Brazilian Girls

So my friend Joel likes Brazilian Girls. Not THE, just the name. They're not Brazilian, and it's just one girl, but he was turned on to them by Dan, who used to work for our roomie Mark, but wanted to be a musician, but his Jewish Boca Mom said no way, and so Dan is a very unhappy lawyer... So anyway, Joel got tickets, and the show was last night. I picked him up at 9pm, the time I'm often ready for bed, and we drove to Midtown. We found the place, parked, and learned the show started at 11, so we went to a way cool place called Gigi and drank Stella beers. They also had some good grilled food there, and we shared small plates like 2 badly dressed gay guys. Around 11, we went to the venue, named Bardot. As in Bar DOT, as in a punny homage to the French actress. As in I was clearly the only clubgoer old enough to have any idea who Bridget Bardot is, or was, except, I guess, for some of the hipster film students. The place was packed, and they allow smoking. I thought of my sister Trudy, who is a militant ex smoker. She would have walked out. Joel ran into a buddy of his, and they talked criminal law. I wandered over to the pool table, where some very attractive lesbians were playing some pool. I reported this to Wifey this am, who asked how I knew they were lesbians. As I told her, it was something subtle -- they were passionately making out! Around 1115, the three member group bellied their way to the stage. I happened to be standing about 5 feet away, and it was pretty cool the be so close. They were great -- they play a very pleasant mix of reggae beats and dance hall beats, with snappy lyrics. The lead singer, half ITalian and half German, isn't hard on the eyes, and she's like a prettier and less weird version of Lady Gaga, with a better voice and fewer stage quirks. The drummer was terrific, and the keyboardist, who is the lead singer Sabina's boyfriend, was great, too. He looked like Art Garfunkel's son. As Joel remarked, they look like recent Juliard grads... I was really getting into the music, and swaying among the packed young crown, but then I was pulled away urgently. The 4 beers I drank at Giga and Bardot played havoc with my aging prostate, and I squeezed my way to the men's room. Ahhhh -- it was one of the best pees in awhile -- I guess beer does that to older guys. I tipped the nice attendant $5, which made his face light up, and returned to the show. I found a worn leather sofa in a corner, and plopped down. The acoustics were fine, and I listened and swayed along with my relieved prostate. A young arty looking girl, with thick black glasses and raven hair, plopped down next to me. She began texting and emailing. I wondered again about this generation -- rarely living in the moment. They're never really in ONE place -- and it's a shame. The music was delightful, and this young girl was checking Facebook photos of some other time and place. Oh well...I really AM old. The show ended about 1:30 am, and Joel and I met up outside. He, of a younger prostate, shot phone photos of the whole show, and renewed his crush on Sabina. He's leaving this am to meet a former president of some Banana Republic jailed on drug charges, and they called him in to the case! I'm so proud of him -- he takes his work seriously, but himself much less so. My kind of guy. I made it home around 2, stripped off my cigarette smoked clothes, and went to bed. It's nice to walk on the young side every once in awhile.

