Banner Weekend

So it turned out that Thursday was just the beginning of a banner weekend, one D1 called a "top 5 of her life."

Friday evening we headed to some new private club called Soho Miami, just south of the Fountainbleau on the Beach. My partner Paul's son and daughter in law joined the club, which is in an old Beach hotel, with different decor on each floor. The club prides itself on limiting membership to "creative types," and supposedly has a small quota of allowable doctors, lawyers, and financial types. Whatever.

Paul hosted a birthday dinner and cocktail party for his girlfriend PAtricia and D1, and about 40 of us drank and laughed on the terrace overlooking the dark Atlantic. Our friend Elizabeth was staying with us, and came along and had a fine time, as did Mirta, my now ex emplioyee (Stuart took over her salary).

Afterwards, there was an "after party" for the young ones at some club with a Swedish DJ. D2 got to go, even though she's not 21, and by all reports, all had a great time, though D1 learned first hand about the rudeness and excessive charges they get away with on the Beach. Apparently, the group had a table, which meant their guests were to be admitted, but the boorish doorman said no. Again --whatever.

Miami Beach isn't my scene, and hasn't been since they closed Wolfies and Rascal House...Although I do enjoy driving through and recalling the many family vacations we had there in the 70s... a time when the place was crumbling and seedy and you could still get delicious Jewish soul food at many places on Washington Avenue.

Saturday am I woke D2 after just a few hours of sleep, and we were off to see the final Canes game. We had a fun time, but the team was awful, and we left before an overtime that I knew was going to lead to another loss.

I started considering not renewing my season's tickets on the long drive home, but then, Saturday night, the news came that they fired the moribund coach, and would commit to winning again. So, we'll see...Maybe I'll renew for my 32nd season after all...

Sunday D2 left for Gainesville, and made it back after a 7 hour drive! Apparently an accident on I-75 north of Ocala slowed the drive to a crawl, but D2 and her dear friend Ben chatted away and solved the world's problems in a way that only optimistic but sarcastic college freshmen can.

D1 went on the inagural cruise of the Allure of the Seas, with her friend Perry, whose dad is an exec with the cruise company. The ship sailed just offshore, far enough to allow gambling, and apparently made circles as the passengers, D1 included, marveled at the ship.

They docked yesterday am, and, alas, D1 had come down with a bad cold, following this amazing weekend. I brought her chicken soup yesterday, and she rested, as she has to rally for her first graduate school final today.

Meanwhile, D2 called me from UF to report that she was approached by an evangelical on campus, singing songs with exactly the opposite message she believes --with lyrics like "It ain't ok to be gay."

We laughed together on the phone. Exposure to morons is a huge part of one's education, and UF is large enough and diverse enough to include many of them.

Today I'm home awaiting the tree trimmer Dave, who comes every few years in a bucket truck and trims the ficus and banyans and palms away from the roof of Villa Wifey --to keep rodents away, and, more crucially, to leave a clear view for my satellite dish.

This may become important and relevant again with my Canes hiring a new coach...

Thanksgiving

The holiday is a bit redundant for me, as I feel grateful and give thanks each day. I guess I'm just wired that way. I remember being thrilled in kindergarten when my mother bought me McDonald's hamburgers.

Still, last night I sat at my kitchen table with both Ds. The three of us had returned from visiting ancient Mom, and D1 decided to spend the night here.

Wifey sat across the room at a computer. The Ds watched humorous videos on YouTube. They giggled, and occasionally guffawed. My girls' laughter is by far my favorite sound in the world.

Wifey, as usual on about a 5 second delay, kept demanding to know what was so funny. Of course, her asking on her delay was what was so funny, so we all laughed some more.

At one point, the Ds looked up from the laptop and saw me staring at them. D1 said to D2 "Look at Dad." Then they hugged me.

If there's more than that to be thankful for --I can't imagine what it is.

It's 8 am, and all of them are sleeping --both Ds in D2's bed, like when they were little girls.

To paraphrase Yeats, they shall arise and go, and go to Key Biscayne. We're headed to the Ritz Carlton for their T Day brunch, which, after last year, we've decided to make our tradition.

