Car Talk Continued

Of all the cars I've had, my favorite, by far, have been the Lexus(es). My office roommate Mark makes fun of them -- he calls them appliances. Sure, he says, they're dependable, and well built, but BORING. Well guess what? I love boring when it comes to cars. I want leather seats, a good sound system, a/c that battles well Miami weather, and the car to not freaking break down. And so, yesterday, after Paul and I attended a photo shoot for Gospel Truth Magazine (really), I had some time to car shop. The photo shoot was with my old friend Daryl, who's being featured. We've decided to team up with him to handle injury cases, and he wanted us to be seen in the shots, along with an impressive young lawyer who handles criminal cases. I walked into my local Lexus dealership, and met with the internet manager. He said simply, that hybrid leases were NOT the greatest deals, since many people wanted them after spending with disgust at the gas pump. But, he promised, he would hand me over to a salesman with instructions to offer me the car "at invoice." Mauricio was about 6 2", a charming and handsome young man, about late 20s. He looked Dutch to me, but was Brazilian. He was direct, professional, and courteous. He explained that my Hyndai was worth about $500 more than the lease payoff, given its body damage (I had cut too close to a pole in my office lot). He gave me the prices on the small crossover C model I had interest in. He told me getting the navigation and backup camera would add $50 per month to the lease, but why would I want that when I had GPS on my cell phone (he wrongly assumed) and the "you only need a back up camera on a big vehicle). In short, he was the best salesman I ever met. Next thing I knew, I was signing papers. There was nothing down, and the monthly payments were $50 less per month than my Korean car. They pulled the Hyundai around next to my new small crossover model, I transferred stuff from the trunk that I had put inside nearly 3 years ago and never used, and off I drove, silently at first, in my little hybrid. I called D1 first. She was positively scandalized at the thought that her big shot Dad would drive a Camry. She looked up photos of the new vehicle, and although it was small and the second cheapest Lexus you can get, she was relieved. I next called Paul, and told him the good and bad news: he wouldn't have to stomach telling folks that his partner drove a Camry, but the Lexus I got WAS a small one. But wait -- he could justify it by telling people that I had become a Green guy, and that was why I got a small hybrid instead of my previous land cruiser LS 460 (which would now cost about $1200 per month to lease). The hilarious part of all this is how much psychology and sociology is involved in the car you drive. All I know is, my new little gray buggy smells new car leather terrific, has XM/Sirius radio, and a freezing cold AC. I have a strong sense that the seat switches won't fail 5 times like the wannabee Lexus Hyundai. Mauricio smiled as I shook his hand and said "You have had your fling with the Korean, but have come back to the best of Japan." Whatever. I do look forward to round trips to Gainesville on a single gas tank. I guess I also look forward to smirks and chuckles from the valet when I go to restuarants like The Palm. That's ok. They don't have to pay high gas bills.

