My favorite uncle died Wednesday, and I went to his funeral in Delray Beach yesterday. Abe was 88. He lived a hell of a life.
He had 2 daughters. The oldest lives in Mass, and became a hippie and never got over it. She and her husband, a dropped out school principal, grow organic vegetables, and did so before it was a cool thing to do. The youngest daughter, my cousin Janet, is a chiropractor and lives in Boca.
Abe's sons, Jeff and Michael, are my favorite cousins. Michael, 5 years older than I, was always very cool --someone I looked up to. He married his high school girlfriend Gail, and the two of them found Moses. Now they live in an orthodox community in suburban NY. Jeff took over Abe's coin laundry business and lives in Lauderdale.
Abe taught me to fish and to love Miami. Our families vacationed here together in the 70s. They were always far more adventurous than our family was --they had a big Winnebago, and took us on adventures.
My aunt Lorraine, a beauty, and my Mom's sister, died at age 68. Abe was devastated. But, as the speakers at his service reminded us, he found a second love, and married again. His widow spoke eloquently about him, and the rest of Abe's family.
I rarely saw Abe over the last 20 years. My Mother never cared for his new wife --she couldn't --the woman replaced her sister. And, like may extended families, we just all find ourselves too busy to get together.
My cousin Linda and I hugged, and Linda said, as she always does, that we HAVE to get together. She and her husband live just 30 minutes or so from us.
But, the truth is, none of us care to go to the effort of actually planning something. We like the idea of a family gathering, but no one's willing to do the lifting.
As Tony S said, what are ya gonna do?
Abe had a sweet death. He worked until last month, and went to the hospital with a bad back. They discovered he had lymphoma, and he went downhill fast. He went to hospice for a week, and just Tuesday night called his grandson Joshua close to tell him he hoped his family realized how much he loved them and cared about them. Then he lapsed into the big sleep...
Sidney Poitier's measure of a man is how he takes care of his family. We all have challenges and demons, but a real man pushes them aside and makes it good for his wife and children. Abe was a real man. He grew up poor, and worked, worked, and worked for Lorraine and his 4 kids.
Some of the kids he put through college, some he nearly put through a wall. But he always gave his all to them (and, for a time in my childhood, to this nepew as well).
So, rest in peace, Abe. If there's an afterlife, I hope you sit on a celestial bench with Hy, and talk about the War, the Bronx, and your families.
I'll be along, too, but hopefully not for a long, long time.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Saturday in NYC
So after coffee, some of Friday night's intoxication seemed to ease. Wifey and the Ds got up, and asked Barry's wife Donna to go shopping with them. That meant Barry and I were free to spend the day sans our lovely ladies.
We decided to walk to the Strand bookstore, at Broadway and 8th Street, near NYU. Although both of us were born in Queens, we really have no idea about Manhattan geography, and figured it was about 1 mile from our Battery Park hotel. We were wrong --it was closer to 4 miles.
It was HOT. We walked and sweated, sweated and walked, but, the whole way, discussed and solved issues ranging from our long term mariages to the coming US health care changes. We laughed and reminisced.
Since Barry's like my brother, and has been so for 30 years, of course I didn't realize it was his birthday --until he mentioned he got a text from his boys. I told him that reaffirmed we were the most heterosexual of male friends. I've always maintained that real guys have no business remembering each other's birthdays --unless they're father and son. I think Don Corleone agreed with me about that...
Anyway, we walked across the street to some kind of chocolate emporium/restaurant --"Chocolate by the Bald Man" or something. We were the only 2 heterosexual men dining there without any women. It was a nice counterpoint to my forgetting Barry's birthday. I treated us to a couple of delicious milkshakes, which fortified and cooled us for the long return walk.
As we neared the hotel, we stopped at one of the new World Trade buildings, which had a viewing area for gound zero. It was still packed with tourists, some with headphones and tape players like they have in museums.
We returned to the lobby, and drank prodigious amounts of Ritz Carlton lemonade. Wifey, the Ds, and Donna returned, and told of about their shopping adventures in the Village. And, it turned out, they were in the same chocolate restaurant within an hour of Barry and my visit. I guess all roads lead to chocolate.
Tragically, it was too late for a pre wedding nap, but we all went upstairs to get ready for the big event.
At 6, the 2 tour busses arrived, directed by Mirta, who took control of the logistics of moving 120 people from Battery Park to Brooklyn like the true manager she is.
I watched her trying to speak to the Asian driver, who spoke neither English nor Spanish. It was a funny sight.
Eventually, we all made it aboard. I was the last to enter my bus, so I guess I looked like I was one of the employees of the bus company. An older man, who I didn't know, started ordering me to make the A/C cooler, in a terrific NY accent. I accepted my order, and walked to the bus driver to pass along the request.
Someone must have told the fellow that I was only a fellow guest, and he felt foolish. "Geez --sorry, I tought you woiked for da bus!"
I told him to "fughetaboutit." Besides, I told him, working for a bus company was probably a better gig than the job I presently held.
And away to Brooklyn we cruised...
We decided to walk to the Strand bookstore, at Broadway and 8th Street, near NYU. Although both of us were born in Queens, we really have no idea about Manhattan geography, and figured it was about 1 mile from our Battery Park hotel. We were wrong --it was closer to 4 miles.
It was HOT. We walked and sweated, sweated and walked, but, the whole way, discussed and solved issues ranging from our long term mariages to the coming US health care changes. We laughed and reminisced.
Since Barry's like my brother, and has been so for 30 years, of course I didn't realize it was his birthday --until he mentioned he got a text from his boys. I told him that reaffirmed we were the most heterosexual of male friends. I've always maintained that real guys have no business remembering each other's birthdays --unless they're father and son. I think Don Corleone agreed with me about that...
Anyway, we walked across the street to some kind of chocolate emporium/restaurant --"Chocolate by the Bald Man" or something. We were the only 2 heterosexual men dining there without any women. It was a nice counterpoint to my forgetting Barry's birthday. I treated us to a couple of delicious milkshakes, which fortified and cooled us for the long return walk.
As we neared the hotel, we stopped at one of the new World Trade buildings, which had a viewing area for gound zero. It was still packed with tourists, some with headphones and tape players like they have in museums.
We returned to the lobby, and drank prodigious amounts of Ritz Carlton lemonade. Wifey, the Ds, and Donna returned, and told of about their shopping adventures in the Village. And, it turned out, they were in the same chocolate restaurant within an hour of Barry and my visit. I guess all roads lead to chocolate.
Tragically, it was too late for a pre wedding nap, but we all went upstairs to get ready for the big event.
At 6, the 2 tour busses arrived, directed by Mirta, who took control of the logistics of moving 120 people from Battery Park to Brooklyn like the true manager she is.
I watched her trying to speak to the Asian driver, who spoke neither English nor Spanish. It was a funny sight.
Eventually, we all made it aboard. I was the last to enter my bus, so I guess I looked like I was one of the employees of the bus company. An older man, who I didn't know, started ordering me to make the A/C cooler, in a terrific NY accent. I accepted my order, and walked to the bus driver to pass along the request.
Someone must have told the fellow that I was only a fellow guest, and he felt foolish. "Geez --sorry, I tought you woiked for da bus!"
I told him to "fughetaboutit." Besides, I told him, working for a bus company was probably a better gig than the job I presently held.
And away to Brooklyn we cruised...
Monday, July 26, 2010
Cirrhosis and Heart Disease
So Wifey and the Ds and I arrived in New York for the wedding of the decade --Tracy and Jon's. We checked into the beautiful and elegant Battery Park Ritz Carlton, and met many fellow attendees.
The hotel was also hosting the Congressional Black Caucus as well as a Saudi Sheik (and some of his shiksas?), so there was an intersting mix of folks milling around the lobby. The first official wedding event was a rehearsal dinner at Sammy's Romanian Steakhouse, on the Lower East Side.
How much vodka did Barry and I consume? That's the critical question, which Barry's mathematical skills allowed him to answer the following late morning. The answer is about 1/2 liter each.
I drank so much, that the next morning at 9, when I lumbered up to the Club Floor to get my coffee, I was still probably twice the legal limit for DUI.
The reasons we drank so much were manifold. Sammy's is in a basement, and has been hosting Jewish celebrations since the 20s. The walls are covered completely with photos of parties from the years. I have zero doubt that those photos included some of my grandparents and aunts and uncles. So the spirit was right.
Each table has piles or rye bread, pickles, and bottles like the kind that hold maple syrup at IHOP. Wifey wondered why they served orange juise that way. It wasn't, of course --it was SCHMALTZ!!!!! Liquified chicken fat!
Apparently one young guest at another table made the same mistake as Wifey, and drank some. I'm told he turned a funny shade of green...
Anyway, the Russian JEwish DJ was blasting a mix of great tunes mixed with his edgy Borsht Belt humor.
The waiter arrived tableside with an enormous bowl of chopped liver. He poured in about a gallon of the schmaltz, added some onions, and served it. It was about the most delicious chopped liver I'd ever eaten. I felt my heart slowing as I ate it.
Next he brought fried kreplach --dumplings. They tasted like the elephant ears you get at a carnival, with veal. It may have been the vodka, but they were the most delicious things I'd ever eaten.
Next came stuffed cabbage, and chicken, and the grilled skirt steak. There were apparently rugelach so laden with butter that each one weighed about 1/2 pound, but I was too drunk to eat by the time they were served.
Back to the vodka. On each table, they take a large Ketel One (my favorite) and serve it in its own block of ice. The glasses are frozen, too. My table of drinkers (Barry, Alan, and me) went through 2 full bottles, and got some more stray shots from the bar.