I'll think of my friend Todd's proper funmaking of my blog, and how I write about going on lavish trips and to fine restaurants. He's right.

But, hey --I'm a rich white guy! What can I say? The Republicans just won big in Congress and here in Florida. Rich white guys are COOL again!

The truth is, for most of my childhood, I was solidly middle class. During grad school and in the years right after, I probably dropped a bit to somewhat lower middle class. At 25, when I graduated UM Law, I had a net worth of minus $30 thousand.

I found a rich girlfriend ( her net worth when we married was a positive $7 thousand) and off we went.

At Thanksgiving 1986, I was EXTREMELY thankful. I had passed the Bar Exam, and I therefore wouldn't be fired by my first boss, despite his rabid anti semitism. He needed me to attend hearings, and "relate to the Jew Claims Manager from NY." He used to warn me to count my fingers after shaking Stu's hand, since, "You can never trust those people." Ha. Dan. I was even thankful for him --he DID pay me $28 thousand per year, though he despised my essence."

By Thanksgiving of 1989, Wifey and I had D1! And then 3 years later, although we lost our house and most of our stuff in Hurrican Andrew, we had D2 as well.

And it just got better and better. D2 turns 22 on Saturday. D1 is thriving as a UF freshman. I've given up the daily grind of lawyering.

So here, on Thanksgiving 2010, sits the most blessed, lucky, and thankful man in the world.

Holiday Week

I sat on our front porch with D1 last night, drinking "Daddy Tea" and enjoying the light of a full moon shining from behind some clouds. D1 is still dealing with some heartache from the end of a 2 year relationship. I understand. A 2 year relationship to someone who is in their early 20s is like a 20 year marriage to old farts like me and my generation.

We reflected on this week --T Day week. Her birthday is coming up on Saturday. 22 years! Caramba. I feel like Rip Van Winkle --I took a nap one afternoon in the late 80s, while my toddler slept in the Pack N Play next to me, and I woke up and she's in graduate school.

D2 is due home this afternoon. She leaves with our third daughter from another mother Andrea around 11. I'll inhale deeply, since I have to hold my breath for the entire 5.5 hour trip down the Turnpike, and hopefully I'll get to exhale with her arrival around dinner time.

Ah --to have Villa Wifey alive again, with the giggling and chatting of our Ds...

Wednesday we'll go visit ancient Grandma. I called her last night, and started to tell her I was coming, and she launched into her internal dialogue designed to cover the fact that she can't hear on the phone. "Is Wifey OK, David?" "No Mom --she's dead." "Oh, that's good..."

I think she gets that we're coming up to see her pre T Day.

Thursday we'll head over to a hotel for brunch. Last year we did that --just the 4 of us plus the now ex D1 boyfriend, and realized we truly love the holiday most when it's simple like that.

When I tell folks we're having a brunch with just the nuclear family, they all look wistful... They quickly invite me to have us join THEIR large, extende groups, and I politely decline...

Friday my partner Paul is hosting a birthday party for his girlfriend on Miami Beach. Somehow, it's now also a party for D1 as well... He's rented out a room on the ocean on South Beach. I'm sure we'll all end up having a great time, after 2 or 3 $25 martinis...

Elizabeth is due here tonight, as well. She has T Day with HER sister and parents, but opts to stay with us. I look forward to catching up with her and her tales of grad school while working while being, um, no longer 25. She's exhausted, but does it somehow --with a 4.0 GPA.

Sat am D2 will accompany me to the last Canes game. They play at noon, so our tailgate with be breakfast.

D2 really loves me. She ABHORS waking up early when she doesn't have to , and yet is agreeing to do so on her vacation Saturday to come with the old Dad to the game.

Time passages, as Al Stewart sang. Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.

Lubavitcher Chronic

Carl Hiassen famously said that it's very tough to be a novelist in South Florida because things happen here that are so weird that they go beyond anything a fiction author could conjure up.

Yesterday I went to visit my friend Rabbi Yossi. He's asked me to write some pieces for his Center, and I've agreed. If he doesn't like my work, he doesn't have to pay me. If he DOES like what I come up with, he doesn't have to pay me. Ever the opportunist, the rabbi likes this arrangement.