Car Talk

My Hyundai lease is nearing its end, and I've begun thinking about my next car. I think I'm coming full circle... My first car was one my Dad bought for me: a 1978 carmine red Firebird. It was the coolest car anyone in my high school had, and reflected that Dad was doing great financially, and I was a model son. Dad spoiled me in ways he wished he was spoiled, and the car was the epitome of that. Of course, when I got to the U the next year, and saw all the kids with Porsches and Mercedes and Corvettes, I immediately learned that being spoiled, like all else in life, was relative. Still, that car got me all through college and most of law school, although, in retrospect, it was mechanically a piece of crap. It would stall all the time, and represented the worst of GM in the late 70s... After the Firebird was wrecked by a lawyer's daughter in North Miami running a red light, I sold it and took Mom's old Buick Century. She got a new car, and I took over hers. The low point in owning that ugly 80s box was when our friend Elizabeth came for a visit, and assumed it was a car my law firm had given me to drive -- she didn't think people under 30 actually drove Buicks... Next up was a great and practical Mazda 626. We bought it for Wifey, but then I took it over when D1 was born, and Wifey quit working. We so loved Mazdas, we bought her a Mazda 323, which we replaced when D2 came along with a Mazda van. Ah, the days of mommy vehicles. I then leased my first near luxury car -- a Mitsubishi Diamante. It cost $299 per month, nothing down, and had leather seats and a cd player. That car was great, and I had it when Paul and I started the firm. Paul convinced me that our image required luxury cars, and so I gave the Diamante to Paul's son Alex to drive (he was still in high school) and I leased a '94 Jaguar. Years before, when the Firebird was in the shop, I was driving a Dodge Omni, the cheapest of economy cars. I held forth about how no one really needed any more expensive car than that -- it had a great AC and stereo. I drove Dr. Eric, always more into cars than I was, and shared my philosophy. When I picked him up in the Jaguar, he looked at me and said "Wow --this is quite a Dodge Omni." He was right, of course, I was full of it. During the next years, I drove a second Jaguar, a Cadillac DTS (getting in touch with my inner Tony Soprano), a total of 3 big Lexuses, and a BMW 740 IL. The last was by far the most expensive, and my old boss Ed had a 740, so in some subtle one upmanship, I got the bigger and more expensive IL... Well now I am considering the unthinkable, at least according to my lawyer friends and D1: I may lease the most pedestrian of all cars: a Toyota Camry. I'll get a hybrid, so maybe that will mean some green cred, but I drove one yesterday, and it was terrific. Plus, all the reviews say it's a great car, and I look forward to nearly 40 mpg... My friend Joel came by yesterday, in his navy blue or black (I can never tell) Porsche 911. He's a young criminal defense lawyer on the make, and has to drive the image car, as I did when the firm was up and coming. He told me getting a Camry would be the ultimate F-U -- that it was a message to my peers that I truly didn't care about my image... We'll see. I went to Kendall Toyota yesterday, and endured some of the awful psychology. The salesman, barely conversant in English, showed me a car and then happily said I could have it for about $600 per month -- "sign and drive." Ha. I asked where the BMW 5 Series was -- that's what one of those costs. The Camry Hybrid should be about $350 per month. So the next car will be much cheaper and gas efficient -- either a Sonata Hybrid or the car of the people -- the Camry. I have a feeling that chicks will still dig me, whatever I drive...

When Sunny Gets Blue

It was a quiet Saturday in and around Villa Wifey. D1 was off in training with her part time employer --learning how to sell craft Mezcal. Now she can explain both cognac and the Mexican beverage to curious liquor shoppers. Although she's part time, her prowess and sunny disposition were reported to the company brass, and they offered her a full time marketing job. She politely declined -- she's nearly finished with her MS in Dietetics and Nutrition, but its nice to know she has an attractive fall back. D2 was off with the strange dog that lives in our house -- Vienna. She's getting Vienna certified as a therapy dog, and so was off at the Palace ALF. After she returned, she then drove to Weston, to say goodbye to boyfriend Josh, who's off to Gville for summer session. Wifey was having a bad back day, and so I went alone to visit ancient Mom. She was in good spirits, and mostly in the real world, except for those 2 phantasmic younger versions of my sisters. She asked me if Trudy was "going with anyone." I told her yes -- Dennis, my brother in law of nearly 45 years, but she said "No, the OTHER Trudy!" I told her I didn't know. Mom has settled into her routine. She loves the food, and the care given her. Still, as I sat by her bed, a pregnant pause descended, and she said "David --you don't think I have much to say, do you?" I brushed that off, and told her how happy I was that she was happy. But the truth is, my mother and I NEVER had that much to talk about, even in her much younger days. My Dad and I talked all the time, about politics, and family and human nature. Sunny and I were always at a loss for conversation, once we got past the surface topics of our mutual relatives. As Tony S remarked -- what are ya gonna do? I told her I'd be back to see her during the week. I came home, and treated myself to a few frozen Ketel Ones. Our friend Diane had left a bottle in our freezer, and it beckoned to me.