We danced a sort of Jewish conga line through the restaurant. I served shots to many people, including Paul's friend Agnes from PHilly --a terrific black lady who runs a reading charity with him. As she got drunk, I said "Agnes --you know what women say, don't you? Once you go Jew, you never go back." She laughed hysterically and looked around, and said "You don't think I don't already KNOW that???"
It was truly one of the best parties I've been to, and I've been to many.
On the way out, where a restaurant typically has after dinner mints, Sammy's has alka seltzer. Really.
Friday night was really back to the future for most of the guests. We're all 3rd, 4th , or 5th generation children of immigrants, most of whom first came here via Ellis Island. We could see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty from our rooms.
Ah, Sammy's... I purposely skipped my cholesterol lowering statins when I returned to the room that night...
The hotel was also hosting the Congressional Black Caucus as well as a Saudi Sheik (and some of his shiksas?), so there was an intersting mix of folks milling around the lobby. The first official wedding event was a rehearsal dinner at Sammy's Romanian Steakhouse, on the Lower East Side.
How much vodka did Barry and I consume? That's the critical question, which Barry's mathematical skills allowed him to answer the following late morning. The answer is about 1/2 liter each.
I drank so much, that the next morning at 9, when I lumbered up to the Club Floor to get my coffee, I was still probably twice the legal limit for DUI.
The reasons we drank so much were manifold. Sammy's is in a basement, and has been hosting Jewish celebrations since the 20s. The walls are covered completely with photos of parties from the years. I have zero doubt that those photos included some of my grandparents and aunts and uncles. So the spirit was right.
Each table has piles or rye bread, pickles, and bottles like the kind that hold maple syrup at IHOP. Wifey wondered why they served orange juise that way. It wasn't, of course --it was SCHMALTZ!!!!! Liquified chicken fat!
Apparently one young guest at another table made the same mistake as Wifey, and drank some. I'm told he turned a funny shade of green...
Anyway, the Russian JEwish DJ was blasting a mix of great tunes mixed with his edgy Borsht Belt humor.
The waiter arrived tableside with an enormous bowl of chopped liver. He poured in about a gallon of the schmaltz, added some onions, and served it. It was about the most delicious chopped liver I'd ever eaten. I felt my heart slowing as I ate it.
Next he brought fried kreplach --dumplings. They tasted like the elephant ears you get at a carnival, with veal. It may have been the vodka, but they were the most delicious things I'd ever eaten.
Next came stuffed cabbage, and chicken, and the grilled skirt steak. There were apparently rugelach so laden with butter that each one weighed about 1/2 pound, but I was too drunk to eat by the time they were served.
Back to the vodka. On each table, they take a large Ketel One (my favorite) and serve it in its own block of ice. The glasses are frozen, too. My table of drinkers (Barry, Alan, and me) went through 2 full bottles, and got some more stray shots from the bar.
We danced a sort of Jewish conga line through the restaurant. I served shots to many people, including Paul's friend Agnes from PHilly --a terrific black lady who runs a reading charity with him. As she got drunk, I said "Agnes --you know what women say, don't you? Once you go Jew, you never go back." She laughed hysterically and looked around, and said "You don't think I don't already KNOW that???"
It was truly one of the best parties I've been to, and I've been to many.
On the way out, where a restaurant typically has after dinner mints, Sammy's has alka seltzer. Really.
Friday night was really back to the future for most of the guests. We're all 3rd, 4th , or 5th generation children of immigrants, most of whom first came here via Ellis Island. We could see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty from our rooms.
Ah, Sammy's... I purposely skipped my cholesterol lowering statins when I returned to the room that night...
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Back to the Ancestral Homeland
Tomorrow Wifey, the Ds and I head to NYC. On account of Wifey's bad back of the past years, it'll be the first time we're all traveling there in several years.
I was born in Queens and raised on LI, and both of my parents are Bronx born. I've been to much of the world and think NYC is the best city there is --to visit, anyway. I couldn't imagine living among all those people, especially as I've gotten older and less friendly. The acre that separates me from even my wonderful neighbors feels about right.
My partner Paul's daughter Tracy fells otherwise. She's a Miami native, and she loves living in the city. She's an award winning teacher in what used to be called the NY City Sewer System. I think they call it the School System again, and we're leaving tomorrow for Tracy's wedding.
Usually wedding trips are sort of obligatory things, but I'm very excited about this one. Some of my closest friends, like Barry and Stuart, are going to be there, and we have some time reserved for a walk over to the Strand --the enormous bookstore on Broadway. I always try to hit the Strand when I go to NY --I find some rare, interesting book, and walk the few blocks to Washington Square Park to read it. Boy am I boring...
Anyway, the base hotel for the wedding is the Battery Park Ritz Carlton. Apparently the rooms have gorgeous views of the Statue of Liberty. The hotel is 5 star, of course, and we'll likely spend most of the time there. The wedding itself is at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and Paul's hired busses to take us across the Bridge.
I always think of my Dad in NYC. He worked his whole life for companies based there, the last a glassware firm called Toscany, on 5th Avenue.
To my Dad, NYC was a fascinating place, but not one he loved. When he was able to buy a house on LI, with actual grass and a backyard, he felt, like most of his WW II generation, he had really made it. To him, NY was a place you worked during the week, to be able to keep your family in the nicer, safer suburbs.
Of course, in the 70s and 80s, the City wasn't the most pleasant place. Although Dad took us to shows and the occasional museum, he always pointed out the slums and seedy neighborhoods, in contrast to the relatively pastoral life we led in Wantagh.
So, I wish my Dad could see me checking my family into a Ritz Carlton in Lower Manhattan. He knew the Lower East Side well --he was a dress cart "schlepper" there before he was drafted into the US Army a few months after Pearl Harbor. He used to tell me tales of singing as he rolled the carts, and once in awhile a cab driver would pull up and shout "Hey Mac --you're pretty good! You should be on the radio!"
Since I came along after my Dad had done pretty well, my childhood involved hotels that were nice, but not Ritz Carlton level. My Ds have sort of grown used to this level of place, as their later childhoods coincided with my great success as a Robin Hood lawyer.
My friend Todd is coming in for the wedding, too, from Colorado, the more hippie state he and his fellow native Miamian wife fled to a few years ago. He asked me last night to some travel suggestions.
I told him about the Tenement Museum, which Wifey and I visited about 5 years ago. They took an old walk up South of Mott Street, and restored it to 1900s authenticity. Some nice gay tour guides (I have no idea why, but they all are) show the tourists how my poor grandparents lived.
My Dad would have loved that place, too. I'm sure he never thought his childhood was history making. By the time he was born, he folks had "moved up" to the Bronx, but I'm sure he visited aunts and uncles on the Lower East Side.
So -- a lot has happened to my family in 3 generations, and NYC is our ancestral home.
I'll bore the Ds with stories they've heard over and over. They're looking forward to seeing D1's friend Chelsea, a recent Gator grad who's taking a Master's Program at NYU, and then shopping at some discount clothing stores.
I wonder if they'll buy any schmatas touched by the spirit of the man who delivered dresses in the same area 70 years ago.
I was born in Queens and raised on LI, and both of my parents are Bronx born. I've been to much of the world and think NYC is the best city there is --to visit, anyway. I couldn't imagine living among all those people, especially as I've gotten older and less friendly. The acre that separates me from even my wonderful neighbors feels about right.
My partner Paul's daughter Tracy fells otherwise. She's a Miami native, and she loves living in the city. She's an award winning teacher in what used to be called the NY City Sewer System. I think they call it the School System again, and we're leaving tomorrow for Tracy's wedding.
Usually wedding trips are sort of obligatory things, but I'm very excited about this one. Some of my closest friends, like Barry and Stuart, are going to be there, and we have some time reserved for a walk over to the Strand --the enormous bookstore on Broadway. I always try to hit the Strand when I go to NY --I find some rare, interesting book, and walk the few blocks to Washington Square Park to read it. Boy am I boring...
Anyway, the base hotel for the wedding is the Battery Park Ritz Carlton. Apparently the rooms have gorgeous views of the Statue of Liberty. The hotel is 5 star, of course, and we'll likely spend most of the time there. The wedding itself is at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and Paul's hired busses to take us across the Bridge.
I always think of my Dad in NYC. He worked his whole life for companies based there, the last a glassware firm called Toscany, on 5th Avenue.
To my Dad, NYC was a fascinating place, but not one he loved. When he was able to buy a house on LI, with actual grass and a backyard, he felt, like most of his WW II generation, he had really made it. To him, NY was a place you worked during the week, to be able to keep your family in the nicer, safer suburbs.
Of course, in the 70s and 80s, the City wasn't the most pleasant place. Although Dad took us to shows and the occasional museum, he always pointed out the slums and seedy neighborhoods, in contrast to the relatively pastoral life we led in Wantagh.
So, I wish my Dad could see me checking my family into a Ritz Carlton in Lower Manhattan. He knew the Lower East Side well --he was a dress cart "schlepper" there before he was drafted into the US Army a few months after Pearl Harbor. He used to tell me tales of singing as he rolled the carts, and once in awhile a cab driver would pull up and shout "Hey Mac --you're pretty good! You should be on the radio!"
Since I came along after my Dad had done pretty well, my childhood involved hotels that were nice, but not Ritz Carlton level. My Ds have sort of grown used to this level of place, as their later childhoods coincided with my great success as a Robin Hood lawyer.
My friend Todd is coming in for the wedding, too, from Colorado, the more hippie state he and his fellow native Miamian wife fled to a few years ago. He asked me last night to some travel suggestions.
I told him about the Tenement Museum, which Wifey and I visited about 5 years ago. They took an old walk up South of Mott Street, and restored it to 1900s authenticity. Some nice gay tour guides (I have no idea why, but they all are) show the tourists how my poor grandparents lived.