Yossi owns an acre parcel just south of his Center. He bought it years ago hoping that someday he'd be expanding his congregation. In the mean time, he rents out the 3/2 house there. Two years ago, he signed up a tenant who has been paying each month like clockwork. He never asks the rabbi for anything, and Yossi has not visited the house since 2007.

Last week, a Miami Dade detective knocked on Yossi's door, and asked all kinds of questions about the house and tenant. It turned out there was a MAJOR marijuana growing operation taking place. I know it's major because the tenant was arrested and bail was set at $500K! That's a serious amount of weed!

I walked over to the property with the rabbi, and he opened a window. Sure enough, that unmistakeable smell was everywhere. PVC pipes ran through several of the rooms, and various hydroponic equipment was lying around.

Unfortunately, his Cheech and Chong left a lot of damage, and Yossi is making a claim with his insurance.

We stepped outside the gate, and stood there for awhile. A large, noisy Harley pulled up to us, with a middle aged guy in leather and an obese biker chick behind him. "Yo --Jose around here dudes?" "Nah --he got arrested."

The Harley peeled out faster than I thought possible for a motorcycle holding over 600 lbs of human cargo.

So, into the colorful cast of characters in the Rabbi's life, we add the pot growing tenants.

The prodigious amounts of alcohol poured at Chabad celebrations are what attracted me to them. If they start passing around a bong with high grade, Torah approved mother nature, I may attend a few more services...

Instability in Calm Weather

The Hurricane Season has passed. It's still too damn warm, but at least the nights we've been able to sleep a/c free. The other Hurricane season, involving my beloved football team, is ALSO essentially over. They blew a game yesterday. The only way they'll ever return to elite status is with a new coach, and that won't happen for a long time...

Strangely, the stable weather has seen a lot of marital instability among my friends. Two husbands of longtime marriages (22 and 8 years) have moved out. More, I think, are on the way. I guess it's classic: as the kids become adults, there isn't a lot to keep folks together.

I remember this happened among my childhood friends. Divorce was completely unknown to my working class corner of Long Island. I think I knew exactly one kid from a "broken home," as it used to be called.

Within 2 years of high school graduation, the wives started bailing faster than rats off a sinking ship. And, interestingly, it was always the wives who seemed to be the ones fed up with the disinterested, heavy drinking husbands.

So it'll be niteresting to see how things pan out for my 2 buddies. I have a feeling everyone will survive, some divorce lawyers will make some money, and life will go on.

Hell --Friday night, while I was at the Patti Smith lecture, I got a text from Wifey. She was at her friend Cara's on Miami Beach, and was too tired to drive home, even though at that time of night, we're talking 25 minutes. So, she stayed over there.

This was the first time in our nearly 24 year marriage either of us slept out within Miami Dade County. So maybe I'll be moving in soon with one of my 2 separated buddies --who knows?

Dylan sang that you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows...

Back to the Canes... for the first time in 31 years, yesterday I entertained thoughts of possibly not renewing my season tickets. And it's not because of the losing record.

A big part of the joy for me is the togetherness at the games. And yet, we're all now in different places in life. Dr. Eric had a lovely tailgate, but he still has a teenager attending. Dr. Barry's boys are in Middle School.

I took my friend Joel to the game, but his boys were in a little league game, so I drove up to the stadium myself.

Last year, I had the pleasure of going with D2, but she'll be in Gainesville for 3 more years. D1 will go to, at most, one game.

Wifey stopped going years ago, and now, as I mentioned, she's looking into moving to Miami Beach.

I'm starting to think I might as well watch the games on TV...

So I'll see...

Stable weather, unstable hurricanes...

Because the Night.

So after several martinis at Trulucks, I made my way over to the Miami Book Fair just in time to see Patti Smith.

At the time the punk rock scene was going on, in NYC in the 70s, I didn't pay much attention to it. Like a fool, my musical tastes in high school were for the over produced, pretentious stuff like Yes and Emerson Lake and Palmer.

A few of my HS mates would take the LIRR to NYC, and return with tales of CBGBs, and groups like the Ramones. My group stayed at the Nassau Collisseum, and Jones Beach Theatre, and thought groups like Crosby Stills and Nash (already warmed over and sappy by the late 70s) were the coolest.