Here Comes the Rain Again

Summer has begun, and the rains have come. We usually have the summer rain pattern this time of year, in which the early part of the day is hot and humid, and afternoon brings huge thunderstorms from the Everglades. But the past few days it's been, as the English weather lady famously malapropped years ago, incest and rain. The Heat won the NBA championship, and I watched the first part of the last game with Wifey and the Ds. D1 was staying with us since her boyfriend Joel decamped to NYC to visit his best college bud. D1 gave up in the 3rd quarter, and Wifey did the same, so D2 and I watched the Heat take over and dominate. They have a parade planned for Monday, which will go right past my office. I'll probably step outside and watch them go by. When you anaylze this, being a fan has no basis. A bunch of spoiled millionaires, largely from inner city backgrounds, beat a different set of them. The players have no loyalty to a city. Lebron James fled his native Cleveland and has already said he might leave Miami in a few years. But it's just plain fun to be involved, and a whole city gets happy when its team wins. The team I've been following more closely, the Marlins, has slumped terribly. Still, I plan to take the Ds to the park Tuesday night, to have a few cold beverages and watch the game and the people... Wifey's set to fly to Atlanta Tuesday, and it's a major step for her and her bad back. I joke with D2 that it'll be time to have a major party --like maybe something out of a teen movie. She reminds me that I'm a parent, too, and such an idea is a non starter. So the plan is to stay dry, and enjoy the togetherness. Still I wonder -- who'll stop this rain?

El Dia De Los Padres

When the Ds were little, Father's Day always meant one thing: the JCC Camp Jubilee. We'd fight the crowds and go into the big gym, where the JCC staff would greet the new campers, and teach us all that year's camp song. It was always to the tune of something out of a Broadway show, like "Grease." We'd catch up with friends we hadn't seen since last summer, as would the Ds. The Dads would talk sports, and the Moms would talk the gossip about the camp staff. One year there was a doozy -- 2 of the directors had been carrying on an affair, and been spotted together in NYC, on "camp business." These days are long gone. I spent this past FD mostly on the road -- D2 and I finished setting up her Gville house, and returned to Miami. Elizabeth was visiting from Orlando, and later in the evening D1 joined us. She had spent a terrific weekend with her boyfriend Joel's family, in Longboat Key, haven for midwesterners. They ate at the fine old place Euphemia Haye -- I was there nearly 20 years ago, with my old boss Ed. Anyway, we brought in DiNapoli, and ate and laughed and talked. I toasted Elizabeth's father, who died just a few months ago, my Dad, who is gone 30 years next month, and the 2 living Dads in our lives: Wifey's, and ME! Afterwards D1 left for Brickell, and the rest of us watched the Heat game. Our swarthy giants outplayed Oklahoma's crew, and the Heat went up 2-1 in the Finals... So it was a fine Dia de los Padres... Wifey's back is rearing its ugly head a bit less, and she's scheduled to take her first trip in awhile -- to Atlanta, to visit her dear friend Edna. I think the trip will be great for her. The Ds and I will hold down the Miami Base of Operations, as usual. Every day is Father's Day for me.

Gainesville Green

As I write, I'm sitting at a kitchen table in D2's newly rented house. She and 3 sorority sisters took possession yesterday, and D2 and I schlepped up the Turnpike and I 75 with a bunch of stuff to move her in. Actually, she's not going to be living here until August, but a sub tenant will be coming for summer session, and D2 promised her the place would be furnished. The drive up was fine. D2 and I talked about life and all it contains. She's at a great place, as the Buddhists would say --smack dab in the middle of her college years, with a fine boyfriend and wonderful cast of friends. The night before, I was at a law firm birthday party --my friend John's firm turned 15. A bunch of Gators were there, and they reminisced about their years in Gainesville in the late 70s and early 80s. I loved my time at the U, of course, but there's nothing like being in a real college town for college. D2 and I put together her bed, and I popped in some drawer handles for her. Then we drove around picking up various pieces of furniture that had spread over the years since D1 was in Gville. We ate burritos at Moe's. I slept the great sleep of a young person. It was nice to be far away from the problems of my ancient mother, and Wifey's aging parents, for awhile. Today, Catherine is coming up with her Dad Chris, who has an aging pickup truck. He and I will go pick up (ha!) the Craigslist sofas the girls bought, and plop them into the living room. Apparently Chris will then undertake, with his daughter, some IKEA furniture assembly. Like Gunga Din, he's a better (and braver) man than I. Ashley hired a handyman to mount the used flat screen the girls bought from a fraternity friend. He's here now doing his thing. Nice fellow - a little older than I, originally from San Francisco, and he was telling me about his grandkids. He, like my partner Paul, reports that he looked forward to having them, and it's BETTER than he expected. Are those days so far off for me? My first trip to Gainesville was, I think, 1982. Eric, Barry, Mark and I slept on Mark's friend's Debbie's floor. Eric's now a cardiologist, Barry's an academic pediatrician, Mark's a neurosurgeon, and Debbie is a bankruptcy lawyer and Mom who just beat breast cancer. 30 years ago, we only cared about the Canes beating the Gators (the didn't -- a circus catch near the end of the game led to lizards to victory) and drinking and partying. And fate brings me back to this college town again and again. First D1 had four years here, and now D2 is in the midst of it. It's really a very pleasant trip...