My Dad would have loved that place, too. I'm sure he never thought his childhood was history making. By the time he was born, he folks had "moved up" to the Bronx, but I'm sure he visited aunts and uncles on the Lower East Side.
So -- a lot has happened to my family in 3 generations, and NYC is our ancestral home.
I'll bore the Ds with stories they've heard over and over. They're looking forward to seeing D1's friend Chelsea, a recent Gator grad who's taking a Master's Program at NYU, and then shopping at some discount clothing stores.
I wonder if they'll buy any schmatas touched by the spirit of the man who delivered dresses in the same area 70 years ago.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Verrrrrry Old...
SO today I took my biweekly visit to ancient Mother. I stopped off at Subway and brought her a tuna sandwich, which she loves.
We ate, and she told me that there are some days she wished she "weren't here" anymore. But then, she'd get a call from an old friend, and she'd perk back up.
We retired to her living room, and sat on her bamboo and flower print sofa. She bought it 30 years ago from my cousin Barry. The sofa is still in good shape. We joked that she could do an ad for the company, if it was still in business!
Mom asked me about some folks. I gave her a 5 minute explanation. I'm typically concise, so for me a 5 minute explanation is equal to a 20 minute one for most folks.
After I finished speaking, she made a remark about her late brother's widow. She was on a complete different page!
I got up to leave, and she told me that, no matter if she was angry with me, she always loves me very much. I reminded her that, in 49 years, she's been angry with me, um, ZERO times! Oh, she said, that's right.
So, at 90, her consciousness is reduced to platitudes, and snappy sayings she keeps in reserve.
On the way home, I spoke at length to my sister Sue, in California. I told her that Mom has such a high sense of people, she appears lucid and interested in conversation even though she really isn't, or doesn't have the ability.
Neil Young has a line in his "Harvest Moon" album about an old man walking. "You got to let him go," he sings.
He's right. We just have to let Mom go.
That other shoe hasn't dropped. It seems it's right on the edge of the bed.
We ate, and she told me that there are some days she wished she "weren't here" anymore. But then, she'd get a call from an old friend, and she'd perk back up.
We retired to her living room, and sat on her bamboo and flower print sofa. She bought it 30 years ago from my cousin Barry. The sofa is still in good shape. We joked that she could do an ad for the company, if it was still in business!
Mom asked me about some folks. I gave her a 5 minute explanation. I'm typically concise, so for me a 5 minute explanation is equal to a 20 minute one for most folks.
After I finished speaking, she made a remark about her late brother's widow. She was on a complete different page!
I got up to leave, and she told me that, no matter if she was angry with me, she always loves me very much. I reminded her that, in 49 years, she's been angry with me, um, ZERO times! Oh, she said, that's right.
So, at 90, her consciousness is reduced to platitudes, and snappy sayings she keeps in reserve.
On the way home, I spoke at length to my sister Sue, in California. I told her that Mom has such a high sense of people, she appears lucid and interested in conversation even though she really isn't, or doesn't have the ability.
Neil Young has a line in his "Harvest Moon" album about an old man walking. "You got to let him go," he sings.
He's right. We just have to let Mom go.
That other shoe hasn't dropped. It seems it's right on the edge of the bed.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Malcontent
When Wifey and I moved in to our 'hood 9 years ago, we began taking walks. During one of the first, we met a lady out with her two dogs. After introductions, she told us she was the "neighborhood pariah," like by almost no one, because of her "honesty."
We laughed, and took it as self deprecation. Turned out she was telling the truth!
When we'd see her, about 75% of the time she wouldn't acknowledge us. It became a running joke with Wifey and me, whether or not Ashley (not her real name) had taken her meds that day or not.
Over the years, we had nothing to do with her, although we had some mutual acquaintances. Some of these folks were among the nicest we knew, and Wifey always wondered how they had stayed friends.
Well, we heard that Ashley was moving. Her last child got nto an out of state college, and her business executive husband requested and got a transfer.
This morning, as we walked, we ran into her. She had "taken her meds," as she engaged us in conversation as we walked the 'hood. Sort of.
She told us all about her move, and her kids, and details about their colleges. When I'd sneak in an edgewise word about our Ds, Ashley went blank. She clearly couldn't care less.
Maybe I shouldn't judge. Maybe there's a reason this woman is so, um, not nice. Was she the fat kid in grade school who the other kids tortured? Was her acne the worst in the class?
I know she was a scholarship athlete at a national university, so I know she had some popularity.
As Freud would say, sometimes maybe a bitch is just a bitch...
One of my brother-like best friends, Barry, taught me something back in college. He said, and I'm pretty sure I remember his words verbatim:
"Dave --you like everyone, just about, and you think they all like you. Sometimes they don't, as hard as it is for that huge charming ego of yours to accept."
He's dead on, of course, as friends tend to be when they know you better than you know yourself.
So, Wifey and I finished our walk. She said, in perfect Wifey sarcasm, "Boy --that's a neighbor we're all going to miss terribly."
Another day in tropical suburbia...
We laughed, and took it as self deprecation. Turned out she was telling the truth!
When we'd see her, about 75% of the time she wouldn't acknowledge us. It became a running joke with Wifey and me, whether or not Ashley (not her real name) had taken her meds that day or not.
Over the years, we had nothing to do with her, although we had some mutual acquaintances. Some of these folks were among the nicest we knew, and Wifey always wondered how they had stayed friends.
Well, we heard that Ashley was moving. Her last child got nto an out of state college, and her business executive husband requested and got a transfer.
This morning, as we walked, we ran into her. She had "taken her meds," as she engaged us in conversation as we walked the 'hood. Sort of.
She told us all about her move, and her kids, and details about their colleges. When I'd sneak in an edgewise word about our Ds, Ashley went blank. She clearly couldn't care less.
Maybe I shouldn't judge. Maybe there's a reason this woman is so, um, not nice. Was she the fat kid in grade school who the other kids tortured? Was her acne the worst in the class?
I know she was a scholarship athlete at a national university, so I know she had some popularity.
As Freud would say, sometimes maybe a bitch is just a bitch...
One of my brother-like best friends, Barry, taught me something back in college. He said, and I'm pretty sure I remember his words verbatim:
"Dave --you like everyone, just about, and you think they all like you. Sometimes they don't, as hard as it is for that huge charming ego of yours to accept."
He's dead on, of course, as friends tend to be when they know you better than you know yourself.
So, Wifey and I finished our walk. She said, in perfect Wifey sarcasm, "Boy --that's a neighbor we're all going to miss terribly."
Another day in tropical suburbia...
Sunday, July 18, 2010
My 50th Year
So today I begin my 50th year on this planet, and things are pretty damn fine. Those on my responsibility plate are all doing well. That's foremost to me.
I woke up like most Sundays, and read my two papers while drinking my strong, black coffee. I reflected on those folks who used to be a part of my life and no longer are, and concluded my life is just fine without them! Matter of fact, like a shark that loses a few ramoras --I'm swimming more swiftly these days.
The Ds and Wifey wanted to go to watch the Doggy Days at Merrick Park, so off we went. It was hot, but a ton of laughs.
D1 entered Madeleine the Spaniel into the "Best Dressed" category, and put an Alice in Wonderland dress on her. Alas, some smaller dog with a full Carmen Miranda ensemble beat out little Mads. Mads didn't seem to mind.
We ditched the dog at home and went to Flanagans for dinner. I had some fine shrimp, steamers, and a grilled chicken salad, as I'm avoiding the carbs this week to fit well into my 10 year old tuxedo for a NYC wedding.
All in all a birthday just as I like it: little fanfare and fuss.
If I'm privileged to begin my 51st year next July --maybe I'll have a big party. We'll see...
So, all's well in Miami in the Dog Days, literally.
Bruce was right --you just need a little of that human touch, and I'm blessed to have a LOT of it...
I woke up like most Sundays, and read my two papers while drinking my strong, black coffee. I reflected on those folks who used to be a part of my life and no longer are, and concluded my life is just fine without them! Matter of fact, like a shark that loses a few ramoras --I'm swimming more swiftly these days.
The Ds and Wifey wanted to go to watch the Doggy Days at Merrick Park, so off we went. It was hot, but a ton of laughs.
D1 entered Madeleine the Spaniel into the "Best Dressed" category, and put an Alice in Wonderland dress on her. Alas, some smaller dog with a full Carmen Miranda ensemble beat out little Mads. Mads didn't seem to mind.
We ditched the dog at home and went to Flanagans for dinner. I had some fine shrimp, steamers, and a grilled chicken salad, as I'm avoiding the carbs this week to fit well into my 10 year old tuxedo for a NYC wedding.
All in all a birthday just as I like it: little fanfare and fuss.
If I'm privileged to begin my 51st year next July --maybe I'll have a big party. We'll see...
So, all's well in Miami in the Dog Days, literally.
Bruce was right --you just need a little of that human touch, and I'm blessed to have a LOT of it...
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Nirvana at the Thai Restaurant
I never really mediate, or, really know techniques to attain higher consciousness. I pray, sometimes, but usually think I'm not doing it the right way. I mean, is it ok to ask the Big Man for stuff? Isn't there some higher language He uses?
Several times in my life, a sense of complete calm and good feeling came over me (without the use of alcohol or other drugs). I had one of the experiences last evening.
Two prior ones I remember came during enormous stress. The first time was when my Dad died. After the paramedics came into the "final barbershop," and took over CPR from the poor barber and me, my mother came upon the scene.
I would have expected to be panicked and rushed, but instead there was complete serenity in the room --as if some force was telling me it was meant to be that my father leave us.
Another time, I was in my boss's prop jet, and the plane was in major trouble after we took off from MIA. The pilot, his friend Bill, has since told me that in his 40 years of flying (and this fellow has had a flying career out of a Carl Hiassen novel), it was the closest he came to dying.
