh, she's a never ending source of laughs.
So --all in all a fine week of D1's Spring Break. I took off most of the week as well, as we had a series of house guests, from Dallas and the UK.
As I write this, D1's about an hour South of Gainesville, and ready to start the home stretch of her sophomore year of college. I'm still not sure how this time distortion thing operates --from precious toddler to college junior in about 4 years.
I guess one really needs an mind like Einstein to understand it.
D2 did wonderfully! Plus, she danced for a group called "Kids to Kids," which raises money for children on ventilators to go to camp, a place called "VAAC Camp." As an aside, when I told my friend Dr. Eric the story today, he laughed and said, after mishearing, "The have fundraisers for FAT camp?"
Anyway --some of the campers appreaded onstage, and the organizers announced that the show raised $10,000 for the camp. Talk about doing good while doing well...
One of our friends came over to meet Grandma. Grandma told the lady she was "glad to get off the reservation." Lori, a sweet person from the Midwest, turned to me and said "Wow --I didn't know you were native American!" I explained I was from an obscure tribe from Long Island, the Fukawees.
Anyway --this morning, Wifey came to the car as we were leaving to relate a Grandma statement -- that she had slept so well, she wanted to call 911. Grandma heard this and said to Wifey "Really?!!!! You wanted to call them, too?" Oh, she's a never ending source of laughs.
So --all in all a fine week of D1's Spring Break. I took off most of the week as well, as we had a series of house guests, from Dallas and the UK.
As I write this, D1's about an hour South of Gainesville, and ready to start the home stretch of her sophomore year of college. I'm still not sure how this time distortion thing operates --from precious toddler to college junior in about 4 years.
I guess one really needs an mind like Einstein to understand it.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Glory Days
Last Thursday was a banner day. My partner mediated a case which our brilliant appellate consultant told us was a complete loser, and persuaded an insurance adjuster to pay our client a large chunk of money. The fee to us will help keep us in high clover for awhile longer.
To celebrate, I went along to a dinner in a swanky new restaurant in Aventura. I say went along because it was a previously planned meeting between my partner and two of his old law school pals, classes of 1974 and 1975. They assured my partner they didn't mind having a kid brother along --and, the class of 74 guy, now disbarred and living somewhat on the edge financially, figured I'd top the bill, as the Brits say.
We had a fine time, and it was interesting to listen to these fellows, approaching 60, philosophize on "life's meaning." After going around in circles talking about charity, their kids, hard work, etc...the conclusion seemed to be that they were going to stay at the high paying jobs to continue to generate the money needed to sustain high living. Talk about dripping profundity!
Thereafter, the conversation turned to the heady days of high school and college in the late 60s and early 70s, and memories of naked pool parties with female members of their class. The problem is, I KNOW some of these people now --also approaching 60, and the visual I morphed in my mind of these romps occurring TODAY was enough to cause me to skip dessert.
So --these guys, 11 and 12 years my senior, don't have any more clue about things than I do. MAybe it all comes down to a bumper sticker that was popular in the 1970s --"Gas, Grass, or Ass --No One Rides For Free."
To once again quote the bard of Freehold, NJ, on the subject of glory days: I hope when I get old I don't sit around talking about them --but I probably will.
To celebrate, I went along to a dinner in a swanky new restaurant in Aventura. I say went along because it was a previously planned meeting between my partner and two of his old law school pals, classes of 1974 and 1975. They assured my partner they didn't mind having a kid brother along --and, the class of 74 guy, now disbarred and living somewhat on the edge financially, figured I'd top the bill, as the Brits say.
We had a fine time, and it was interesting to listen to these fellows, approaching 60, philosophize on "life's meaning." After going around in circles talking about charity, their kids, hard work, etc...the conclusion seemed to be that they were going to stay at the high paying jobs to continue to generate the money needed to sustain high living. Talk about dripping profundity!
Thereafter, the conversation turned to the heady days of high school and college in the late 60s and early 70s, and memories of naked pool parties with female members of their class. The problem is, I KNOW some of these people now --also approaching 60, and the visual I morphed in my mind of these romps occurring TODAY was enough to cause me to skip dessert.