Full House Leaving

It's been a lovely Thanksgiving weekend in the 305. Long time friend Elizabeth arrived, and took the room near the pool. D1 and D2 shared a room, and caught up on sisterhood intimacies... Friday Wifey, Elizabeth, and I went to Joanna's, and sat outside in the brilliant sunshine eating tuna sandwiches. From there I drove to the Gables ticket office to use some American Airlines credit from the aborted Paris trip to get some tickets for D2 and I to fly to NYC on Christmas Day. We've decided to go into the cold, and enjoy the NYC Christmas vibe -- while I take her to see "Book of Mormon." I saw it last year, and will gladly see it again. Though the tickets are expensive, as my friend and fellow BOM alum Norman remarked, when I'm laughing hysterically at "Spooky Mormon Sex Dream," it'll be well worth it. Yesterday I gave my TV a good workout --watching the Canes annoyingly beat Duke for their season finale, and then watching the Gators beat FSU and Notre Dame beat USC. The Ds, Wifey, Elizabeth, and I then sat around a raging fire in my favorite possession -- my cheap, Target firepit, and made s'mores in the coolness of the evening. It was delightful. Today Wifey, Elizabeth, and I had some coffee, and then took our third mile walk around the 'hood, strange rescue dog and spoiled spaniel in tow. It was another glorious morning -- crisp and bright. Elizabeth just left for Orlando via Lauderdale, and her busy job as a nurse practitioner at Orlando Regional. The Ds are puttering on the computer doing school work --D1 polishing her Master's Thesis, and D2 prepping for an exam. D1 will take D2 to MIA this evening for her flight back to Gainesville, and then, conveniently, fetch her boyfriend returning from Indiana. There's usually sadness when D2 leaves, but this time D1 and I know we'll see her soon -- we're heading to Gainesville in a mere 10 days, to celebrate D2's induction into Phi Beta Kappa, and then D2 comes back home for Winter Break just days after that. So my favorite time of the year is upon us -- weather wise, and football wise, and most of all, friend and family wise. So tonight Wifey and I will have the house mostly empty again, except for an ancient Lab and strange rescue dog. That's the way things started -- just the two of us. Maybe I'll build another fire and sit outside alone -- pondering the cosmos, my place in it, and thinking about my wonderful ladies...

T Day

The Ds slept until about 1030, sharing a bed like they did for many years. When D1 was in kindergarter, they handed her a paper that said "draw your favorite thing to sleep with." She drew herself and a smaller version of a little girl -- her sister. We have the drawing up in our kitchen. We headed to Key Biscayne, and the fairy land of the Ritz Carlton. There was a last minute addition to our group -- my old, dear friend Vince and his kids Ashley and Tyler. They were going to spend the day by themselves, and came along. We all sat a table, toasted our blessings with Prosecco and OJ, and then headed to the 14! tables of buffet. We ate like kings of several different countries -- turkey, of course, and roast beef, but also shrimp, lobster, sushi, oysters, eggs -- just about any delicious food you could name. And for dessert there were mouses, if that's the plural, and pumkin pies and pecan pies, and apple pies. If the symbol of Thanksgiving is the horn of plenty -- we shared in the Tuba of plenty. We walked outside, and took photos, and then Tyler and Ashley left for their maternal grandmother's house. Vince joined us for a short walk along the beach, and then some lounging on patio furniture by the pool. The Ds and Wifey lapsed into food comas, but awoke for some lovely conversation about days past and still to come. Vince had a rough year, but is emerging very happy and well --thankfully. We met as kids -- I was 18 and he was 20 -- and we're savoring this time of our lives, as our children grow and grow nearer, hopefully, to finally leaving the payroll... We walked through the hotel, and I showed Vince the bar. It may be the prettiest small drinking space in Miami -- deep wood panels, but with tropical fans. It's like an updated British Colonial Carribbean dream. Vince fetched his new white Porsche, and motored off. We got into the embarrasing 7 year old SUV and putted away... Next stop -- the Olds. My father in law heartily rejected the flat screen tv Wifey had thought he should have. Wifey means well, but is still on the learning curve about treating our aged parents differently -- they CRAVE little change in their lives. I schlepped the tv back to the car, and D1 and I went to fetch my Mom -- the plan was to meet at the gazebo and enjoy the cool, Thanksgiving sunset together. Nope -- Mom had had a "very busy day," and so wanted to stay in bed. Wifey, her Dad, and D2 wheeled over to Mom's room instead. Mom was having a mostly out of it afternoon, but she did make us all nearly pee in our pants with her commentary. She loves the food at Miami Jewish , saying "They feed you here like you're going to die!" And then, "I've never seen so many fat nurses --with big asses and huge tits!" Then she asked us where she left her cigarette, lest it cause a fire. She last smoked 21 years ago... We left, and drove through the mostly quiet streets of Little Haiti and the Design District, full with food and smiling from Grandma Sunny -isms... We arrived at home, and Elizabeth joined us. She had T Day dinner with her sister and her sister's friends. She came in desperately needing a few glasses of wine. We all sat and enjoyed each other's company, as D2 and I searched online for "Book of Mormon" tickets. D1 and Wifey are flying to Atlanta for Christmas Day -- D1 to spend some time with her boyfriend's family, and Wifey to spend a few days with her best friend Edna. So D2 and I decided we weren't chopped liver, and we'd decamp to NYC for a few days away, too. Although I saw BOM, I'll happily see it again -- assuming we can find tickets that cost less than a European cruise. So far, we can't. So, Thanksgiving turned out to be like the Go Gos "Vacation" song -- all we could have asked for, and even more.