As the plane bumped and fought to keep in the air, I sat in the back, calmly envisioning my death. Again --that calm and serenity came over me. I wasn't at all scared --I was fully accepting.
The plane landed (or I wouldn't be here writing this) and I thought, wow --that was cool!
Last night, I had that same wonderful sensation again. It had been a stressful day, and D2 dropped me off at the Siam Lotus Room. She went home, and I sat there, alone in the dining room, waiting for Wifey, who had driven to the wrong restaurant.
They have a beautiful aquarium. I watched the fish swimming, and, all of a sudden, I was among them in my mind. I was completely calm. It was as if I had 4 vodkas, but I was only drinking green tea.
In the background, the two waitresses chatted in their language. It sounded like the most beautiful, lovely music was playing.
It was delightful.
I guess I'm always running on an undercurrent of anxiety, because I feel I have to be in control of things for so many.
Just yesterday, Wifey kept asking me advice about a trip I'm not going on! I nicely told her to please, every once in awhile, to keep me out of stuff...
So when I feel I'm NOT in control. when the word spins just fine without my fatherly, friendly, or lawyerly advice --it brings such comfort to my soul.
Meanwhile, Wifey showed up, and the food turned out to be below average. We'll stick to Thai Toni, our other place.
But I just might go back to Lotus Room for the tea...
Several times in my life, a sense of complete calm and good feeling came over me (without the use of alcohol or other drugs). I had one of the experiences last evening.
Two prior ones I remember came during enormous stress. The first time was when my Dad died. After the paramedics came into the "final barbershop," and took over CPR from the poor barber and me, my mother came upon the scene.
I would have expected to be panicked and rushed, but instead there was complete serenity in the room --as if some force was telling me it was meant to be that my father leave us.
Another time, I was in my boss's prop jet, and the plane was in major trouble after we took off from MIA. The pilot, his friend Bill, has since told me that in his 40 years of flying (and this fellow has had a flying career out of a Carl Hiassen novel), it was the closest he came to dying.
As the plane bumped and fought to keep in the air, I sat in the back, calmly envisioning my death. Again --that calm and serenity came over me. I wasn't at all scared --I was fully accepting.
The plane landed (or I wouldn't be here writing this) and I thought, wow --that was cool!
Last night, I had that same wonderful sensation again. It had been a stressful day, and D2 dropped me off at the Siam Lotus Room. She went home, and I sat there, alone in the dining room, waiting for Wifey, who had driven to the wrong restaurant.
They have a beautiful aquarium. I watched the fish swimming, and, all of a sudden, I was among them in my mind. I was completely calm. It was as if I had 4 vodkas, but I was only drinking green tea.
In the background, the two waitresses chatted in their language. It sounded like the most beautiful, lovely music was playing.
It was delightful.
I guess I'm always running on an undercurrent of anxiety, because I feel I have to be in control of things for so many.
Just yesterday, Wifey kept asking me advice about a trip I'm not going on! I nicely told her to please, every once in awhile, to keep me out of stuff...
So when I feel I'm NOT in control. when the word spins just fine without my fatherly, friendly, or lawyerly advice --it brings such comfort to my soul.
Meanwhile, Wifey showed up, and the food turned out to be below average. We'll stick to Thai Toni, our other place.
But I just might go back to Lotus Room for the tea...
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
A Bad Day
So this am I took D1 to UM for a medical check. Thankfully she's great.
I drove her home, and then hopped MetroRail to get to my office, so I could drive home with D2. We chatted happily about Wifey's latest misadventure, involving a medical procedure prep gone horribly wrong and resulting in 6 hours at Baptist Hospital and 4 stitches over her eye. More on that later...
I reflected on this day, July 14, as I always do. It was the day my father died.
I adored him and loved him as my girls do me. One moment I was a son; the next I had to become my family's Daddy.
I guess I grew up very fast that day and the rest of the Summer.
I'm blessed that my girls don't have to.
I plan to stick around. We'll see...
I turn 49 this weekend. I think about my father at my age. It was 1968. His two girls had graduated college, and his little boy was 7. He was working hard, and finally seeing real financial success.
The following Summer, after he turned 50, he'd travel on an airplane for the first time in his life -- a family vacation to Israel. It was a big deal to fly to the Mideast those days, particularly in our solidly middle class neighborhood.
We were the first on our block to take a jet plane trip, as far as I knew...
I'm sure my Dad felt young and strong. I don't imagine he'd have thought he'd only be given another 14 years on this planet.
Although, the Summer he died, he DID seem like an old man at 63.
I look at my law partner, about to turn 60. He still dates young, beautiful women, and goes to Ft. Lauderdale bars and restaurants. He doesn't seem like an old man at all.
So, I miss my father this day as I do each day. I wish he'd have met the Ds. I'd love to see his reaction that we have a black president. He was always a Liberal, but I don't think he'd have believed Obama would have won.
Again, I plan to hang around a good while longer, but just in case, I'll hedge my bet: no "I wish I coulds" or "If things were different, I'd..." from me.
I'm grabbing while the grabbings good.
I miss you, Dad.
I drove her home, and then hopped MetroRail to get to my office, so I could drive home with D2. We chatted happily about Wifey's latest misadventure, involving a medical procedure prep gone horribly wrong and resulting in 6 hours at Baptist Hospital and 4 stitches over her eye. More on that later...
I reflected on this day, July 14, as I always do. It was the day my father died.
I adored him and loved him as my girls do me. One moment I was a son; the next I had to become my family's Daddy.
I guess I grew up very fast that day and the rest of the Summer.
I'm blessed that my girls don't have to.
I plan to stick around. We'll see...
I turn 49 this weekend. I think about my father at my age. It was 1968. His two girls had graduated college, and his little boy was 7. He was working hard, and finally seeing real financial success.
The following Summer, after he turned 50, he'd travel on an airplane for the first time in his life -- a family vacation to Israel. It was a big deal to fly to the Mideast those days, particularly in our solidly middle class neighborhood.
We were the first on our block to take a jet plane trip, as far as I knew...
I'm sure my Dad felt young and strong. I don't imagine he'd have thought he'd only be given another 14 years on this planet.
Although, the Summer he died, he DID seem like an old man at 63.
I look at my law partner, about to turn 60. He still dates young, beautiful women, and goes to Ft. Lauderdale bars and restaurants. He doesn't seem like an old man at all.
So, I miss my father this day as I do each day. I wish he'd have met the Ds. I'd love to see his reaction that we have a black president. He was always a Liberal, but I don't think he'd have believed Obama would have won.
Again, I plan to hang around a good while longer, but just in case, I'll hedge my bet: no "I wish I coulds" or "If things were different, I'd..." from me.
I'm grabbing while the grabbings good.
I miss you, Dad.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
For Sale
It's finally happened. My partner and I are on the same page about our firm -- we want to wind it down.
I've wanted out of the law business for a good while, but he always enjoyed being a lawyer more than I did, and was vehement about keeping at it. He's had a change of heart.
And, like the great partner he is, he has creative ideas about how we might go about selling the business.
We refer most of our cases to two friends, Brian and Stuart, and they'd be the natural choice. They know our practice intimately, and most of our clients. The problem is, neithor of them have any money available to buy what we have to sell --several existing cases, as well as the good will and name of a practice that's 16 years old. They'll have a major decision --whether to borrow money to do it. Or not. Either way, our friendships will remain --they'll just no longer get referrals from us.
We've been reading up on valuations of law practices. The bottom line is that they sell for some multiple of the average of some past years' earnings. The money is paid with a downstroke, plus future share (for a certain time) of fees earned.
My partner and I would stay around, continuing to "make rain" and consulting on the cases.
The second part of the value we could bring was hammered home yesterday, during a conversation I had with a defense lawyer representing one of my doctor friends, in a case where I'm pro bono personal counsel. As we spoke, this woman (seen as a competent, experienced trial lawyer) had so little clue about handling the case.
At lunch with my partner, I told him it was no accident that most plaintiffs' lawyers I know, just a little smarter than the average bear, made a TON of money in this business. There are so many easy targets on the defense side.
We're just starting the process of selling. I have 2 other good friends, one a criminal defense lawyer who's thinking about branching out into the civil world (and recently flush from some fat fees from South American, um, import-export clients) as well as another close friend (and loyal blog reader) who is a leading defense lawyer taking on more plaintiff's cases that don't involve his primary defense clients...
We'll see.
Still, we're planning on big changes by January, so the next 1/2 of a year ought to be the most interesting in the history of our firm.
In the meantime, there's still some cases to handle. A car crash case came in last week, and a carrier just tendered $100K, so we'll be able to pay my secretary Mirta.
Another case, where a child was badly hurt, referred by a client whose case we handled 15 years ago , has major coverage.
The future is bright!
I've wanted out of the law business for a good while, but he always enjoyed being a lawyer more than I did, and was vehement about keeping at it. He's had a change of heart.
And, like the great partner he is, he has creative ideas about how we might go about selling the business.
We refer most of our cases to two friends, Brian and Stuart, and they'd be the natural choice. They know our practice intimately, and most of our clients. The problem is, neithor of them have any money available to buy what we have to sell --several existing cases, as well as the good will and name of a practice that's 16 years old. They'll have a major decision --whether to borrow money to do it. Or not. Either way, our friendships will remain --they'll just no longer get referrals from us.
We've been reading up on valuations of law practices. The bottom line is that they sell for some multiple of the average of some past years' earnings. The money is paid with a downstroke, plus future share (for a certain time) of fees earned.
My partner and I would stay around, continuing to "make rain" and consulting on the cases.