Good Grief

I had a long and interesting talk yesterday with an expert on a case I'm working on. She's a clinical psychologist, and consulting for us. We talked about the concept of grieving. She asked whether I'd ever lost someone close to me, and I told her about my father, gone 30 years next month. She asked how I grieved his death. I realized I never did. Even in that barbershop where he died, I couldn't do it. My mother came into the scene, as the paramedics were working on him, and I immediately came to her side. She was slow in processing what was going on, and scared and nervous like a little girl. I threw my arms around her, and immediately went into protective role. I was still just 20, but knew it was my role. Later, in the days following, I met my friends and got drunk and numb about the affair. Then came the practical things that I had to do, like coordinating visits from my sisters, shuttling back and forth from the airports, etc... Then I had to learn how to balance a check book, learn about car and homeowner's insurance, condo fees, and all the other activities of the adult world. I went back to my summer job at Jordan Marsh, and then 2 months later returned for my senior year of college. All the while, I had to care take my mother -- who seemed so very old at the time. She was just 11 years older than I am now -- 62. Life came rushing at me. I figured I had to do something practical with my English degree, and applied to the state's 2 best law schools -- UF and UM. I got into both, but knew my mother needed my help, and Gainesville was too far away. So I stayed at UM. It was a great choice -- I met mentors who truly guided my career, and contacts that have made all the difference. I met my life partner, Wifey. The other day, after I got my haircut (fortunately with no fatal MI -- I think about that every time I get in the chair), as I was leaving the shop, the lovely receptionist Rachel told me it was her birthday. She would turn 25. Wow, I reminisced --25 was a big year for me. I graduated law school, passed the Bar, bought a house, and got married. Rachel was awed -- she was still trying to move out of her parents' house! And I never grieved my father's death. Yesterday, I spent some time with his widow -- now back and forth between fantasy and reality. She thinks my sisters have counterparts who visit her -- they're 12 and 15. I have no such doppleganger -- I'm in my mother's mind only as an adult. I guess my sisters can exist as children to her -- spoiled ones, at that, according to her hallucinations, but not me. I'm her caretaker. I'm her grownup. I wonder what toll this has taken on me these past 3 decades. Still, I won't whine about it. Even chatting with this psychologist, I thought of the great Geico commercial that talks about people having appropriate jobs -- the Marine Drill sergeant makes an awful therapist -- he throws the tissues at the man who is expressing his deep feelings and tells him to butch up. Still, I have to figure out a way to grieve...even 30 years after the fact.