When I got to the U I started to listen to punk. I remember parties in Building 22 where we'd dance and slap the low ceilings to "Sheena is (stop) a Punk Rocker."

I had a crush on Chrissie Hynde, but I listened to Patti Smith. And I did it again last night.

The auditorium was packed. She came on stage, looking as elegant as if she came off a 3 day drunk and got dressed in the Metrorail bathroom. Her hair was gray and stringy. She started to read her book, in her NJ accent, and the audience was taken to 1975, and her room with her lover Robert Mapplethorpe at the Chelsea Hotel.

She read, and interspersed her words with some singing on her guitar. The crowd, which ranged from my age on down to kids in their teens, was transfixed. She's a fine teller of tales. She's self deprecating but strong.

During a break, when she took questions, a simpering professor type, clearly intent on showing off his intelligence (I always think of the great Marshall Mcluen scene in "Annie Hall," asked her about an essay where the writer talked about Mapplethorpe's death. "What are you trying to say? Spit it out.!" The wussy professor slinked away. It was clear Patti Smith had kicked more than a few asses in her day...

Someone asked her about her best known song "Because the Night," which she co wrote with Bruce Springsteen. She said she'd explain later --and boy did she!

She talked about waiting on the phone for a long distance call from her then boyfriend that never came. She brought us back to the 70s, when one planned a long distance call, because of the expense.

While waiting, she picked up a tape that Springsteen's producer Jimmy Iovine had given her, and she thought it was magnificent, even with the mumbling from her fellow Jersey-ite. She added to the lyrics, and a classic was born.

At the end of the night, she picked up her guitar and played it and sang it. At the beginning of her talk, audience members had each jumped up and recited lines from a Rimbaud poem, in honor of Patti's favorite poet.

Now, she sang, and the audience sang those powerful words back at her "Try to understant, how I feel when I'm in your command."

It was as if the 900 folks there all remembered the passion of young lust and love, and got it, all at the same time. (Clearly, the waning effect of my martinis didn't hurt in my case).

At the last shouted lyrics "Because the night belongs to love!" the audience erupted. IT was something to behold.

Mitch Kaplan, my local hero, took the stage --obviously moved and spent. He looked like he needed a cigarette. He said that he'd seen a lot in 27 years of the Book Fair, but never had a night quite like that one.

We filed out, hopped the People Mover, and headed for the suburbs, still in the spell of a 63 year old skinny, powerful, not the least bit pretty woman with quite a tale to share.

First Job

So yesterday Stuart and I hosted Rabbi Yossi at the office. He came to bless Stuart's new operation. Somehow I ended up paying more for the blessings...

And it might have worked! Hours later, I had a phone conference with a Guardian Ad Litem on a minor child's case, and she said she'd approve a full fee for my firm. So there you go...

The Rabbi, like everyone else who learns that I'm giving up my office, asked what I planned to do professionally. I told him I had no idea.

So...ever the opportunist, he asked if I would write some "reflections" about his Congregation's 15th anniversary. I had my first writing assignment!

I dashed off my project early this morning. I thought about having the piece translated into Spanish, in keeping with the whole "Quince" theme, but I stayed in English.

It really IS remarkable that he and his family have been here a decade and a half. TIme flies. Sunrise, sunset...

Wifey and I greeted Rabbi Yossi and NEchama and their 1 year old boy, Mendel, on the sidewalk outside the rental house we offered to let. I went to shake Nechama's hand. She pulled it back, saying "We don't take hands." I had no earthly idea what she meant.

I learned later it was a modesty thing. You don't touch no women but your own! Hand shakes can lead to hugs which lead to well... It's no surprise they'd vote for Sarah Palin if they could.

Political differences aside...we've grown very close. They now have 7 kids, and the 8th is on the way. Amazing.

So, I've put in more time at the office than I have in the last month. I've had meeting each day.

Tomorrow I'll stay home for the computer man, Carlos, to reconfigure some stuff for us.

And to keep me blogging the crappy blog!

Senseless

I went on Facebook (TM) this morning, and the Ds' friend Andrea had posted some photos of Zander. It's coming up to the one year anniversary of his suicide. This still sickens me.