The second part of the value we could bring was hammered home yesterday, during a conversation I had with a defense lawyer representing one of my doctor friends, in a case where I'm pro bono personal counsel. As we spoke, this woman (seen as a competent, experienced trial lawyer) had so little clue about handling the case.
At lunch with my partner, I told him it was no accident that most plaintiffs' lawyers I know, just a little smarter than the average bear, made a TON of money in this business. There are so many easy targets on the defense side.
We're just starting the process of selling. I have 2 other good friends, one a criminal defense lawyer who's thinking about branching out into the civil world (and recently flush from some fat fees from South American, um, import-export clients) as well as another close friend (and loyal blog reader) who is a leading defense lawyer taking on more plaintiff's cases that don't involve his primary defense clients...
We'll see.
Still, we're planning on big changes by January, so the next 1/2 of a year ought to be the most interesting in the history of our firm.
In the meantime, there's still some cases to handle. A car crash case came in last week, and a carrier just tendered $100K, so we'll be able to pay my secretary Mirta.
Another case, where a child was badly hurt, referred by a client whose case we handled 15 years ago , has major coverage.
The future is bright!
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Time to Downsize?
So I found myself this am out on my front porch, reading the Herald while drinking coffee, as the ancient Lab and young Spaniel investigated the lizards and frogs. Didn't a wise person once say never to make life decisions while reflecting quietly on one's porch? Wait --maybe that was while on vacation...
Anyway, the real estate section featured a house in Coral Gables for sale, for around $400K. It was a 2/2 house, built in the 20s, and refurbished, with a 1/1 guest house in the back. It had photos of the place, including a beautiful garden of Chicago brick, surrounded by dense foliage. It was located West of Lejeune, within easy biking distance of Miracle Mile.
I began to think...
Wifey and I love our house, but will 2 full time residents really need over 6000 square feet, with 6 bedrooms and 5 1/2 baths? The answer is clear...
The Ds of course badly want us to stay here. This is the house of their childhoods (most of it, anyway) and they savor the idea of coming home to Villa Wifey. I get that. I always missed the house on LI where I grew up. Although home is where one's family is, I never got warm feelings about returning to the cell block-like condo my parents moved to the summer after I finished high school. The place never held memories.
It still doesn't! Each time I visit my mother, it strikes me how much I dislike where she lives. It's uglier than most public housing, and is essentially blocks of 2 story buildings in a huge parking lot. It was supposedly designed tfor retirees, and there's no place to walk!
So, yeah, I longed for a "family home" to return to, and that's a strong factor.
Still, Wifey and I like the idea of simplifying, and a normal sized house in an area like the Gables we've both always loved...
Nah! Not yet, anyway. We'll see what it's like living here with the Ds gone. Plus, I've learned that the baby birds often return to the nest, and if that happened to us, it'd be great to still have the extra room.
On the other hand (like Tevye reflecting, I have many hands) a smaller place would force us to de-clutter, and that would bring me peace of mind.
And, as much as Wifey and I enjoy walks in our neighborhood, having the many gorgeous locales to walk to in the Gables would be lovely, as well. I could see myself becoming a regular at Venetian Pool --sitting at a table with a book, and watching the laughing Latinas play in the waterfall...
As I said --nah! Not yet. We'll hang here for awhile.
Plus, real estate prices are so low. One of our neighbors, who I call the "rich widow," since that's what she is, just unloaded her old house at a basement price. She lived there, and bought a house 3 doors down to stay in while the first house was renovated. She ended up liking her "temporary house" more, and abandoned the original project.
Still, since it was on a full acre, 4 years ago she could have easily sold the unfinished house for more than $1M. She just dumped it for $500K. That sort of thing will so mess up the "comps," that anyone trying to sell in my area will be forced to take pennies on the dollar, at least for awhile.
So that's another reason to stay put in Villa Wifey.
But, once I get an idea in my head, I tend to act on it. In the mean time, we'll stay put, so D2 can return from UF to familiar surroundings...
Anyway, the real estate section featured a house in Coral Gables for sale, for around $400K. It was a 2/2 house, built in the 20s, and refurbished, with a 1/1 guest house in the back. It had photos of the place, including a beautiful garden of Chicago brick, surrounded by dense foliage. It was located West of Lejeune, within easy biking distance of Miracle Mile.
I began to think...
Wifey and I love our house, but will 2 full time residents really need over 6000 square feet, with 6 bedrooms and 5 1/2 baths? The answer is clear...
The Ds of course badly want us to stay here. This is the house of their childhoods (most of it, anyway) and they savor the idea of coming home to Villa Wifey. I get that. I always missed the house on LI where I grew up. Although home is where one's family is, I never got warm feelings about returning to the cell block-like condo my parents moved to the summer after I finished high school. The place never held memories.
It still doesn't! Each time I visit my mother, it strikes me how much I dislike where she lives. It's uglier than most public housing, and is essentially blocks of 2 story buildings in a huge parking lot. It was supposedly designed tfor retirees, and there's no place to walk!
So, yeah, I longed for a "family home" to return to, and that's a strong factor.
Still, Wifey and I like the idea of simplifying, and a normal sized house in an area like the Gables we've both always loved...
Nah! Not yet, anyway. We'll see what it's like living here with the Ds gone. Plus, I've learned that the baby birds often return to the nest, and if that happened to us, it'd be great to still have the extra room.
On the other hand (like Tevye reflecting, I have many hands) a smaller place would force us to de-clutter, and that would bring me peace of mind.
And, as much as Wifey and I enjoy walks in our neighborhood, having the many gorgeous locales to walk to in the Gables would be lovely, as well. I could see myself becoming a regular at Venetian Pool --sitting at a table with a book, and watching the laughing Latinas play in the waterfall...
As I said --nah! Not yet. We'll hang here for awhile.
Plus, real estate prices are so low. One of our neighbors, who I call the "rich widow," since that's what she is, just unloaded her old house at a basement price. She lived there, and bought a house 3 doors down to stay in while the first house was renovated. She ended up liking her "temporary house" more, and abandoned the original project.
Still, since it was on a full acre, 4 years ago she could have easily sold the unfinished house for more than $1M. She just dumped it for $500K. That sort of thing will so mess up the "comps," that anyone trying to sell in my area will be forced to take pennies on the dollar, at least for awhile.
So that's another reason to stay put in Villa Wifey.
But, once I get an idea in my head, I tend to act on it. In the mean time, we'll stay put, so D2 can return from UF to familiar surroundings...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Sports Page
Wifey and I took D2 up to Gainesville for "Preview," the 2 day college orientation for new Gators and their families. I went through this 4 years ago; Wifey stayed home with D2, who was just about to enter high school.
I have a problem with the whole concept of parents having to do these things. I know it's a product of the helicopter parents of this generation, but to me it
s another example of the infantilization of the college process.
ALL I hear at social gatherings is where Jason is going, and if Ashley's mother wants her at a particular place. These are not real names, by the way. They're real names, but not referring to actual people. Except Jason...
Anyway --Wifey enjoyed the program, and I was bored. D2 was bored, too, but at least she got to register for classes and get her photo ID and computer account.
I keep remembering MY going off to college experience. My Dad handed me a $20, and said "Remember to use condoms, and don't fall in love and quit college." The rest I had to figure out, without skits about date rape, or dealing with gay roommates...
Anyway...D1 met us in Gainesville with Thomas, and on Thursday night, while D2 was experiencing some sort of preview of dorms (OK, ANOTHER annoying thing. The housing Director told us not to use "dormitory" as it's "too limiting." He makes people say "residence halls. So of course I'm always going to call them dorms) we headed to Mother's Pub on University to watch the Lebron James announcement.
On a full hour documentary, he told the world he had chosen to play for the Miami Heat. Big deal. I mean, I guess I like the Heat more than other NBA teams, but this announcement dominated the press and radio and tv like it was the Obama election.
The TRULY big news was Seantrel Henderson, and this got one paragraph in the Herald. He's the top high school recruit, he's 6' 8" and 350 lbs, and is the best offensive lineman in America. And, after USC got hit with sanctions and let him out of his commitment --is coming to UM!!!
Now THAT's news.
Although college sports are corrupt, to me they're the only ones worth watching. The players are struggling to get to the next level, and they actually have to listen to the coaches. I can relate to them. They walk where I used to walk (around Lake Osceola, and to the Wendy's on S Dixie HWY and Red Road).
There's more purity to that level of competition.
Plus, my closest friends and I have countless great memories of watching the Canes together. That team is part of me.
So --it'll be nice to watch the Heat win. Bringing a championship to a city lifts everyone's spirits. People who've never even driven past the AAA will claim to be Heat fans.
My girls love the Heat games. We went to a few as guests of my banker, and they had a blast. They loved to watch D Wade play, and be part of the Paris quality fashion show that exists at the AAA.
Not me. Although I miss the OB, a Canes game, decidedly less glamorous, even in our Club Seats, is where it's at.
In any event, I have worse sports related issues to worry about. D2 has been telling me, subtly, but more and more as the Fall semester approaches, that she's going to be a Gator fan. Now THAT'S a problem...
I have a problem with the whole concept of parents having to do these things. I know it's a product of the helicopter parents of this generation, but to me it
s another example of the infantilization of the college process.
ALL I hear at social gatherings is where Jason is going, and if Ashley's mother wants her at a particular place. These are not real names, by the way. They're real names, but not referring to actual people. Except Jason...
Anyway --Wifey enjoyed the program, and I was bored. D2 was bored, too, but at least she got to register for classes and get her photo ID and computer account.
I keep remembering MY going off to college experience. My Dad handed me a $20, and said "Remember to use condoms, and don't fall in love and quit college." The rest I had to figure out, without skits about date rape, or dealing with gay roommates...