The Simple Pleasures

D1 came back to the Villa last night, as she's driving Wifey to Pembroke Pines today to tend to her failing father. My father in law continues to descend into the fog of Alzheimer's, and D1 is going along because the drive is still too much for Wifey and her aching back. So both Ds, Wifey, and I convened at Sea Siam for dinner. It was lovely. We talked about our family, and friends, and D1 and D2's school programs. Last time I was at Sea Siam, I ordered my usual King of the Sea soup, but with "medium" spice. I spent a good part of that dinner choking and tearing. Last night, I wimped out with the "mild," and was glad I did. Afterwards, the Ds went out for yogurt, while Wifey and I came home. When the Ds arrived, they decided they wanted to celebrate Father's Day early, as they had bought me my gift. They started disclaiming right away: "We can return it." "If you like it, it was MY idea, if not it was Mom's..." I'm a tough guy to buy gifts for. I love buying stuff for my family and friends, but really don't like things for myself. I find that expensive things are more of a burden than joy to me. I wear either a Tag watch I bought used for about $300, or a Breitling my friend Joel gave me after finding it in a courthouse locker. A few years back, I did splurge and buy myself a gold Omega, but it sits in a safe now, eyed from time to time by D1, who wants it as a grad school graduation gift. I dress like I did in grad school myself -- really don't like clothes. I have the same Ray Bans I bought 10 years ago. I really, truly, don't like or want stuff...(although I did recently find a flask someone gave me for a birthday. It's disguised as a pair of binoculars, and I do plan to take it to some Marlins games later this season, filled with Ketel One, so I can laugh at the $18 martinis they sell at the Park... Anyway, after continued disclaimers, they gave me my gift: a pair of Cole Haan sandals, from DSW shoes. They acutally bought 2 sizes so I wouldn't have my usual "It doesn't fit" excuse. The size 10s did in fact fit. Wifey and the ladies knew I do like Cole Haan shoes. I buy myself a new pair or 2 every few years, when Nordstrom has a big sale. And the sandals I was wearing around the house (and sometimes, to their horror, outside the house) were plastic Nike numbers -- the height of fashion in about 1995... So I DID like my new sandals, although when I heard they cost $70, I was ready to return them. No, D1 assured me, with her discount, they were $48. Fine. At less than $50, I would accept their gift. Father's Day is Sunday, and D2 and I will be returning from a moving trip to Gainesville. We have to schlep her stuff to the house she is renting with 3 other sorority sister friends, where presumably she will spend her junior and senior years in Gator land. D1 is going to Long Boat Key with her boyfriend Joel and his family, and is also due back Sunday, so Father's Day might be a bit busy with returning travelers... But last night, where Wifey, the Ds and I sat around for a few hours, with dogs underfoot and jumping into laps, and the conversation was of great cheer, well, it's as good as it gets. I ordered King of the Sea soup at the restaurant. And my ladies made me feel like King of the House...

Gone to the Dogs

I'm indescribably proud of my Ds. Both are privileged, as they know. But unlike many young ladies in their position, they appreciate their lots in life, and give back. A lot. D1 joined the Junior League, and does dog therapy with her Spaniel. Now, D2, already having a busy summer interning at UM's med school, and babysitting for cash, is also undertaking the therapy gig. She will wake up EARLY this am and head over to a Kendall nursing home/ALF with our strange mixed dog Vienna. D2 likes waking up early as much as I enjoy prostate exams, but she's doing it nonetheless, on her own accord. She has to be observed with our overgrown sausage dog three times, and then receive the license to volunteer at hospitals and schools. Go D2! Wifey and I are so blessed with these daughters. I guess a big part of who they are involves the friends they choose. Last night, D2, Wifey, and I headed out to the Wynwood Art Walk, along with Ben and Rebecca. We ate at food trucks, and strolled the scene, and watched some of the Heat game from the tvs the arts folks set up. Ben and D2 go to UF together, and Rebecca is a Seminole, and the three of them together are so delightful -- laughing at the jokes and tales they've shared since Middle School, and just enjoying each other's company. We went over to a gallery where D1 once served cognac. We met her friend -- the one who got her the job. She was a gorgeous young woman -- half Dutch and half Colombian, and she went on and on about how delightful and charming D1 is. Our cups ranneth over, even though she was out of the cognac and couldn't give us samples. Back to this strange rescue dog...The vet lists her as a Dachshund mix. I guess. But she has the head of a mini shepherd dog, and a body at least as thick as 4 of the fattest Dachshunds ever seen. She walks like a torpedo goes through rough water. I'm sure she'll bring smiles to some patients, once she gets certified. The fact that a gorgeous 20 year old is her handler won't hurt in that regard, either.