Giving Thanks

Wifey, the Ds and I are known to be nauseatingly grateful, on a daily basis. Even when things go badly for the Ds, Wifey preaches the wisdom she's learned from parents who suffered the greatest humanitarian evil in history: the Holocaust: be thankful for what is going WELL. So as I write this morning, it's almost absurd. Talk about one's cup runneth-ing over... The sunshine is brilliant -- the light streaming through the trees is so pure and clear. Filmakers shoot more and more in South Florida because of it -- Southern California's smog causes problems, while Miami light makes it easy for them, or so I've read. All I know is the day is perfect -- cool weather, and the smell of tropical foliage -- tropical crispness. It's amazing. My old, dear friend Vince just texted that he's planning to join us at the Key Biscayne hotel restaurant that has become our now half decade Thanksgiving tradition. Hw's had more than his share of tsuris lately, but is clearly on the upswing. His health is good, and he's returned to the profession of anesthesiology he loves. He and I go back over 30 years, and we've shared so many crazy and hilarious times. His father was one of my mentors -- giving me wisdom for years after my beloved Dad died. Today we will add to the trove of laughter, I'm sure. Misery finds us, and often blindsinds us. I once read that the things we most fear don't come at us in a planned, understandable way, but rather "on some random Tuesday afternoon, when all seemd normal." That makes me think of a phone I got three years ago, from a girl named Lindsey I didn't even know -- telling me she was with D1 roadside on the Florida Turpike following a bad wreck -- and D1 was too hurt to call me herself. I calmly walked out of my office (my friend Mirta said later I looked like I was headed to a meeting I had forgotten about) and dealt with it. Thankfully, there was just some broken bones and a wrecked car and a shaken up Spaniel -- no catastrophe. But misery has been there, and will come, of course. But not today!!!!! After brunch, and the consumption of mass quantities, like the Coneheads used to advocate, Wifey, the Ds, and I will head to Miami Jewish -- to spend some time with Mom, nearing 93, and Wifey's Dad, nearing 87. Both of them have been wildly burdensome on us over the past several years, but blessings as well. My mother will look skyward as the sun hits her skin, and exclaim "Thank you, Mother Nature!" We're not sure why this 2nd generation Jew from the Bronx has, in her twilight years, taken on the language of a Secular Humanist, but she has, and it just adds to the delightful absurdity of extreme old age. I guess the message IS gratitude -- whether to God, Mother Nature, Vishna, or whomever one chooses. And today it's overflowing here in the 305, and this cool, lucky Daddy feels coolest and luckiest.

Back Home Again

It's been a lovely glide towards Thanksgiving. Saturday was the final Canes game of the year, against the South Florida Bulls. Dr. Barry's sister Phyllis and husband Marty attended -- Phyllis is a USF alumna -- and we had a great time catching up. Phyllis and Marty got married in Vegas seemingly last summer, but somehow the years have flown. I met Phyllis when she was in high school, and now she is a teacher's teacher with a long and lauded career in Broward County. She adores her nephews Scott and Josh, and loves to poke fun at them. Next year the Canes/Bulls play in Tampa. We might just turn it into a Bern's Steakhouse game trip... And last night, D2 rolled into town, with her fellow Phi Beta Kappa inductee and roomie Catherine. The two beauties sang their way down the Turnpike, and happily re entered the love of their families. D1 was working for her cognac company at a major corporate event in the Design District, and I made some Daddy Tea (regular tea, but made with Big Daddy Love), and lit a fire in the pit outside. Wifey, D2 and I sat in the cool evening air, chatting about D2's college adventure and plans for the summer. Our friend Julie posted on Facebook how great it is to have her 2 oldest boys Ben and Josh back home from college, and I asked her if she heard the strains of the Jophn Denver song in her head. I do, even though we don't live on a farm, and I'm not a long haul trucker. Something about Denver's simple and sweet melody captures the feeling of what makes "a house a home." It's not tchokes, of course -- it's having your loved ones with you. And so it is, here in the 305. D1 dropped her boyfriend Joel at MIA this am, so he could visit his family in Indiana for T Day. She and her best friend and sister are napping together, as they did when they were toddlers. Tomorrow we'll head to Key Biscayne and a true cornucopia brunch. It's our 5th year of doing it, and we love the tradition we started. Afterwards, we'll head to see the Olds -- my mother and Wifey's Dad -- and spend some time with them under the Miami Jewish Home gazebo. It's great to have them under our roof. It really is.

