Red Tape in the Bush

So the Republicans are firmly in control of Florida government, and that of course means a reduction in silly regulations and paperwork. Ha! As if!

I continue to confuse Republicans with Libertarians. They ain't. If anything, modern Republicans equal more government...

D2, like D1 before her, is a winner of a Bright Futures Scholarship. BFSs were the brainchild of Lawton Chiles, probably the best governor Florida had since Bob Graham. Chiles and his cohorts realized that the best and brightest Florida HS grads were leaving the state for other more prestigious public and private universities, resulting in a brain drain of a state already suffering from a serious lack of brainpower.

So the BFS gave full scholarships to state schools to kids who might have gone to North Carolina, Michigan, Emory, Vanderbilt, Tulane (before Katrina, when people actually wanted to go there), etc...And, if these blue chip high schoolers stayed at Florida private colleges, like my beloved U, the BTS would pay them a scholarship equal to that U Florida cost.

The program was a stunning success. It turned Florida from a lower ranked university to a truly elite one. To get into Florida, in the last 10 years, you essentially needed grades and SAT scores of the level to get a BFS.

It made simple sense. Junior came to his parents and said "Dad, Duke for $40k per year tuition, or Florida for, um FREE." Other than the JAPPiest of Jews or most naive of WASPS (or immigrant parents, who dreamed of sending their kids to places like Georgetown or Notre Dame), the deal was too good to pass up.

In a decade, Florida became an "It" university, and somehow the U vaulted to the US News Top 50 list. Simple math: free tuition was too hard to pass up.

It worked in this house! Even D1, who WOULD have liked the concierge-like services of, say, an Emory, realized it made no sense to pass up the free ride at Florida. And it seemed all her friends were likewise from well off families who could have afforded private or out of state colleges, but realized how silly it was to spend a quater of a million on tuition to drink, hang out, and figure out what grad program to attend.

D2 followed suit, and now reports she can't imagine anyone liking college as much as she does in Gainesville. And, so far, she hasn't become a Gator fan. Oh, how my cup runneth over...

So anyway, back to BFS program...The Republicans have been cutting it. And I can't disagree with that --in many ways, it is "mission accomplished." It is now so competitive to get into Florida (and Miami, and, to a lesser extent, FSU and even UCF and FIU) that the carrot is no longer necessary. And, in this bad economy, Junior wouldn't with a straight face come into the living room with the $40k per year idea, unless he was dumb enough to take out loans and leave himself owing a mortgage payment with no real hope of getting a good job.

So, the Republicans simply did away with BFS beginning with incoming classes next year. Ha again! As if! No --now they require BFS recipients to fill out a financial aid application --an application that discloses all my finances for a scholarship supposedly NOT need based!

Last night, D2 and I spent 20 minutes on the phone getting the stupid app done. I was tempted to tell them to get lost, but if D2 takes 30 credits next year, BFS will pay her $3000.00. Since I already bought a Prepaid Plan, which pays for tuition and fees, the BFS money will pay for most of her sorority house and meals. I'm not rich enough to blow that off.

Ah, Republicans. Florida is in the hands of a governor who truly should be in federal prison for Medicare fraud, and a bunch of senators and legislators more concerned with abortion ultrasounds than they are about real issues that affect us.

Maybe that's a good thing. If they spend all their time on Tea Party and religious right pandering, maybe they'll have less opportunity to enact moronic regulations like requiring financial forms for things supposedly having nothing to do with finances.

Nah. They'll make the time to annoy.

Back...Back in the Gainesville Groove

Dr. Barry and I met last week for a beer and some octopus at the Greek place near JMH, and we discussed a recent "Atlantic Monthly" article about helicopter parenting. It was written by a psychologist who reported that Gen X ers come to see her with issues, and their history reveals that they love their parents TOO much, as their parents have done nothing but made their lives easier...