Zander was a teenaged Richard Corrie. He was tall, extremely handsome, athletic, and intellectually gifted. He was also gentle and sensitive --he counted many young women, D2 included, as folks who prized their brother/sister relationship with him.

I got to know him somewhat over the years, when he visited D2. He was so articute and respectful. I really liked him. I wish I got to know him better.

Early in his senior year, he passed out from a drug overdose. His parents got him into a rehab program, and he seemed to come through fine. He started FSU last Fall.

Apparently, his depression came back with a vengeance. He called his parents and said he wasn't coming home for the Winter break. After a few days of no contact, his folks called the Tally police. They found him alone in his apartment, gone from an overdose.

D2 got the news by cell phone as we were returning from a family cruise. She wailed in the ship's lounge. It was awful.

Zander's folks are very spiritual. Mom's Jewish; Dad's Christian. Dad is an accomplished writer and college professor. The memorial services were, according to D2, poignant, moving, and beautiful.

D2 keeps a photo of Zander and her in her room, above her calendar. I see his handsome face whenever I go in to flip the month. It brings me shivers.

A young man for whom the world was truly his oyster. Obviously his inner demons were intolerable to him, and he silenced them, I guess, in the only way he knew.

Nearly a year's gone by, and our community is still bereft. A promising young person's death robs us all. We wonder what could have been and will never be.

I guess to some there's the romantic notion of "forever young." I get that. My experience with an ancient mother shows we CAN live too long. But 18 -with all that promise? What a terrible waste.

I hope Zander's family is getting along ok. The too many clients I've had who've lost a child all seem to, somehow. They never get over it, of course, but they endure.

I see that Zander's friends still keep him strong in their hearts, and heads.

What a shining star he was --gone far too soon from the sky.

Last Day of School...

Well, yesterday was effectively IT for me as a practicing lawyer. My office is cleaned out, and my only footprint (tuches-print?) is my computer and a chair moved to the conference room.

My friend Stuart moved in his operation last night, and called me at 7 to sayt he was celebrating with 2 fingers of 12 year old Macallan he found in our liquor cabinet. I told him we'll toast, all of us, on Monday evening. All of us is Stuart, Paul, and Brian, who will be taking over with Stuart.

Mirta says she feels like crying. Not me. I've planned for this day for a long while, and I'm strangely emotion free. I guess it's because I haven't really EVER wanted to be a lawyer, and 24 years of a profession that's not a calling is more than plenty...

Last night, Wifey hosted a "jewelry happy hour" as part of her new plan to avoid getting a job. She's set up a studio, and asked me to pour wine for the ladies of her circle who come by to shop.

I did, and one of the neighbors, Ellen, came back with her husband Evan, a long time County Attorney. Evan had heard the news of my career change, realized we're the same age, and said "Hey --it's not fair you get to retire this young!"

The truth is, after his nearly 25 years at the County, he could retire soon, too, with a much nicer guarenteed pension than I'll ever have. But, he's got 3 kids to put through college, and his oldest is at an expensive private one in NC, so he's looking forward to at least 10 more years riding the Metrorail to his office, and making life hell for Plaintiffs who bring claims against the County...

My partner Paul is still in denial. He insists on telling everyone that "everything is the same", so that we'll continue to get referrals and make money. I hope the cases still come in, of course, but I've planned on that NOT happening.

So, for next week, I have some bank business on Monday, and then Tuesday, our rabbi friend is coming in to have lunch and to "bless the future firm." Brian asked me how much the blessing is going to cost him! Good question.

Of course, the Rabbi, more savvy than just about anyone I know, will tell Brian and Stuart that our firm's success is directly tied to the very generous support we gave to his operation. He used to tell us that when you make God a partner, by pledging support based upon your business's success, then God will make sure you succeed.

I marvel at the stuff they get from Chabad Headquarters in Brooklyn. On the other hand, as Tevye would say, we DID in fact soar with our generous contributions.

It'll be Stuart's and Brian's call now. Maybe they could start a NEW experiment: seeing whether success correlates to more money paid to strip clubs...

All I know is, I ain't making no choices about my future, no how, not now. I figure the transition will take until late Spring or Summer, and then maybe I'll have an epiphany.