So --these guys, 11 and 12 years my senior, don't have any more clue about things than I do. MAybe it all comes down to a bumper sticker that was popular in the 1970s --"Gas, Grass, or Ass --No One Rides For Free."
To once again quote the bard of Freehold, NJ, on the subject of glory days: I hope when I get old I don't sit around talking about them --but I probably will.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
More Life in Paradise
We have a neighbor here, who is the town jerk. He is the only homeowner out of 83 who won't pay his Association dues of $125. 2 years ago, he emailed everyone saying that, because of dog droppings on his property, he was going to set out poison. It was an idle threat. Nest, he purchased and installed tacky signs, showing, graphically, stinking dog feces, with a red "x". These signs were stolen by annoyed neighbors, so he bought new BIGGER signs. The emailing about "what to do" about this has heated all of our computers. I share below my contribution:
Hello All:
Wifey asked me to respond to this latest brouhaha (one of Wifey's favorite words). Here's my take, and I apologize in advance for the use of a particular term. My chosen word, however, has no polite equivalent, in the same way that some Yiddish words are inherently better at conveying an idea or feeling than their English counterparts. Besides, we're all grown ups here, right?
K is an asshole. As most of us have learned, assholes often act the way they do to attract the kind of attention non-assholes do in more socially acceptable ways. A non-asshole might give charity, or excel in business, or be a welcoming neighbor, and in these ways achieve notice from others in the community. Assholes annoy people, and then sit back to enjoy the effects of their handiwork.
I respectfully suggest that we ignore our neighbor the asshole. Of course the signs are tacky and classless! Still, let's embrace them, and point them out to our friends and neighbors as examples that, even in privileged neighborhoods like ours, surrounded by amazing natural beauty, someone, somehow, will find a way to mess it up. That person is, of course, an asshole.
I have used K the Asshole's sign as a "teachable moment" to MY children. My oldest just arrived from Spring Break with a sorority sister, who's from Atlanta. As soon as they walked in our door, they asked "What's with those signs???!!!"
I explained that while they were studying at Florida's flagship university (second only to U Miami, of course), and learning about the great books, great ideas, mathematics --the very bedrock of our Judeo-Christian, Western civilization --sometimes the most poignant lessons are gleaned right next door.
The signs, they ask? Yes, learn well the lesson of human nature --no matter where you go, or where you live, there's going to be an asshole. K is ours. Let us celebrate him, not disdain him.
Dave
In a message dated 3/8/2008 11:38:20 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, B writes:
Hi Ann,
I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I passed them yesterday. I even backed up my car to take in the full measure of their beauty. Ben is out of town at the moment. I personally would agree that something formal, such as a letter, should be drafted, as yes, it is the first house you see when you turn down 134th Drive. I checked the by-laws and they unfortunately do not address this type of situation. We do have "Good Neighbor Guidelines" which were adopted on May 22, 1996 which does mention signs posted on the periphery of the neighborhood on the common areas on 67th Avenue and Old Cutler, but no mention of signs on private property. Item #7 states that, "All homes and yards are to be maintained in a manner which will bring pride to the neighborhood". That is about as close as it comes. (Yard sales, according to a statement in the Directory, not in any of the by-laws or guidelines, are "not recommended" for security reasons.)
The main issue which seems to be at the heart of the Kaplans problem is dogs, their poop, and their owners. Item #5 of the Guidelines states, "No dogs can be off leash when off of their owner's property. All dogs must have rabies shots and Dade County Dog Tags. All cats must have rabies shots. (Dade County Ordinance. Note: Please scoop-up after your pets". Given this statement, I would say they probably
Hello All:
Wifey asked me to respond to this latest brouhaha (one of Wifey's favorite words). Here's my take, and I apologize in advance for the use of a particular term. My chosen word, however, has no polite equivalent, in the same way that some Yiddish words are inherently better at conveying an idea or feeling than their English counterparts. Besides, we're all grown ups here, right?
K is an asshole. As most of us have learned, assholes often act the way they do to attract the kind of attention non-assholes do in more socially acceptable ways. A non-asshole might give charity, or excel in business, or be a welcoming neighbor, and in these ways achieve notice from others in the community. Assholes annoy people, and then sit back to enjoy the effects of their handiwork.