Anyway...D1 met us in Gainesville with Thomas, and on Thursday night, while D2 was experiencing some sort of preview of dorms (OK, ANOTHER annoying thing. The housing Director told us not to use "dormitory" as it's "too limiting." He makes people say "residence halls. So of course I'm always going to call them dorms) we headed to Mother's Pub on University to watch the Lebron James announcement.
On a full hour documentary, he told the world he had chosen to play for the Miami Heat. Big deal. I mean, I guess I like the Heat more than other NBA teams, but this announcement dominated the press and radio and tv like it was the Obama election.
The TRULY big news was Seantrel Henderson, and this got one paragraph in the Herald. He's the top high school recruit, he's 6' 8" and 350 lbs, and is the best offensive lineman in America. And, after USC got hit with sanctions and let him out of his commitment --is coming to UM!!!
Now THAT's news.
Although college sports are corrupt, to me they're the only ones worth watching. The players are struggling to get to the next level, and they actually have to listen to the coaches. I can relate to them. They walk where I used to walk (around Lake Osceola, and to the Wendy's on S Dixie HWY and Red Road).
There's more purity to that level of competition.
Plus, my closest friends and I have countless great memories of watching the Canes together. That team is part of me.
So --it'll be nice to watch the Heat win. Bringing a championship to a city lifts everyone's spirits. People who've never even driven past the AAA will claim to be Heat fans.
My girls love the Heat games. We went to a few as guests of my banker, and they had a blast. They loved to watch D Wade play, and be part of the Paris quality fashion show that exists at the AAA.
Not me. Although I miss the OB, a Canes game, decidedly less glamorous, even in our Club Seats, is where it's at.
In any event, I have worse sports related issues to worry about. D2 has been telling me, subtly, but more and more as the Fall semester approaches, that she's going to be a Gator fan. Now THAT'S a problem...
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Neatness Counts?
When I was a young boy, I was as much of a slob as most young boys. I suffered from an extremely permissive and patient mother. She would never insist I clean up; she'd do it. My friends' moms always seemed to be hectoring about making beds, wiping shoes, etc..., but not Sunny. She just wanted my friends and I to have fun, and happily cleaned up after us.
In college, things got to an absurd level. I shared an apartment with 3 other even bigger slobs, and at the end of one school year, we received a bill for "excessive filth." I think it was for about $40 per roommate. My parents paid it, and kept it to show to their friends. We still laugh about it.
Well, over the past 20 years, I've experienced a change. I find I can't stand clutter. I truly prefer a neat, organized house.
Well, Wifey is, um, let's just say she doesn't share this need. Give her 3 surfaces and 4 sheets of paper, and she'll leave it a mess. She's an only child, and the product of 2 obsessively neat and organized folks. In fact, her mother once broke an ankle because her father mopped the kitchen floor for the SECOND time one evening, didn't tell my mother in law, and she skated to a collapse. (The fracture was bad, and cost Wifey and I a trip to Europe, since it left my mother in law incapable of babysitting. Still, the thought of the slapstick-like fall, accompanied, I'm sure, by great Yiddish cursing, brings me a chuckle to this day).
So, I walk around the house asking Wifey to please neaten up, and sometimes doing it myself, but to no avail. "I have a problem, I know," she explains.
MY law partner, seriously OCD, tells me he simply couldn't live in my house, with all the clutter and disarray. I may be getting to that point, myself. We own a 2 bedroom condo a few miles away. After the Ds move out later this summer, I may move there, and enjoy a neat, clutter-free existence.
I'd get the paper each morning, read it, and then place it into the recycle bin. I'd was a dish after I used it. I'd promptly file papers. I'd put away laundry after it dried, instead of leaving it out like an art project, hanging around for weeks, which is what happens in my house...
Speaking of the Ds, D1 is VERY neat and organized. She even gets hired by friends' mothers to organize their lives. I wish Wifey would hire her, too.
D2 --the WORST! She takes off clothes and leaves them scattered on the floor. Our aging Labrador sleeps in her room, and can be seen nightly pushing piles of clothes aside with her nose to find a piece of floor to curl up.
D2's about to share a dorn this Fall. I await the returns on THAT experiment. I also suspect that, like me, she'll become less of a slob as she gets older.
So, we're leaving for Gainesville soon, and the house is a mess. Wifey "straightened up: last night, and there are still an impressive amount of papers strewn about. To use this computer, I had to move 2 piles of "works in progress" away from the keyboard. Dried clothes hang in the guest room at least since last week, like vines in a rainforest.
I guess I'm becoming much more like Felix in the "Odd Couple," and that can be annoying to Wifey. As she said, I'm the one who changed.
I'm going to go get the paperwork for today's trip. If only I could find it...
In college, things got to an absurd level. I shared an apartment with 3 other even bigger slobs, and at the end of one school year, we received a bill for "excessive filth." I think it was for about $40 per roommate. My parents paid it, and kept it to show to their friends. We still laugh about it.
Well, over the past 20 years, I've experienced a change. I find I can't stand clutter. I truly prefer a neat, organized house.
Well, Wifey is, um, let's just say she doesn't share this need. Give her 3 surfaces and 4 sheets of paper, and she'll leave it a mess. She's an only child, and the product of 2 obsessively neat and organized folks. In fact, her mother once broke an ankle because her father mopped the kitchen floor for the SECOND time one evening, didn't tell my mother in law, and she skated to a collapse. (The fracture was bad, and cost Wifey and I a trip to Europe, since it left my mother in law incapable of babysitting. Still, the thought of the slapstick-like fall, accompanied, I'm sure, by great Yiddish cursing, brings me a chuckle to this day).
So, I walk around the house asking Wifey to please neaten up, and sometimes doing it myself, but to no avail. "I have a problem, I know," she explains.
MY law partner, seriously OCD, tells me he simply couldn't live in my house, with all the clutter and disarray. I may be getting to that point, myself. We own a 2 bedroom condo a few miles away. After the Ds move out later this summer, I may move there, and enjoy a neat, clutter-free existence.
I'd get the paper each morning, read it, and then place it into the recycle bin. I'd was a dish after I used it. I'd promptly file papers. I'd put away laundry after it dried, instead of leaving it out like an art project, hanging around for weeks, which is what happens in my house...
Speaking of the Ds, D1 is VERY neat and organized. She even gets hired by friends' mothers to organize their lives. I wish Wifey would hire her, too.
D2 --the WORST! She takes off clothes and leaves them scattered on the floor. Our aging Labrador sleeps in her room, and can be seen nightly pushing piles of clothes aside with her nose to find a piece of floor to curl up.
D2's about to share a dorn this Fall. I await the returns on THAT experiment. I also suspect that, like me, she'll become less of a slob as she gets older.
So, we're leaving for Gainesville soon, and the house is a mess. Wifey "straightened up: last night, and there are still an impressive amount of papers strewn about. To use this computer, I had to move 2 piles of "works in progress" away from the keyboard. Dried clothes hang in the guest room at least since last week, like vines in a rainforest.
I guess I'm becoming much more like Felix in the "Odd Couple," and that can be annoying to Wifey. As she said, I'm the one who changed.
I'm going to go get the paperwork for today's trip. If only I could find it...
Monday, July 5, 2010
Just Lucky I Guess...
So last night it rained and rained, and we decided to forego the visit to see fireworks. D2, younger and more hardy, went with her friends, but we ended up staying home.
We invited Dr. Dave and his wife Maureen, and extended the invite to a friend of theirs named Marlene, who was going to meet us in Grove. Then, I remembered that Lili was home alone, as her husband is taking a month long class in Israel, so I asked her to come along, too.
Dave and I drank vodka and bourbon, and the ladies drank wine, and we ordered in the traditional Fourth of July pizza. We watched fireworks in TV.
Dave told us that he just took over a fellow concierge doc's practice, in a 3 way swap. A Key Biscayne doc had to retire at 45, as the poor fellow's dying of a brain tumor. Dave's fellow South Dade doc is taking over the Key Biscayne practice, and Dave is taking over the other Kendall practice. He starts on August 15.
One of his new subtenants is Mike Aptman, a neurologist. I know him because he was a notorious "defense doc," who over his career made hundreds of thousands of dollars examining litigants for insurance carriers, and testifying they were fine, or at least that their injuries weren't related to their accidents. Since he's a respected and well trained neurologist, his opinions have helped many defense lawyers win their cases. But, in 1995 he suffered all of our worst nightmares --his daughter was killed at college.
This happened 15 years ago. Melissa was about to graduate from Wash U in St. Louis, when she and a friend went to a Cinco de Mayo celebration in Dogtown, which I understand is the trendy, hip part of St. Louis. She and her friend were carjacked by 2 "residents" of the ghetto, both were raped and robbed, and both were shot.
Melissa was killed; her friend survived. They caught the animals who did it, and I think both got life sentences. Apparently the other young woman recovered and went to law school.
The Aptmans got the feared call, home in Miami. Instead of heading to Wash U for a college graduation, they had to fly there to claim a body. Melissa was 22.
The parents went on to found an Institute in their daughter's memory, which teaches no violence and literacy to would be future criminals. The Institute is impressive --it now conducts programs in several cities, and Melissa's younger sister, a few years ahead of D1 at Palmetto High, works for them.
In researching the whole affair, I came upon a journal article Michael wrote in "Neurology," about his experience. He talked about how he lived for his family, and thought he could build "walls around them high enough" to keep out the evil of the world.
I live the same way, somehow thinking I can keep my Ds safe, too. I guess all loving parents feel the same way..
In my practice, I've dealt with probably 50 parents whoce children have died. They never get over it. I'm always amazed they carry on as well as they do.
Parents die, spouses die, and it's the natural order of things. When a child is lost it flies in the face of all we think is fair and right.