Aye, Aye, Captain

Wifey, D2, and I just returned from one of our favorite local restaurant: Captain's Tavern. D1 was out taking an exam in her "Proteins" class, and doesn't much like the place anyway. Since she was a small child, D2 has followed in her maternal grandmother's gastronimicical footsteps (I love mixing metaphors): she loves lobster. While Tuesday night is "Lobster Night," the rest of the weeknights the Tavern serves a 1/2 pound local tail for $22, including potato and salad. Chomp, as the Ds say... The Tavern has been around for over 40 years, with the original decor and carpeting. There is wood paneling and shelves with old bottles and knick knacks, and a bunch of fish tanks where the small version of the daily meals can see their awful fate. A few years ago, the NY Times reviewed the place, and bestowed upon it some kind of best local Miami fish house award. It's well deserved -- the fish is amazingly fresh. The service is, well, serviceable. Our waiter tonight was an early 20 Palmetto High grad --competent and friendly. The staff sticks to the program -- I asked for vegetables instead of rice or potato with my "Admiral's Platter," and was politely refused. That's ok -- you accept things that way here. The co owner is some sort of vaguely ethnic background -- maybe Filipina. She NEVER smiles, and NEVER sits a party unless all are present. A few years ago, I outsmarted her. Wifey was tarrying, and the rest of our group was ready, so I pointed out another middle aged Jewess and sort of implied that she was my wife. The hostess sat us, and realized I had hoodwinked her. Each time I see her, I can swear she smirks just a little more than normal at me. That's ok -- you go to the Tavern for the fresh fish -- definitely not the ambience. Speaking of that...we got there early, and Wifey and I were by FAR the youngest diners. The crowd was late 60s and up. By the time we left, the younger families (I guess waiting for Dad to get home from work) were filling in. I like having Hemingwayesque clean, well lighted places nearby, to serve shellfish and grouper. Wifey, D2 and I spent a lovely Monday dinner there tonight. And I ate like an Admiral...

What Ya Gotta Do

Some years ago, a good friend of mine was enjoying his favorite party destination: Las Vegas. He fielded a call from our rabbi friend, who asked what he was doing. My good friend asked rhetorically what else he ought to be engaged in than Vegas activities. The rabbi responded: "Well, you could be visiting your declining and dementia affected mother." And so it is. Visits to MY mother stopped being fun years ago. When she turned 85, I took her and my family and California sister's family to LA to celebrate. We visited Pasadena, where my family history started during WW II. Mom took a cross country train to marry Dad, who was stationed there, protecting the West Coast from Japanese attack. During my father's tenure there as the Radar O'Reilly of his regiment, LA and environs remained safe. Anyway, it was a lovely trip, and included a visit to my law school friend Cheryl's house in the Hollywood Hills for dinner. Cheryl married a wildly succesful UM Music School grad, Neal, who has become THE recording engineer in LA. They had us over to their historic house, and cooked wonderfully. Mom had the first of what would become many falls. This was 7 years ago. It was the true beginning of her decline, and when the fun left... So now she's comfortably resting in the Miami Jewish Home "long term unit." She'll spend the rest of her days there. I plan to visit several times a week, as will the Ds, and Wifey, when her back allows. None of us enjoy these visits. Again -- back to the rabbi. My partner Paul and I met him last week for some kosher sushi, just down the street from Mt. Sinai Hospital, where Mom was a patient. The holiday of Shavous had just ended, which commemorated the Torah being given to the people. We spoke about the 10 Commandments. The first 5 deal with Man's duties to God, and the second 5 talk about Man's duty to his fellow man. (Mel Brooks taught that there were 5 more, but a klutzy Moses dropped that tablet). Interestingly, the commandment about honoring one's father and mother is listed in the first 5. That's because the Big Man wanted us to be clear that it's so significant -- according to Rabbi Yossi, the most important mitzvah there is. So, I'll follow it. I'm not religious, but something deep in me tells me it's the right thing to do --even though it's not enjoyable. That said, I plan to make it tolerable. Mom was given a new social worker -- Gordon -- and he's terrific. He's a tiny guy from LI, and we chatted yesterday for a half hour. He LOVES Blues music, and we compared notes. He turned me on to a guy named Boosie, who I plan to check out. I turned him on to a CD called Country Rhythm and Blues, which pairs country singers with folks like Little Richard, Aretha, and BB King. Gordon grew up a huge Islanders fan, and we shared tales of the glory days of the early 80s when the Isles dominated hockey. So it shall be in the coming days, however long they last. I'll visit Mom, and share in the dreamlike state her consciousness has become -- mixing reality and memory, along with movie plots from films she probably saw in the 40s and 50s. (She told me yesterday that Gordon was taken away by the police for some type of conspiracy. Who knows -- maybe he reminds her of Edward G Robinson. Honor thy mother and thy father. Will do, Big Man...