With that in mind, I left with D2 for her Summer B session at UF. Ha! The truth is, I am paranoid about that damned drive up the Turnpike, and I chose to go with her to move her car there for the next 3 years of college.

D2 is not required to take a Summer session, and in fact is not enrolled, but is starting a research project with a Psych professor, and I wondered why anyone would choose to voluntarily spend Summer in a place even hotter and humid than Miami.

Alas --it turns out that Summer for UF students is, as D2 described it, Summer sleepaway camp for grownups. Most of D2's friends are there, and the minimal class schedules and less crowded nature of Gainesville in Summer makes for a surfeit of partying and hanging out.

So D2 and I drove to Delray, saw Ancient Mom, and brought some deli sandwiches. Mom shared some glorious non sensical life advice with D2 "It's ok to fool around, but stay serious" and D2 and I laughed heartily. Yogi Berra has nothing on my mother, especially as she grows more senile...

We then made a straight shot to the 352, passing through torrential rain north of Ocala ("A HA!" I thought to myself --"Good thing I did the driving!"). We were greeted by Ashley, D2's summer roommate and sorority sister. The two girls will live in the "Creamsicle," a bungalo next to the sorority house so named because of its paint color.

We then fetched Josh at the ZBT house, where he was hard at work readying the house for the Fall, and headed to the Copper Monkey for dinner. The CM has been there since 1980, and I always like to visit --I was first there myself when my UM friends and I visited Gville and some coeds in the early 80s...

We dropped off Josh, and went to see "Bad Teacher," at a 1030 pm showing! D2 was impressed --I'm usually long asleep by then, but I figured when in a college town, you have to do as the college kids do...

Saturday I took the girls to the Flying Biscuit for breakfast. Ashley had never been, and was properly impressed. From there, they dropped me at GNV, where I flew home.

And so D2 is in College Summer Camp. She's flying back home in a few weeks to celebrate my 50th birthday. How can that be? I'm still the same age as D2 and her friends? Didn't Drs. Barry and Eric and Mark and I just go to Skeeters on Archer Road, and eat enormous biscuits? How has 1981 become 2011?

Must be some type of time warp...

Streets of Philadelphia

So there's still a bit of law business to do, and it took me to Philly for about 30 hours. My partner Paul's a native, and his old friend Lou lives there in the Summer. Leave it to Paul: he called Lou and asked him to squire me around when I arrived.

Tuesday was a travel day, and sure enough, there was Lou at the airport, picking me up with some cold water and delicious cut up cantelope.

Lou retired years ago, and lives in the house he grew up in in Northeast Philly. He LOVES the horses, and spends most days at the track or OTB, meeting his many friends. He comes to Florida each winter, and does the same here at Gulfstream.

The man is a model of a zen like existence. He lives well and simply, with few attachments. He's dated ladies over the years, but found the complications outweigh the upside. He's a terrific companion --happy to share a good meal and good conversation. I always savor my time with him, whether in Florida of up North.

So Lou set up lunch with one of his track mates --Frank, a retired city worker. We went to a place in South Philly right out of a time machine. EVERYONE there was Italian, except for Lou and me, and we're Northeastern Jews, which is as close as you can get.

The waitress Anna Maria brought us delicious lentil soup, and chicken and veal parm, and Chianti. The veal is "the best in the city." And sure enough, just as I was remembering Michael Corleone getting up to take a leak, in walked an older gentleman.

Conversation stopped, for a moment. Frank told us that, in his day, the fellow was very powerful in the city. He was courtly and gracious. Frank introduced us, and we joked about my hometown "The girls still as pretty there as I remember, Dave?" I told him they were, but that Hialeah Race TRack was no longer as elegant, though it may be coming back...

The food was delicious. For dessert, there was an almond cookie and lemon cake "only make it in the summer." I tried to pay the bill, and the waitress smirked and handed back my credit card: "Cash only, and you only pay after espresso --enjoy your time here."