I have a feeling that I'll get to talk to Michael Aptman again, now that he shares space with Dr. Dave. The last time I saw him, my partner deposed him for several hours about his opinion that our client's back injuries weren't related to a major car crash.
It's truly more important, above all else, to remain lucky in life...
We invited Dr. Dave and his wife Maureen, and extended the invite to a friend of theirs named Marlene, who was going to meet us in Grove. Then, I remembered that Lili was home alone, as her husband is taking a month long class in Israel, so I asked her to come along, too.
Dave and I drank vodka and bourbon, and the ladies drank wine, and we ordered in the traditional Fourth of July pizza. We watched fireworks in TV.
Dave told us that he just took over a fellow concierge doc's practice, in a 3 way swap. A Key Biscayne doc had to retire at 45, as the poor fellow's dying of a brain tumor. Dave's fellow South Dade doc is taking over the Key Biscayne practice, and Dave is taking over the other Kendall practice. He starts on August 15.
One of his new subtenants is Mike Aptman, a neurologist. I know him because he was a notorious "defense doc," who over his career made hundreds of thousands of dollars examining litigants for insurance carriers, and testifying they were fine, or at least that their injuries weren't related to their accidents. Since he's a respected and well trained neurologist, his opinions have helped many defense lawyers win their cases. But, in 1995 he suffered all of our worst nightmares --his daughter was killed at college.
This happened 15 years ago. Melissa was about to graduate from Wash U in St. Louis, when she and a friend went to a Cinco de Mayo celebration in Dogtown, which I understand is the trendy, hip part of St. Louis. She and her friend were carjacked by 2 "residents" of the ghetto, both were raped and robbed, and both were shot.
Melissa was killed; her friend survived. They caught the animals who did it, and I think both got life sentences. Apparently the other young woman recovered and went to law school.
The Aptmans got the feared call, home in Miami. Instead of heading to Wash U for a college graduation, they had to fly there to claim a body. Melissa was 22.
The parents went on to found an Institute in their daughter's memory, which teaches no violence and literacy to would be future criminals. The Institute is impressive --it now conducts programs in several cities, and Melissa's younger sister, a few years ahead of D1 at Palmetto High, works for them.
In researching the whole affair, I came upon a journal article Michael wrote in "Neurology," about his experience. He talked about how he lived for his family, and thought he could build "walls around them high enough" to keep out the evil of the world.
I live the same way, somehow thinking I can keep my Ds safe, too. I guess all loving parents feel the same way..
In my practice, I've dealt with probably 50 parents whoce children have died. They never get over it. I'm always amazed they carry on as well as they do.
Parents die, spouses die, and it's the natural order of things. When a child is lost it flies in the face of all we think is fair and right.
I have a feeling that I'll get to talk to Michael Aptman again, now that he shares space with Dr. Dave. The last time I saw him, my partner deposed him for several hours about his opinion that our client's back injuries weren't related to a major car crash.
It's truly more important, above all else, to remain lucky in life...
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Can't Get Away From the 352
I visited Gainesville for the first time in 1982. My college friends and I drove up for a Canes/Gators game. We stayed with some girls my friend Mark knew from S Florida, and we ate huge omelettes at Skeeters. The Canes lost, when Jim Kelly thew a late interception. I didn't much like Gainesville.
I visited for some more football games, and even a baseball game or 2. I grew to like the place a bit more, but it was far too boring for my taste.
Around 1991 or so, I spent 2 weeks there. My boss Frank had a medical malpractice case against a UF doctor. At jury selection, about 90% of the venire panel said they worked for UF. Frank asked the judge for a new panel. Frank was an 8 year Gator, himself. The judge was fair and nice, but explained to Frank that finding a panel in Alachua County that WASN'T mostly UF connected wasn't going to happen. Frank lost his case --one I never thought was strong, anyway.
The cool part for me was chatting with the judge, whose son was Tom Petty's keyboard player. I was a big Petty fan; still am.
We stayed at the Hilton at Biven's Arm, now a PAramount hotel. Frank's secretary was there with us for 2 weeks, in her own room. She's now Frank's live in girlfriend, following the secretary's and Frank's divorces. Was romance budding then?
Then D1 chose UF, and I began 4 years of Gainesville visits. Yawn. D1 had a great time, got a decent education and made terrific friends. Gainesville, as a destination, got real old for me.
Last night, D2 was online, preparing for HER UF adventure. We go up Wednesday for "Preview," the UF new student orientation. We'll stay 2 nights, and then drive D1 home. Her boyfriend will drive her from Jacksonville to UF to meet us.
So, here comes anouther 4 years of Gainesville.
I really can't complain. D2, like her sister, will attend college on a full scholarship, and, with the Prepaid Plan I bought, even most of her dorm fees will be covered.
I've felt for a long time that paying private college tuition these days is a fool's errand, and recent NY Times articles have backed me up, calling the whole affair an "Education Bubble."
So, my long car rides will give me 4 more years of chuckling at my friends as they write $50K per year checks to private colleges, just for tuition!
Worse off are the kids who take loans, and graduate with mortgage sized debt, and try to pay it off with $30K per year jobs.
My friends David and Maureen are converts. Their first born went to NYU, and they recently paid off her student loans for her. Their second child is at UF, and they see the wisdom in that.
And, David, a gourmand, have me a list of terrific bed and breakfasts all around Gainesville, so Wifey and I can break up the typical Country Inn and Suites or Cabot Lodge doldrums.
So, for Gainesville and me, it's like winning re-election: 4 more years! And now they have Starbucks at the Turnpike rest stops...
I visited for some more football games, and even a baseball game or 2. I grew to like the place a bit more, but it was far too boring for my taste.
Around 1991 or so, I spent 2 weeks there. My boss Frank had a medical malpractice case against a UF doctor. At jury selection, about 90% of the venire panel said they worked for UF. Frank asked the judge for a new panel. Frank was an 8 year Gator, himself. The judge was fair and nice, but explained to Frank that finding a panel in Alachua County that WASN'T mostly UF connected wasn't going to happen. Frank lost his case --one I never thought was strong, anyway.
The cool part for me was chatting with the judge, whose son was Tom Petty's keyboard player. I was a big Petty fan; still am.
We stayed at the Hilton at Biven's Arm, now a PAramount hotel. Frank's secretary was there with us for 2 weeks, in her own room. She's now Frank's live in girlfriend, following the secretary's and Frank's divorces. Was romance budding then?
Then D1 chose UF, and I began 4 years of Gainesville visits. Yawn. D1 had a great time, got a decent education and made terrific friends. Gainesville, as a destination, got real old for me.
Last night, D2 was online, preparing for HER UF adventure. We go up Wednesday for "Preview," the UF new student orientation. We'll stay 2 nights, and then drive D1 home. Her boyfriend will drive her from Jacksonville to UF to meet us.
So, here comes anouther 4 years of Gainesville.
I really can't complain. D2, like her sister, will attend college on a full scholarship, and, with the Prepaid Plan I bought, even most of her dorm fees will be covered.
I've felt for a long time that paying private college tuition these days is a fool's errand, and recent NY Times articles have backed me up, calling the whole affair an "Education Bubble."
So, my long car rides will give me 4 more years of chuckling at my friends as they write $50K per year checks to private colleges, just for tuition!
Worse off are the kids who take loans, and graduate with mortgage sized debt, and try to pay it off with $30K per year jobs.
My friends David and Maureen are converts. Their first born went to NYU, and they recently paid off her student loans for her. Their second child is at UF, and they see the wisdom in that.
And, David, a gourmand, have me a list of terrific bed and breakfasts all around Gainesville, so Wifey and I can break up the typical Country Inn and Suites or Cabot Lodge doldrums.
So, for Gainesville and me, it's like winning re-election: 4 more years! And now they have Starbucks at the Turnpike rest stops...
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Break From the Heat
Finally it's not oppressive this am. It rained so hard last night, and it's overcast now. If the heat didn't subside, I was ready to relocate to North Carolina for the summer.
We know so many folks who do that. The old joke is that there are more Dade County license tags in August in Asheville than there are NC ones.
Ah, Asheville. Wifey and I love it there. Crappy weather in the winter, but the summer is lovely, as is the Fall. It's a town we could see living in. Cosmopolitan, but small. Terrific restaurants. Plenty going on all the time. A wonderful vibe.
We'd buy passes to the Vanderbilt Estate, and go all the time. It's probably our favorite "old mansion." And the air would be cooler...
Nah --we'll always stay in the 305. But the summer heat does bring those thoughts to the fore...
This morning I met my old friend Vince for breakfast. We always have a great time --talking about our college days, and how we're aging so gracefully. Ha!
A former acquaintance came by. He started a new business where he provides tows for motorcycles for $99 per year. Poor Vince -- before he knew it, he succumbed to the high pressure sales, and gave up his credit card.
Luckily, our bill came, and I announced that to thank me for the referral, the budding business magnate would buy us breakfast. The bill was $30, so at least I got Vince a 30 % discount. He was fine with the whole affair, but I was annoyed.
I can't stand it when someone takes advantage of another, even with the victim's consent.
I bet this sort of thing doesn't happen in Asheville...
We know so many folks who do that. The old joke is that there are more Dade County license tags in August in Asheville than there are NC ones.
Ah, Asheville. Wifey and I love it there. Crappy weather in the winter, but the summer is lovely, as is the Fall. It's a town we could see living in. Cosmopolitan, but small. Terrific restaurants. Plenty going on all the time. A wonderful vibe.
We'd buy passes to the Vanderbilt Estate, and go all the time. It's probably our favorite "old mansion." And the air would be cooler...
Nah --we'll always stay in the 305. But the summer heat does bring those thoughts to the fore...
This morning I met my old friend Vince for breakfast. We always have a great time --talking about our college days, and how we're aging so gracefully. Ha!