Red Letter Day

If there's something better than the success of young folks, I don't know what it is. Wednesday night I was driving home late, following a lecture at the Miami Book Fair, and had a great catch up conversation with my nephew Henry. He started his own company, and it's going gangbusters. He's already, in less than one year, to the point that he has to hire subcontractors to help him with overflow work. And his not appearance challenged lovely young wife, Valerie, is chugging along nicely in her education pursuit -- Bachelor's expected next Spring, and then a Master's after that. It heartened me -- I just hope he makes good on his intention to come visit us soon. Maybe the bleak San Francisco Bay area winter weather will send him here for some sun and family... And then, yesterday morning, I got a call from an excited and chirpy D1. She was accepted into FIU's Dietetics Internship program. This was no small feat -- 30 in her class were vying for only 9 local spots. The rest now have to move out of state to complete their educations to become Registered Dieticians. She felt confident, but wary -- she is a favorite of her grad school faculty, and very involved in the program. But still -- you can never truly predict the actions of a huge state university -- so the fact that she can finish her program here in town is banner news. I decided to call D2, to tell her the good word. She was thrilled for her best friend and sister, and then sheepishly asked me if I'd ever heard of an organization named Phi Beta Kappa. I thought she was kidding -- who hasn't heard of the top national college honor society? She hadn't, but now she knows -- she was tapped into membership, based on her standing as a junior in the top 1% of her class! We joked about it, and made plans to go to Gainesville in early December for the induction ceremony -- I plan to carry her famous Phi Beta Kappa key around with me. And I started to cry -- a rarity for me -- the tears of an overwhelmingly thankful father. The Ds have brought us so many blessings -- but I don't recall a single day like yesterday -- with triumphs so significant coming at the same time. And then later on, as Wifey pointed out -- came the inevitable Facebook (tm) postings. Each D posted about the other's great news -- in loving and funny tones. D1 called D2 "nerdypants." So it was the best day in quite awhile. I met my friend Kenny for lunch, and gave him a check for the Wounded Warrior Project, which his boy Adam is raising funds for. Kenny is my smartest high school friend -- and neither he nor his law professor wife are Phi Beta Kappa. I thought the only one of my friends who is is Dr. Eric -- but then a "me too" email came from Dr. Barry -- complete with a photo of his diploma, which hangs in his office. "How quickly they forget" was the caption... So all is well and good with things here. It's great to be a cool, thankful Daddy in the USA...