I'm keeping my mediator certification current. I told my neighbor Charley, a true foot soldier in the war on Defendants, that I may mediate full time. His response: "EVERYONE'S a mediator now." He's right, of course, as were the naysayers who told me in 1983 that there were far too many lawyers, and I'd never make a living as one, and why waste my time with 3 years of law school, and studying for the Bar exam...

So I'll see. All I know is, I have no office to go to for the first time since 1985. No --make that 1984, when UM's English Department gave me a cubicle to see students I was teaching in Freshman Composition.

Stuart and Brian are awaiting Paul's onslaught, as he oversees the new operation as a Director. Paul still has it in the lawyer department, and much of what he will "deem so" will actually benefit the 2 new players. We'll see...

I'll be available to strategize, and direct our discussions to analyses of human nature --the only thing that truly interests me. In other words, as Dr. Barry would say, towards bullshit...

So, for today, I'm heading over to Norman's, whose career is still ascending. He just picked up, at least partially thanks to some of my efforts, I must humbly say, a MAJOR new client. We're going to watch the confounding Canes, who tease us with talent, and then blow games because of bad coaching.

Norman has stone crabs and shrimp, and a wife-less house, as Deb is in her native Canada for the weekend.

As for the career thing --that can wait until later...

Veterans Day

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day, and that holiday always brings me thoughts of my father.

My new office/library, D1's former bedroom, is where I've been spending more and more time. On the wall I've hung my father's group pictures from 2 separate US Army companies he was in, as well as his induction and discharge papers. Wifey made me a lovely shadow box with some photos of him, and cufflinks, his army dog tags, etc...

It's funny, though. He was never a flag waver. He served in the army for nearly 4 years, right at the peak of his young man years, but I don't think he was particularly proud of his service. He always saw it as a duty, and obligation, but mostly a major annoyance.

I used to ask him why he never thought about avoiding the draft, as so many young men did in the Vietnam years. I remember, as a child, hearing tales of my sister's friends heading to Canada, or injuring themselves to stay out of the military.

My father just shrugged and said it never occurred to him to do that --he felt it was his duty, and so off he went.

But, his years in the US Army instilled in him a lasting revulsion of having to take orders from people you knew were dumber than you were...

This is why it was so important to him that I become a "professional" -- a man who could "hang his shingle" and not have to answer to a boss.

When I was a boy, and played soldier, and had an impressive GI Joe doll collection (do boys still play with those, or have video games replaced them?), I used to ask my father about his experiences.

He never saw combat, but even the thought of training excited me --a Bronx Jewish boy who went from pushing dress carts in the Garment Industry to crawling around in muddy fields in Texas, with live training rounds exploding over his head.

He was never excited or proud about talking about the days. I know a large part of that was generational. The WW II guys just got the job and did it, and then came home.

My uncle Jordan, a meek vending machine repairman, never talked about his time in the Pacific Theatre. One day, I was at his Queens apartment, and he had out a scrap book. There was a photo of him standing in front of a plane he worked on --the Enola Freaking Gay! Jordan was part of one of the most significant missions in US history, and never peeped about it.

So there'll be parades and rememberances about our latest crop of veterans, from Iraq and Afghanistan. I know what my father's take on them would have been: "Poor, stupid, dumb bastards."

Like John Fogarty, I ain't no military son.

But, I'm still so proud of my father. I know his years in the Army, and service to the US, helped make him the man he was --even though he couldn't wait to come home.

Company Store

So the Ds and I have been after Wifey to get a job. D2 has been independent for over 2 years now, so Wifey's daily mothering duties have dwindled to advice about matters of the heart, clothing, etc...

Wifey, who calls ME the passive aggressive, has resisted heroically. Instead, she took up a curious habit of staying up late, researching and shopping online. Each day the mail would bring some article of clothing or trinket, that was "needed" for a future gift, or one of the Ds, or something...

I grew annoyed at this, especially since my days as a high paid lawyer are ending. Plus, I've developed new symptoms of Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder, in the form of hating clutter, and Wifey's piles of tchokes and clothing aggravated my condition.

Well, it turns out she was in training for a new business.