A former acquaintance came by. He started a new business where he provides tows for motorcycles for $99 per year. Poor Vince -- before he knew it, he succumbed to the high pressure sales, and gave up his credit card.
Luckily, our bill came, and I announced that to thank me for the referral, the budding business magnate would buy us breakfast. The bill was $30, so at least I got Vince a 30 % discount. He was fine with the whole affair, but I was annoyed.
I can't stand it when someone takes advantage of another, even with the victim's consent.
I bet this sort of thing doesn't happen in Asheville...
Friday, July 2, 2010
Fourth of July
It's erev July 4 weekend, as the observant ones would say. I always think back to July 4ths of yore...
Growing up on LI, it was a big deal. First, July 4 meant Summer --no school, and swimming and baseball weather. I'd always loved fireworks, and my family always went to a display somewhere.
I remember one year, being very young and driving to Jones Beach. The after exposions were scary and exhilerating.
Most years we went to Salisbury (later Eisenhower) Park in Hempstead. We'd spread a blanket and lay back and watch the show. Afterwards, I always marvelled at how my father found our car among so many in the huge, dark parking field.
I remember July 4, 1983 as a particularly sad one. My father had died the year before, and Dr. Eric came up to stay in Delray for the weekend. I was working that Summer at Boca Hospital, and he and I took my mother to FAU to watch the display.
I spoke to Eric yesterday. He plans to watch the FAU display on Sunday --he lives nearby now. I reminded him of our attendance 27 years ago. He remembered...
The Summer of 1984, Wifey and I were newly committed boy and girlfriend. Miami Beach had a huge concert on the sand --the Beach Boys were going to play. We were so excited, we spent the night before at Wifey's friend's Yvonne's South Beach apartment, and we walked to the beach around 11 am on the 4th.
There was of course 10 hours before the concert and fireworks, so we sat on the beach and I drank and drank and drank. Wifey's friend Jeannette was there, and we met her cousin Dennis. The sunbathing and drinking continued.
The show started, and the Beach Boys (and some of the Moody Blues) had a special guest: Ringo Starr. Jeannette, a huge Beatles fan, took off like a wild woman for the stage, to see her idol up close.
By this time, I was more drunk than I had ever been in my 23 years, and I just lay in the sand with a vagues sense that I was alive.
When the show ended, I couldn't have found my way to even the ocean. Wifey took my hand and led me back to the apartment on Washington Avenue, and from there she drove home. I remember being so grateful for her that night. We still lead each other, when necessary -- more than 1/4 century later.
This Sunday we're going to have a late dinner at Calimari's in the Grove, a restaurant we love because you sit in a fanned and misted courtyard and think you're in Venice. From there, we'll walk to Peacock Park and watch the fireworks.
D1 is headed to JVille to spend the 4th with her boyfriend at his Dad's Country Club --they have fireworks over the ocean there.
D2 and her boyfriend may join Wifey and me --it's a game time decision, apparently.
What a fine holiday --our nation's birthday. I'm a third generation American, and wonder where we're headed. But Sunday, I know: to a party.
Growing up on LI, it was a big deal. First, July 4 meant Summer --no school, and swimming and baseball weather. I'd always loved fireworks, and my family always went to a display somewhere.
I remember one year, being very young and driving to Jones Beach. The after exposions were scary and exhilerating.
Most years we went to Salisbury (later Eisenhower) Park in Hempstead. We'd spread a blanket and lay back and watch the show. Afterwards, I always marvelled at how my father found our car among so many in the huge, dark parking field.
I remember July 4, 1983 as a particularly sad one. My father had died the year before, and Dr. Eric came up to stay in Delray for the weekend. I was working that Summer at Boca Hospital, and he and I took my mother to FAU to watch the display.
I spoke to Eric yesterday. He plans to watch the FAU display on Sunday --he lives nearby now. I reminded him of our attendance 27 years ago. He remembered...
The Summer of 1984, Wifey and I were newly committed boy and girlfriend. Miami Beach had a huge concert on the sand --the Beach Boys were going to play. We were so excited, we spent the night before at Wifey's friend's Yvonne's South Beach apartment, and we walked to the beach around 11 am on the 4th.
There was of course 10 hours before the concert and fireworks, so we sat on the beach and I drank and drank and drank. Wifey's friend Jeannette was there, and we met her cousin Dennis. The sunbathing and drinking continued.
The show started, and the Beach Boys (and some of the Moody Blues) had a special guest: Ringo Starr. Jeannette, a huge Beatles fan, took off like a wild woman for the stage, to see her idol up close.
By this time, I was more drunk than I had ever been in my 23 years, and I just lay in the sand with a vagues sense that I was alive.
When the show ended, I couldn't have found my way to even the ocean. Wifey took my hand and led me back to the apartment on Washington Avenue, and from there she drove home. I remember being so grateful for her that night. We still lead each other, when necessary -- more than 1/4 century later.
This Sunday we're going to have a late dinner at Calimari's in the Grove, a restaurant we love because you sit in a fanned and misted courtyard and think you're in Venice. From there, we'll walk to Peacock Park and watch the fireworks.
D1 is headed to JVille to spend the 4th with her boyfriend at his Dad's Country Club --they have fireworks over the ocean there.
D2 and her boyfriend may join Wifey and me --it's a game time decision, apparently.
What a fine holiday --our nation's birthday. I'm a third generation American, and wonder where we're headed. But Sunday, I know: to a party.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
It's a Gay Thing
Of all the prejudices to have, homophobia is never one I embraced. I guess one reason is that, while I'm not macho, I'm more secure in my masculinity than most men I know. I have to be --I'm the sole Y chomasome carrier in a house full of women!
Also, growing up, my father had a lot of gay customers. "Faygellas," he called them, but he always admired and liked them. He saw how much hate and discrimination they endured (this was the 60s and 70s) and remarked, simply "Who the hell cares who they sleep with, as long as they're consenting adults?" I adopted his philosophy, but of course the answer is that PLENTY of people care who the hell they sleep with...
The issue came up recently, after my buddy Norman brought up a name from the good old days: Anita Bryant. I wonder what the creepy old homophobe was up to, and so Googled her. I was happy to discover that her idiot husband, "Mr. Christian," abused and left her, she went through 2 bankruptcies, and is now holed up in her home state of Oklahoma, running some sort of web site.
I also found a YouTube of her getting pied in Iowa, after she started a national tour to help people draft anti-gay legislation, like she did here in Miami. I thought it was hilarious, and posted it as a link on FaceBook.
Well, one of my friends took MAJOR umbrage. He thought it was typical liberal double standard --ok to bash a "fine Christian Conservative" while decrying any sort of anti-gay slur.
That began a back and forth between us, that, distilled to the core revealed a simple fact: he believes homosexuality is wrong, and I don't. To me, it's who one is, same as hair color or cholesterol level. To him, it's sinful behavior that can be changed.
My friend is someone I admire. He's a devoted father, and does work for the community that's selfless and terrific. But, he defines himself by his faith (Catholicism), and since that teaches him about the sin of gayness, that's how he sees life.
Differences like this are insoluble, of course. They go to the essence of who we are. I wrote to him this am that I will continue to admire about him his works, and his essence as a father, without caring a whit about his religion.
I guess I'm too much of an empiricist. If I'm on an airplane going through bad weather, I want a fine pilot, not someone who has my same beliefs and ethics and morals.
So to Anita Bryant, hatemonger and moron, I say that history will judge her ironically. She probably did more for gays than anyone --her speeches about how they "recruit" children and "eat sperm" did more to teach folks that gays needed to be included in civil rights legislation than Barry Manilow's singing did.
And, Anita was, in my opinion, a crappy singer, and never that good looking.
Also, growing up, my father had a lot of gay customers. "Faygellas," he called them, but he always admired and liked them. He saw how much hate and discrimination they endured (this was the 60s and 70s) and remarked, simply "Who the hell cares who they sleep with, as long as they're consenting adults?" I adopted his philosophy, but of course the answer is that PLENTY of people care who the hell they sleep with...
The issue came up recently, after my buddy Norman brought up a name from the good old days: Anita Bryant. I wonder what the creepy old homophobe was up to, and so Googled her. I was happy to discover that her idiot husband, "Mr. Christian," abused and left her, she went through 2 bankruptcies, and is now holed up in her home state of Oklahoma, running some sort of web site.
I also found a YouTube of her getting pied in Iowa, after she started a national tour to help people draft anti-gay legislation, like she did here in Miami. I thought it was hilarious, and posted it as a link on FaceBook.
Well, one of my friends took MAJOR umbrage. He thought it was typical liberal double standard --ok to bash a "fine Christian Conservative" while decrying any sort of anti-gay slur.
That began a back and forth between us, that, distilled to the core revealed a simple fact: he believes homosexuality is wrong, and I don't. To me, it's who one is, same as hair color or cholesterol level. To him, it's sinful behavior that can be changed.
My friend is someone I admire. He's a devoted father, and does work for the community that's selfless and terrific. But, he defines himself by his faith (Catholicism), and since that teaches him about the sin of gayness, that's how he sees life.
Differences like this are insoluble, of course. They go to the essence of who we are. I wrote to him this am that I will continue to admire about him his works, and his essence as a father, without caring a whit about his religion.
I guess I'm too much of an empiricist. If I'm on an airplane going through bad weather, I want a fine pilot, not someone who has my same beliefs and ethics and morals.
So to Anita Bryant, hatemonger and moron, I say that history will judge her ironically. She probably did more for gays than anyone --her speeches about how they "recruit" children and "eat sperm" did more to teach folks that gays needed to be included in civil rights legislation than Barry Manilow's singing did.
And, Anita was, in my opinion, a crappy singer, and never that good looking.
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