Veterans

So today is Veteran's Day, and the courts and offices are closed, and folks are out mostly shopping to honor those who served in the military. My father was drafted 5 months after Pearl Harbor, and served nearly 4 years. After WW II ended, the Army wanted him to go to Japan to continue withthe occupation forces. He was jonesing to get home, to see my Mom and sister, who was a toddler and never met her father. So Dad employed Corporal Klinger tactics, feigning psychosis to get out, and it worked! He was honorably discharged with "mental fatigue" and returned to the Bronx to work 3 jobs to support his family. Meanwhile, he learned that the US soldiers in Japan were treated like kings -- a Hershey bar got a GI unlimited companionship. He wondered later if he should have gone... My brother in law Dennis is our family's other vet. He knew he'd probably get drafted during the Vietnam War, and instead joined the Air Force, where he served as a mechanic, mosly in Thailand. He returned with tales of exotic lands, and with a kick ass stereo he bought in Japan, which later became my proudest teenaged possession. I was just 6 when Dennis came home -- to a party at the local VFW Hall and a pretty Jewish girl who took one look at him and decided he would become her husband. She got her wish, and now they've been married over 45 years. But it's funny -- almost none of my generation served. We registered for the draft in 1979, if we wanted to be allowed to go to college, but the military had gone all volunteer. The only exception among my friends was Kenny, who joined the US Navy to pay for medical school, fell in love with the military life, and ended up as a flight surgeon. He saw action on the USS Saratoga during the Gulf War, and retired years later as a full Navy Captain. Other than Ken, the only guys I even knew who joined the military were those with no other prospects. It was either military or jail, or unemployment. Among Wifey and my friends, none of the kids join. The one person I can even think of is my friend Brian's secretary Janet's husband, who joined the Army, served in Iraq, and is now, thankfully, home and serving in Texas. It's kind of sad. It would be, probably, too big an undertaking, but the idea of some type of national service would be terrific. I'd have welcomed it as a young man -- maybe having to commit to a WPA-like program for a year or so, if not necessarily military. This country gives us so much, it seems the young ought to give back -- and mandatorily. As proud I am of my Ds, I'm proudest of how they volunteer. D1 spends a lot of time with her spaniel at hospitals and schools -- cheering patients and helping kids to learn to read. D2, through her sorority, does a lot of community service as well. The thought of either of them in the military conjures up memories of the great movie "Private Benjamin." Neither would do well in tents and on forced marches, but they serve nonetheless... So I read today's Facebook posts with a somewhat jaundiced eye. It's so easy for my generation to give words of thanks. It's a far more serious thing when we have skin in the game -- in the form of our sons and daughters actually serving.

The Cool Breeze of Miami Fall

The best time of year is upon us. I fired up the girlie Lexus hybrid and headed south early yesterday, in search of fish. No, not to hook them, but to net them at one of my koi suppliers. Raccoons or hawks or other varmint (I always think of Bill Murray in "Caddyshack" when I type or say that word) has been taking some of my koi, and I needed to replenish. So I drove south, but the koi were too dear. The place in Horse Country was better, and I bought a few little fish there. I arrived home to watch my Canes choke at Virginia. It was just as well -- NCAA sanctions loom like a toxic cloud, and they're not going anywhere for the next few years. Besides, schadenfreude was keen in college sports yesterday -- hated Alabama lost, and probably blew a chance for a national championship. So there was happiness in the Tide's misery... Then Wifey and I fired up the aging Volvo SUV and drove to west of Wynwood, to visit D1 at a cutting edge gallery on NW 7th Avenue. She was doing her part time job as a product front girl for cognac. The building was all black and white inside, with stark photos based on great banned books. We met the gallery owner, the curator from France, and a lovely young gallery manager. I told them all a little bit about the books and writers. The artist, a nice young fellow who was born in Spain and grew up in Hialeah, chose the books because he knew they were convroversial and banned, but hadn't read them. So we spoke about "To Kill a Mockingbird" and how William Carlos William's pre poet career as a pediatrician taught him first hand the awful misery of a child's death. It was really something to see -- these young, creative types happily at home in the city just 30 years ago labeled a "cultural desert." Miraculously, Miami has emerged as the third most important art city in the US -- after New York and LA. Much of it is Art Basel coming here, but the immigration and un melted melting pot nature have done their work, too. From NW 7th Avenue, Wifey and I drove to Wynwood, and parked on a lady's lawn for $10. She was an older black lady, and laughed at my reference to Orange Bowl parking on lawns back in the day. She promised "no blocking," but without the comical Spanish accent. Wynwood was buzzing. The streets were packed, with mostly young, way cool folks. It was Tri Beca with better weather. We visited my friend Rob's son Matt -- a gallery called the Hangar was showcasing his surreal work. Matt's on his way -- he's earning money for his art, and has a showing at Basel -- remarkable for such a young man. We remember Matt as a sweet, chubby 6 year old -- the only boy D2 invited to her birthday parties. Matt is now an impressive young fellow -- passionate about his painting, and working hard as a waiter to support himself as well. He wants to move to Wynwood, he said, so he can live among all of this burst of creativity. We look forward to being able to say we knew him when... Wifey and I made our way East, to North Miami Avenue, where a former client and friend of mine, also named Matt, hosted a party at his rum distillery. Yes -- he has started the first and only distillery in Miami Dade County -- and makes a rum called Miami Club. Matt's Irish American, not the traditional makers of rum, but his wife Joann is Puerto Rican, and comes from a long line of rum makers. Her family gave her their recipe, and Matt took off with the idea. The party was lovely. There was a 7 piece "Miami Club Rum Orchestra" playing salsa. They had a guest drummer from Nigeria, and they jammed wonderfully. After 3 drinks, I was swaying along, as the lovely breeze and spirit of the evening accompanied us. Wifey and I walked around some more, and marvelled at how Miami is the anti Disney. There are some mighy worn down buildings, and the folks were a true glorious mosaic. We loved it. We drove back to see D1 as she closed up shop. Several of her friends came by. Ah, youth. They all looked so beautiful, and vital. As one of my sister's said --EVERYONE looks great at 25. On the way back to the suburb, we called D2 at UF. She's thankfully doing great as well -- her amazing giggle lifted Wifey and me as we sat in the late night traffic on South Dixie. So last night I was a cool, artistic Daddy in the USA... I know nothing about art, but it sure brings out some fine and fascinating folks.