The older gentleman left, and he and Frank kissed and hugged. "Lou," he said, "FRank is a fine gentleman." Lou said he knew.

Lou got up to take a leak, and secretly paid, with cash. But then Anna Maria handed him too much change. Lou tried to correct her, but then she said the older gentleman paid.

Frank told us that was typical for him. I thanked Frank, and told him now he HAD to let me reciprocate in South Florida. Frank was planning on coming to go to a few sessions at Gulfstream with Lou, probably in January.

And so my welcome to Philly was a warm one.

Lou dropped me at the hotel, and we said in the gorgeous lobby, and talked and laughed.

The trip was already a success...

Erev Mule Day

So we hadn't socialized with our friend Rob for awhile, and last Saturday our group of old Canes fans friends went to his house. Due to a freak of scheduling, last night the same group got together with Becky, his ex wife.

Mike made reservations for Christy's, my favorite restaurant. Wifey and I arrived first, at the wonderful and tiny piano bar. On the way in, we ran into some fellow parents from the grade school years, whose daughter and son ended up at UF with D1. We joked that we all hadn't aged...even though our "children" were in grad school or working at first jobs...

The bar has 7 stools, and soon Becky, Mike, Loni, Paul and Darriel filled them all. We caught up with Becky's new life in Dallas, including a boyfriend who I thought she said owned an oil company, but it turns out works for an oil company. I told her if it was the former --I'D be interested in dating him...

2 Ketel Ones later, we went to our table. Christy's has a great deal this summer --salad, entree, and dessert for $35. I had a WONDERFUL filet, and Wifey had her usual salmon. The laughs and memories continued to flow.

I handed Wifey the car keys (like Clapton in one of her favorite songs) and we left for home. A few blocks away, there was a vile odor. Wifey immediately announced it wasn't her. No --this was the unmistakeable scent of wet, fresh, squished dog shit.

I looked down, and sure enough, there it was -- enveloping most of my right shoe. This clearly was the product of a seriously large dog --mastiff at the smallest.

We opened the windows, and I tried to clean off as much as I could --and held the shoe outside as we drove down US 1. We laughed heartily --as did the occupants of the cars who saw me and knew immediately what had happened.

Into each life, some dog crap must appear...

I just finished cleaning out my car's mats, and am ready for another day...

D2 is up in Weston, visiting her friend Josh. She's due back in a few hours. We'll head to Brickell, after D1 gets off work, and celebrate Mule Day at a sushi place next to my office.

They already slipped on my gift --after I quite ungracefully told them I wanted NOTHING except my annual emails. They bought me a Kindle, which I really DID want, but hadn't got around to buying...

And their emails, sent after midnight, moved me to tears...

So tonight, I figure the only thing I have to do is look down when I walk.

Happy Mule Day

Tomorrow is Father's Day. My Ds and Wifey will take me to dinner. We usually go out early, but D1 has started a part time job at a Downtown restaurant, and has to work until 5, so D2, Wifey, and I plan to meet her on Brickell at a local sushi place.

Being a father is my most sacred identity. I put MORE than my all into it, from the day each of the Ds came into my arms. They've taught me the concept of unconditional love. I guess if I were religious, I'd feel that way about the Big Guy upstairs, but I grapple with that. My love for the Ds -- it's the very essence of my soul.

Several years ago, one of my roommate's secretaries was at lunch, and we were talking about children. She's a nice lady, and, past 50 now, a confirmed spinster. She started talking about peoples'obsession about their kids. I stopped her --telling her that unless she was a parent --she simply couldn't know. The love for one's kids is primal...

Anyway, now that the Ds are grown, my roles as a Dad have changed. But I'm still a mule --the guy who schleps and supports them and Wifey.

This week, I've been bust as a fleet manager. I'm responsible for the care and feeding of 4 cars, including my own. D1's car is in HER name, but somehow I'm still the guy who takes it in for service.