A few weeks ago, she traveled to the Merchandise Mart, and bought a pile of really good looking costume jewelry. She set up a display, first in our dining room, and later moved to her new office/gym upstairs. She invited friends. Business has been booming.

Last night, her friends Lori, Libby, Jody, and Lori's daughter Courtney came over. I assumed the role of jewelry concierge, and poured them white wine. They went upstairs, laughed, and bought jewelry.

When they left, Wifey recorded everything on her computer database. She in bid-ness.

Additionally, she has plans for another project. Wifey finds stuff online for absurdly low prices. She's done this as a favor for friends for years.

I became a believer in her skills 2 years ago. We needed a new refrigerator, and we had one of those absurdly expensive built in models. Brands Mart sold it for nearly %5000. I told Wifey I'd find one online cheaper, and after 2 hours of searching, found a company in Wisconsin that would sell and ship the same model for $3500. I was proud of myself.

Not so fast, said WifeySaves.com! She found a much better deal --closer to $2500. And, she learned that Brandsmart would meet online prices, so we strolled into the store and got our fridge for half price. Even the salesman was impressed. He said, in a Spanish accent "Wow --I never see it thees low!"

So now, Wifey's going to start an online shopping service, in which customers come to her with the price they're going to pay for an article of clothing, jewelry, appliance, etc... and Wifey will charge a fee based on how much she saves them.

She's a prodigious researcher. She'd have been a wonderful librarian in another time. Now she plans to become the next web master!

I'm proud of her, and happy for her. Selfishly, of course, I'd much rather see a net INflow of money instead of OUTflow. Plus, it's healthy for her to be productive.

This is especially so as I am in my final week of law practice. On Monday, my friend Stuart takes over our office, and Paul and I become, as he prefers to call it, a "Board of Directors."

I plan to nurture my inner lazy bastard, at least for awhile...

I rather like the idea of my wife earning some money while I fan myself...

Go Wifey! I'll pour the wine and tote the packages.

Old is NOT for me.

What a busy long weekend in the 305 and 352! Thursday night Wifey and I hosted a reunion party at Villa Wifey. Over 30 people came, and my partner Paul was the affable bartender.

We talked of days gone by, and politics, and cabbages and kings. The best line came about halfway in to the evening. My friend Pete noticed Paul's girlfriend Patricia, who isn't, um, appearance challenged. She is a former Miss Lima, and that's Peru, not Ohio...

Patricia was standing around looking beautiful, and Pete asked if she lived in our building at UM. No, Patricia, said, she would have been in South America then. "Yeah," Pete said..."somehow I think I'd have noticed if you were my neighbor..."

After the consumption of 80 crepes and a goodly amount of wine, rum, and Stoli, everyone left, happy. The returns and notices were all positive...

The next am I drove to Boca and picked up Dr. Eric. He had been to the party, AFTER trips to watch his golfer son Josh compete in Ocala. Josh is amazing --he's one of the state's top golfers AND keeps a 4.0 GPA. I tell Eric he's essentially Eric, but more athletic and with a better personality...Eric agrees.

We drove to Gainesville for the father/daughter AEPHi weekend. Eric's girl Jen and D2 are members. We talked the whole time --of times gone past, and kings and cabbages. And, we talked about old people -- a lot.

Our widowed mothers are old, as are the majority of Eric's patients. Some are sweet, but most are not. They reach 90 and complain about aches. They insist Eric make them healthy, after 40 years of smoking cigarettes...

As if to certify these thoughts, my ancient mother last night had a toddler-like tantrum when I threw out her microwave oven, after it nearly caused a fire. "No, leave it, it's fine!" she pleaded, as the acrid smoke from its burning electric wires choked the kitchen...

I concluded that old people suck...

But back to Gainesville, the land of the young...Eric and I took our girls out to Leonardos for pizza, and then the the Top for healthy-like dinners. We went back to the sorority house for dessert, which was delicious (these are mostly Jewish girls --food is very important. I'm told the WASPy sororities serve watercress...)

On Saturday, D2 and I went to an art festival in Downtown Gainesville. We walked around, and ended up in the City Square, where we heard a folk band with excellent harmonies, and a blues band, with a fat middle aged white lady who belted out tunes.