Fun with Extremists

So the election turned out better I could have hoped. Obama won big, all the sneaky Republican constitutional amandments failed, we voted to give a big bond issue to the schools (our Schools Chief Carvalho is the best in all of Miami history -- dude can win whatever office he chooses, or get paid to appear as a young Al Pacino lookalike), and even the issue approving money for the puppies passed! Wifey went to bed feeling like I did when the Canes bear Nebraska in January of '84 -- ecstatic. As my neighbor Mark mentioned as we met this am, the demographics have just changed. We're no longer a natin of old white men, and the GOP panders so much to the extremists, they got nailed. So they're sad up in "fetus land," as Wifey calls it (when we drive to Gainesville to see D2, north of Orlando on the Turnpike there are all these creepy anti abortion billboards showing happy and angelic WHITE fetuses begging not to be terminated). For the rest of us NOT in fetusland, it's a banner day. So I got a call in my office yesterday, from some far right group. I gave money to our GOP Congresswoman, Ileana Ros Lehtinen, who I really dig. She's smart, open minded, and, bucking her party, very pro gay. She's also close friends with the very liberal, curly haired, map of Israel on her face Debbie Schultz from Broward. Since I gave money to Ileana, I'm apparently on the Conservative list, and the nice lady, Carole Waspiness (not her real name) asked me to contribute to a fund started by Mike Huckabee that wants to take out full page ads criticizing Obama for limiting, somehow, absentee voting among the military. When the second lady came on the phone after Huckabee's message (Bonnie Allwhite -- also not her real name), she asked how much I would be giving. I went into a tirade -- asking how a TRUE conservative could disobey our Commander in Chief. She countered that the Tea Party was for this, and I lambasted her more -- Teddy Roosevelt was a true conservative -- the Tea Party were frauds -- wanting to government to interfere in reproductive rights! She was chastened, as I guess this sort of reaction from a supposedly good Republican wasn't in her play book. I said "God bless America" and hung up. So I had my fun. My guy won. Great -- my taxes will surely rise now on my investments, and I have to worry about estate taxes eating away at the Ds' inheritance. Hopefully that won't be a concern in the too near future... We Jews voted, apparently, 68 % for the black guy, so all the crap about his being Israel bad never got traction. We acted, as the great observation noted, as follows: Jews earn like Episcopalians and vote like Puerto Ricans. And that makes me proud.