D2's car is going to Gainesville with her next week, so I had to get it ready. I took it for an oil change, and the Firestone (tm) tech showed me an oil leak, which was covered under warranty, so that meant a trip to the Volvo dealer yesterday, followed by 2 Metrorail rides...

Last night, D2 came home and thanked me. Wifey asked why I do all I do for her and the girls.

Simple: I'm a mule! Mules just plod along, carrying the burden...

I learned from my father. He was MY mule. I watched as he took care of everyone in his family. My sisters were grown by the time I was old enough to notice stuff like this, but I still watched him fly to California when my sister's child was born, in 1982, to try to make life easier for her (alas, her piece of crap husband at the time thwarted my father's efforts).

Still, up to the day of my father's untimely death --my Dad lived for his family. The night before he died, he asked me to give up a beach day with friends to make things easier for my mother --in case he needed to go back to the hospital. He was prescient that night --he would die the next day, in my arms, and I wonder how my mother would have fared if I weren't there to that day become the mule, and ease her burden...

So happy mule day to me, tomorrow! I'm incredibly blessed in my life. Bob Dylan, king of the hippie Jews who dabbled in Christianity for awhile, sang (in my favorite song from that era) that you "gotta serve somebody." I do, and that's my highest blessing.

Old Friends

I met Rob back in the early 80s. His parents were friends with my friend Mike's parents, and Rob and I attended Canes games together. He is the LOUDEST Canes fan, by far, and has a sharp wit that typically gets whole sections of the stadium going wild, with a well played jab at an opposing team or coach.

Rob bought his father's insurance business, and we became clients. We stayed clients through several incarnations of the agency, but last year Rob left to start his own, new gig. I wish him well.

He was married for nearly 20 years to Becky, and they made us a group of couples/ Canes fans who partied hard and hearty together for a long time. They divorced a few years ago, and Becky moved to Texas. Rob met a new lady, Monica, a Colombian-American from LA. Last night they had us over to Monica's house in Cutler Bay.

Mike and Loni were there, as well as Paul and Darriel. Mike and Paul met at Killian High over 35 years ago, and have been close ever since. Loni and Darriel were co workers at the Falls Mall, and, 25 years ago, I married Darriel and Paul at the now torn down Sonesta on Key Biscayne. Now they're grandparents together.

We see Mike and Loni often, since D2 and their oldest grew up together and are close, but it's been a long time since the rest of the group got together. Last night was a nice reunion.

Rob made gourmet Mac and Cheese, and grilled steaks. We drank and laughed, and talked about our past parties and Canes trips.

Paul has been a pharma sales rep for more than 25 years, and like me, he's looking for a career change. He's an empty nester, and paid off his home a few years ago, so he's in a position to pick something fulfilling instead of only profitable. We decided someone ought to pay us for going to Canes games together...

So it was a very nice, suburban good time last night. Old friends, the Colombians say, are like old shoes --familiar, comfortable, and they take you anywhere in the world you want to go.

Youts

D2's been enjoying a languid summer vacation. She sleeps late, which is one of her favorite things, and spends her time hanging around, doing errands, decompressing from college. She worked hard and earned a 4.0 GPA, so I love that she's taking a well deserved break. She's only here another few weeks before heading back to UF to start a research project with a Gator professor.

Last night, several friends dropped by. Ben, her friend since middle school, and his usual harem. Ben reminds me a lot of myself -- I was always surrounded my female friends in high school and college. Ben has two brothers and I think he enjoys the change.

Rebecca came, too. She's my favorite Seminole, and then Alex the Badger and Elise the Terrapin showed up as well. Wifey and I hung around for awhile, enjoying the company of these fine youts, as Joe Peschi called them in "My Cousin Vinny." And then we went upstairs, leaving them to their yout-fullness...

I just hope they appreciate this time in their lives. I know I did. Even as a young man, I had a sense of appreciation for those years --the exquisiteness of hanging with friends, and learning human nature together.