Children did cartwheels on the grass, in front of the Bo Diddley stage (he lived many years in Gainesville). The cool breeze was delicious. The sun dappled in D2's hair. She giggled. She was gorgeous. As I told her, if there was a more heavenly place to be at that moment --I couldn't imagine where it was.

The day got even better as Norman and Mike texted me updates on the Canes game --a thriller the Canes pulled out! A perfect Saturday!

Saturday night we repaired to Mark's Prime, a Gainesville steakhouse, with Andrea and Chelsea and their dads and brothers. The dads and one brother (Danny) drank vodka. Somehow the talk turned to marijuana and condoms. Andrea, in true form with a wit drier than the Sahara, remarked "Um, I think this group is getting a little TOO comfortable here..."

Andrea has been accorded full ex officio status in our daughter group...

I hugged D2 outside of her dorm, and went off to the hotel. Eric decided we should share a room, "like old times." It was actually fun. There were no "Brokeback Mountain" moments, at least that I could share in a family blog.

Rather, we laughed, and watched ESPN --and cheered at the Canes highlights...We especially laughted that FSU, despite a new coach and the passing of a decade, still can't escape the curse of the Wide Right...

Dana and her brother Steve met us at a Panera Bread on PGA Boulevard. We chatted about the weekend, and then I left for a memorial lunch for Joyce, my friend Mike's mother, who died 2 weeks ago.

I sat at a table with Mike's high school buddies, and lovely words and poems about Joyce were spoken, as we drank Stella Artois beer. Fred Lewis, a Florida Supreme Court justice, who, like me, is a protege of Mike's father Ed, spoke beautifully about Joyce and her family.

In the car on the way home, I told Wifey I'd like to have a service like that for my mother someday...but my mother seems intent on out living me!

Ah, old people. Youth is where it's at.

Election

The mid term results are in, and I'm chuckling to myself as I expected I would. Mencken was SO dead on about the collective intelligence of the American public...

Marco Rubio's going to be our next US senator. He's too conservative for my taste, but I have to root for the guy. He's the son of Cuban immigrants (oh wait - they still call themselves "exiles" even though they've been here 50 years and their offspring are now, um, US senators) and grew up poor. He's not the brightest fellow --he had to start out at Santa Fe College before he could get into UF, and then UM Law, but he's certainly relentless.

Most importantly, he seems to be a national GOP darling, so hopefully that will be good for Florida. I wouldn't be surprised to see him run for president sooner or later, and possible win. He's good looking and charming.

Alex Sink is neither. She lost the governor's race to a guy, Rick Scott, who belongs in federal prison. But, as we all learned in junior high, popular and rich and charming always beats frumpy and smart --issues don't count.

I went to an Alex Sink fundraiser a fe months back. My friend Joel, hoping to secure a judgeship for his sister, committed to raising money for Sink. He hosted a lunch at a restaurant on the Miami River. My partner Paul and I gave money and ate fried seafood.

I sat next to the Democratic candidate. Within 5 minutes, I was so bored with her, I was involving myself in a conversation with 2 Gator lawyers about how good the team was going to be with their new QB Brantley. "Better than with Tebow" was their absurd conclusion...

Sink was frumpy and charmless. She seemed smart, of course, but on the way back to the car, Paul and I told Joel, in most subtle terms, that his investment in the political future of Florida was questionable. "That's one boring, annoying, unlikeable woman" we said...

So we knew then that Sink was sunk. Even her name was downcast and wrong for victory. Vote for the Titanic!

So, my decision to get out of the personal injury business seems well timed. Between Rick Scott and the GOP Florida legislature, the most draconian anti-plaintiffs laws are on the near horizon. Bad faith law, the hammer we use to get insurance companies to settle cases, will evaporate. That will effectively kill the PI business, in my opinion. With no financial incentive to settle, insurers will string cases along for years...bankrupting PI firms along the way.

Oh well.

Hemingway had the right philosophy. All we can do is try to secure our own lives and happiness. If we get caught up in things like idealism, and altruism, the stupidity and naivete of our fellow citizens will shoot us down.

Rick Scott as governor of Florida. Amazing...