I respectfully suggest that we ignore our neighbor the asshole. Of course the signs are tacky and classless! Still, let's embrace them, and point them out to our friends and neighbors as examples that, even in privileged neighborhoods like ours, surrounded by amazing natural beauty, someone, somehow, will find a way to mess it up. That person is, of course, an asshole.
I have used K the Asshole's sign as a "teachable moment" to MY children. My oldest just arrived from Spring Break with a sorority sister, who's from Atlanta. As soon as they walked in our door, they asked "What's with those signs???!!!"
I explained that while they were studying at Florida's flagship university (second only to U Miami, of course), and learning about the great books, great ideas, mathematics --the very bedrock of our Judeo-Christian, Western civilization --sometimes the most poignant lessons are gleaned right next door.
The signs, they ask? Yes, learn well the lesson of human nature --no matter where you go, or where you live, there's going to be an asshole. K is ours. Let us celebrate him, not disdain him.
Dave
In a message dated 3/8/2008 11:38:20 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, B writes:
Hi Ann,
I thought my eyes were deceiving me when I passed them yesterday. I even backed up my car to take in the full measure of their beauty. Ben is out of town at the moment. I personally would agree that something formal, such as a letter, should be drafted, as yes, it is the first house you see when you turn down 134th Drive. I checked the by-laws and they unfortunately do not address this type of situation. We do have "Good Neighbor Guidelines" which were adopted on May 22, 1996 which does mention signs posted on the periphery of the neighborhood on the common areas on 67th Avenue and Old Cutler, but no mention of signs on private property. Item #7 states that, "All homes and yards are to be maintained in a manner which will bring pride to the neighborhood". That is about as close as it comes. (Yard sales, according to a statement in the Directory, not in any of the by-laws or guidelines, are "not recommended" for security reasons.)
The main issue which seems to be at the heart of the Kaplans problem is dogs, their poop, and their owners. Item #5 of the Guidelines states, "No dogs can be off leash when off of their owner's property. All dogs must have rabies shots and Dade County Dog Tags. All cats must have rabies shots. (Dade County Ordinance. Note: Please scoop-up after your pets". Given this statement, I would say they probably
Friday, March 7, 2008
Coyotes
So we get a call from one of our referral lawyers last week, about a "blockbuster" case. The woman came in, and wants to sue because her daughter had an adverse reaction to a drug. The teen nearly died, but recovered with some residual problems. The case was no blockbuster.
We asked the client, as we always do, whether she had consulted with any other lawyers. She hadn't, she said.
She lied. Two days later, we got a call from a friend of ours, telling us that he had been hired by this client, but then got a discharge letter. He found out she fired him to hire us. We ARE better looking...
We'll have to figure something out here, but the funny part of this, at least to my doctor friend, is how lawyers follow a case like hungry coyotes.
Speaking of which...my rabbi friend send out an email asking for community prayers for a teen who was in a coma at a local hospital, following a vehicle wreck. The rabbi tells me that within 15 minutes of sending the email, he got a call from a lawyer who he knows in passing, but who he hasn't heard from in years. The lawyer, who I'll call Mitch, since that's his real name, wanted to rabbi to tell the family to hire Mitch, and if he did that, "would put a new wing on the synagogue."
The rabbi told Mitch, politely, to go toss off. The boy awoke from the coma, and is doing well. The accident was the boy's fault. Mitch, who was a bit of a, um, well, I'll leave the word out, in law school, hasn't changed. He makes me proud to be a lawyer in the way Barry Bonds must make major leaguers proud to be ballplayers.
We asked the client, as we always do, whether she had consulted with any other lawyers. She hadn't, she said.
She lied. Two days later, we got a call from a friend of ours, telling us that he had been hired by this client, but then got a discharge letter. He found out she fired him to hire us. We ARE better looking...
We'll have to figure something out here, but the funny part of this, at least to my doctor friend, is how lawyers follow a case like hungry coyotes.