Some of my peers were always uneasy. They were in a rush to finish college, and then grad school --to start the business of adult business. I looked forward to it as well, but savored the trip to the future. I wish this all the time for my Ds...

D1 called yesterday from an upscale restaurant, where she was hired in her second official job. She worked in a clothing store as a high school student, but since then has babysat and worked as a home organizer and au pair, but now gets to fill out the W-4 again...

The job is perfect for her --weekends only --so it won't interfere with grad school classes, and the money she earns can satisfy her shopping addiction.

A young banker friend came over last evening, to buy some of Wifey's jewelry. Lourdes is in her mid 30s, and showed us pictures of her tow kids, 3 and 5. She chatted with D2, and I showed Lourdes pictures of D2 when SHE was 3. It doesn't seem possible that more than a decade and a half have passed.

So here's to lazy summers, and the glory of youth. I do my best to reclaim this for myself as often as possible.

SO out of here...

I have always loved Miami. I guess it started when we came on vacation in the 70s, and my father, who was my mentor and hero, said he never breathed as well as he did when he entered the hot, humid air. The place was exotic to me, as well as familiar -- plenty of NY culture mixed with that of Latin America...

When I moved here full time in 1979, things were turbulent. The Mariel Boatlift was the last straw for xenophobic natives. Some of those folks said "MiamUH," and hailed from Georgia and Alabama. But some, to my embarrasment, were Jews who were born and raised here, and somehow forgot that Jews were perpetually outsiders, and not moronic nativists who resented folks who spoke other languages...

A popular bumper sticker said "Will the last American to leave Miami please bring the flag." A lot of thse popped up, and I always thought they showed that idiots were inside. So a lot of folks speak Spanish here. Who gives a hell? So much of what one overhears in everyday life is banal --I figure it's a blessing to not have to listen to store clerks discussing matters of vast importance like who was going to win "American Idol."

And then there were the elites in the early 80s, claiming that Miami was a cultural wasteland. Somehow those have been proven wrong, as Miami is now considered an artistic and musical and architectural mecca --even the snotty NY Times crows about Art Basel, and the new concert halls, and the booming Design District.

To me, Miami was always a young city on the make, whose ultimate beauty would come from the fact that people came here from all over --like New York 100 years ago.

It seems there are fewer naysayers. I no longer see the bumper stickers. D1 moved to Brickell, and her whole neighborhood teems with young professionals building a real urban neighborhood.

Last night, I had a cocktail at Trulucks, and the place was packed with new arrivals, including a CEO from Minneapolis who can't get over how much he loves it here --after a lifetime in the awful weather of the Midwest...

The piano player was from Cleveland, and in our group was a former Pittsburgher, a Philly guy, 2 fellow Long Islanders, and, by some strange coincidence, THREE Hoosiers. My bartender George is a Miami Cuban who lived for years in Atlanta and missed it here too much.

It helps to have a lot of money here. Especially in the suburbs, there is a lot of bitterness from those who haven't made it. They decry the shallow materialism of South Florida. In other words, bitter losers...

So, I used to argue with the malcontents. Now I figure --if you don't like it here --fine! Don't let the palm fronds hit you on your ass on your way out. The traffic IS awful. IT used to be that crime was the main problem --now it's not much of a factor.

The traffic crawls. I guess too many folks want to live here after all. Like the answer bumper sticker said "The flag's staying!" And, happily, so is my family and me. (Even if the Heat loses the Finals)

Country Club

Last week was one of serious drinking. On Thursday I met my friend and neighbor Pat at Truluck's, with plans to be joined by Stuart. I got there early, as usual (one of my most annoying habits --I'm early for EVERYTHING), and sat at the bar.

A fellow about my age noticed I was working on a pleading, and remarked that it must be great to be a lawyer, and bill time while enjoying a martini. I laughted, and we struck up a conversation.

He was the CEO of a litigation support company I knew well. He had moved here from Minneapolis a few months ago, and was just getting the lay of the land here. When Stuart arrived, we realized that he was a client of the company's, and, right away, had much in common. Next Pat arrived, and the 4 of us enjoyed another drink and good male conversation.

Stuart left, and our new friend talked about his company and venture capital, etc...I did what I do best: made a connection. I told him he needed to speak to Pat, as Pat's company recently acquired a VC group, who had millions burning holes in their pockets...

I told him about Pat's country club, and Pat seized upon the opportunity: inviting our new friend for a happy hour on Friday. He asked me to come along.

And so, I was inducted into a SECOND night of drinks, at the old club. I'd been there with Pat several times before, and always get a kick out of it. I think they admitted their first Jew about 1985, and the club is really still old "Miamuh" though it's slowly turning a bit more modern.

So I met Pat, and then our friend Richard came, along with his artist fiancee. We enjoyed a lovely night, and, in fact, business might well get done.

After a few, though, the talk turned to politics, among a developer, corporate lawyer, Pat, and our new friend Richard. The talk was who would be the GOP candidate in the next presidential election.

Somehow, I was asked my thoughts, and I said I was an Obama guy. I got, literally, sideways looks. I have a feeling I was the only guy in the whole club (except for the servers) who likes our current prez...

The conversation stayed polite, but now I'm reminded to not expose my true political identity at a Gables country club.

As I left, I thanked the young lady at the bar who brought our drinks. She was Hispanic in appearance. I asked where her family was from. "Mexico," she replied. I knew she had overheard some of our conversation. "Well I bet YOU like Obama!" I said.

She smiled, and wouldn't verbally admit it...

Sports Fans

I spent a perfectly lovely evening with D2 and friends and neighbors Pat and Patrick. Pat senior came over with a bottle of Middleton, the Irish whiskey he intoduced me to years ago, and the 4 of us retreated to my sports room to watch the Heat open the NBA finals.

Pat is a Bull Gator, which means he's a major contributing alum, and he enjoyed hearing about D2's experiences, especially her conclusion that she can't imagine anyone enjoying college as much anywhere else...

Patrick junior is a terrific young man --entering high school this Fall at Ransom, and smart, kind, and most knowledgeable about sports. His only negative is that he follows his father's religion, and loves the Gators, too...

I'd like to see the Heat win, but I'm too jaded to be a real fan. College sports, as corrupt as they are, still seem purer to me. The Heat's billionaire owner had their millionaire manager, Pat Riley, convince star players to "take their talents to South Beach," and, exactly as predicted, are kicking everyone's butts.

It's nice for a city when the team wins, but I don't really FEEL it, as I do when the Canes win (or lose).

Part of it is my populist upbringing. I used to go to NY Nets games, back when they were in the ABA, and it seemed a true communal event. Richer folks than my family sat closer, but it was all one arena. The teacher and bus driver actually felt equal to the stockbroker or lawyer...

Same with the Mets, at Shea. It's embarrasing to admit, but I actually met my fist black person at a Mets game. His name was Luther, and he worked for the Urban League, and I remember him being impressed that a white kid from Levittown knew all about Mobile, Alabama. I had researched that town because it was where my two Mets idols, Tommie Agee and Cleon Jones, grew up.

The AAA, where the Heat play, is out of ancient Rome. The lunchpail Irvings, as I call the middle class fans, aren't even allowed in the lower bowl. And the arena is built in such a way that the lower bowl and skyboxes are close to the action, while the upper seats truly require binoculars.

I sat in the upper deck once, with my friend Jim, and I truly felt second class...I guess that colors my feelings.

So, I'll watch the rest of the series. Tomorrow night I may watch the first half at my local bar, Trulucks. Ian, one of the barkeeps, is a rabid Dallas fan (he grew up there) so it might be fun to gig him as his star player Nowitsky whines about every call.

But I need my Canes back. I need them to win, and strut, and win a 6th championship.

Then I'll shout, lose my voice, and have the whole affair in my heart.