Speaking of which...my rabbi friend send out an email asking for community prayers for a teen who was in a coma at a local hospital, following a vehicle wreck. The rabbi tells me that within 15 minutes of sending the email, he got a call from a lawyer who he knows in passing, but who he hasn't heard from in years. The lawyer, who I'll call Mitch, since that's his real name, wanted to rabbi to tell the family to hire Mitch, and if he did that, "would put a new wing on the synagogue."
The rabbi told Mitch, politely, to go toss off. The boy awoke from the coma, and is doing well. The accident was the boy's fault. Mitch, who was a bit of a, um, well, I'll leave the word out, in law school, hasn't changed. He makes me proud to be a lawyer in the way Barry Bonds must make major leaguers proud to be ballplayers.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Negative Nancy
So the Cardiologist called yesterday with an extra ticket to the Canes/UVa game. I accepted.
I met him and his delightful young son at JJ's Diner, in its second incarnation where the old Howard Johnsons used to be. My friends and I always got a kick out of the old HoJos, and not because of their food. Our Chinese roommate used to meet his friends there, to discuss politics late into the night. When we asked him where he was, he'd reply "Spent much time at Howards Johnston."
Anyway, after lunch we headed over to the U, and took our seats. The game was delayed, because of a problem with one of the rims. From the row behind me, I heard a woman's loud voice, in a flat Midwestern accent, say "Typical of the University of Miami! They can't do anything right. Whenever they build something, it's shoddy." I figured she must be an angry Virginia fan, and ignored her.
The PA announcer said that because of the delay, there'd be no singing of the National Anthem, or pre game intorductions. The voice started again "You see --they can't even figure out to sing the song while we wait. they're so inept."
At this point, I turned around to see the source of this malcontention. She was an ENORMOUS woman, talking to her 2 kids. "Boy," I said, you really don't like the U, huh?" She repilied "I went here for law school, but UVA for college. I'd NEVER cheer for UM."
The game was played, and the angry fan had a comment for everything. She was a surprisingly knowledgeable fan. She didn't really yell, but something about the timbre of her voice was annoyingly penetrating.
After her team took the lead, and she made fun of the Canes's defense, my friend turned to me and said "She might hate the law school, but apparently they fed her ok while she was here."
In the end, the Canes won in exciting fashion --a 3 pointer with a few seconds left sealed the victory. I looked behind me to see the Negative Nancy. She had left.
Today Wifey and I are off to a benefit for an Israeli Arts School, at the home of my old English professor. They're bringing a 16 year old pianist (not a nine inch one) from the school.
Ah, weekends...
I met him and his delightful young son at JJ's Diner, in its second incarnation where the old Howard Johnsons used to be. My friends and I always got a kick out of the old HoJos, and not because of their food. Our Chinese roommate used to meet his friends there, to discuss politics late into the night. When we asked him where he was, he'd reply "Spent much time at Howards Johnston."
Anyway, after lunch we headed over to the U, and took our seats. The game was delayed, because of a problem with one of the rims. From the row behind me, I heard a woman's loud voice, in a flat Midwestern accent, say "Typical of the University of Miami! They can't do anything right. Whenever they build something, it's shoddy." I figured she must be an angry Virginia fan, and ignored her.
The PA announcer said that because of the delay, there'd be no singing of the National Anthem, or pre game intorductions. The voice started again "You see --they can't even figure out to sing the song while we wait. they're so inept."
At this point, I turned around to see the source of this malcontention. She was an ENORMOUS woman, talking to her 2 kids. "Boy," I said, you really don't like the U, huh?" She repilied "I went here for law school, but UVA for college. I'd NEVER cheer for UM."
The game was played, and the angry fan had a comment for everything. She was a surprisingly knowledgeable fan. She didn't really yell, but something about the timbre of her voice was annoyingly penetrating.
After her team took the lead, and she made fun of the Canes's defense, my friend turned to me and said "She might hate the law school, but apparently they fed her ok while she was here."
In the end, the Canes won in exciting fashion --a 3 pointer with a few seconds left sealed the victory. I looked behind me to see the Negative Nancy. She had left.
Today Wifey and I are off to a benefit for an Israeli Arts School, at the home of my old English professor. They're bringing a 16 year old pianist (not a nine inch one) from the school.
Ah, weekends...
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