Hurricane Sandy

Ah, the end of Daylight Saving's Time. An "extra hour of sleep?" For early risers like me, it just means that the clock says "5:00" instead of 6 when I awaken. So I spent some time this early am looking at news photos of the damage from Hurricane Sandy. The poor bastards! I empathize, having lived through one major storm and 2 annoying ones. Andrew was 20 years ago, and was life changing. Wifey and I were in our 30s, and had the energy for 3 major moves within 15 months, along with raising the Ds in an apartment on Brickell, Wifey's parents' house as D1 began kindergarten, and then a move back to our rebuilt house thereafter. Wifey and I were never that much enamored of things. We both remember my sister and brother in law insisting that we HAD to collect stuff. I mentioned that I sort of liked miniature carosels, and they generously bought us several. I haven't seen any in years -- I think they're packed away somewhere, or maybe lost in Andrew. The point is, as we saw all form of tchotchke wind broken or waterlogged, we ultimately laughed. Even now, we retain these thoughts. Yesterday we walked through the lovely South Miami Art Festival. A man selling hand painted corkscrews stopped us, and explained the craftsmanship involved. We walked away, both saying "Just more crap to end up in a drawer." So when I look at the photos of Queens, Brooklyn, and Jersy Shore, with the piles of stuff waiting to be carted away as trash, it brings back memories and lessons. The other two storms, Katrina and Wilma, were more annoying than anything. No major damage, but loss of power for a few weeks each time. Katrina went on to destroy New Orleans, and we decamped to Mayfair House in the Grove for a week. Fir Wilma, Wifey and the Ds left for Atlanta while school was closed, and I roughed it at home in blissfully cool October temperatures -- cooking eggs on our fortunately gas powered cooktop (no pilot -- I used matches to start her up). Wifey's cousin emailed her over the weekend. She lives in Brooklyn, next to the area, Breezy Point, that was destroyed in a huge fire. But she and her family are all fine -- cleaning up flooded basements, but ready to rebuild. The problem is the cold weather, and winter's coming on. The only folks close to us and the Ds live in Manhattan, where things returned to normal pretty quickly. Some old high school friends are out on Long Island, but judging from Facebook posts, are doing just fine. So I wish them well, and will redouble my efforts to de clutter, and get rid of stuff. My mother teaches the same lesson -- in a nursing home with virtually no possessions. Her condo still has some stuff -- and it will be a minor pain to get rid of when the time comes. So good luck to the Sandy victims. Friday night, Wifey, our houseguest Diane and I watched the telethon with Springsten and Billy Joel and made a donation. They'll recover and rebuild, as we did.

Annual Physical

My family is truly blessed to be surrounded by wonderful friends who are doctors, including our family physician, Dr. Dave. We met Dave and his family when D2 and his daughter Shira were in kindergarten, and we've been friends ever since. Several years ago, Dave had had it with the usual state of family practice -- he had to see nearly 4000 patients yearly, just to make a decent living. He joined a group called MDVIP, which provides so called concierge medicine. His practice is limited to 600 patients, and you get the sort of service we remember from the 60s and 70s -- before managed care and the corportization of medicine. I've done pro bono legal work for Dave, and in return he treats my family without the required tuition payments. Wifey and the Ds take full advantate -- calling him and seeing him for every malady -- real and imagined. As a result, I tend to try not to bother him much. But his office insists I get an annual physical -- major blood work and full discussion about preventative medicine. I get my annual physical about every 4 years. This year was the first following my prostate cancer scare. My PSA score had dropped, and I joked that I was cured by having the biopsy. Nurse Nancy, Dave's long time medical assistant and the best I've ever known, gave me a shingles shot. I protested that shingles was a disease of old people -- wasn't I more at risk to get chicken pox again? No, she said, 50 and above get the vaccine -- and I was 51. Caramba! Dr. Dave looked over my EKG, blood flow tests, breathing tests (as expected, the lawyer in me assured I was full of hot air, and scored high on that one), and pronounced me a "fat pig." He didn't actually use those words, but that's what the ugly and obese truth was. I thought I weighed in the 230 range -- easily 40 pounds higher than anything resembling normal. Nope, the awful scale said -- I was 248! In other words, I'm NFL linebacker size --with none of the muscle or conditioning. So I gave myself the rest of the week and this weekend to eat like the hog I am. At Norman's tailgate, I piled on the Shorty's and ate several enormous chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Our houseguest Diane brought in Big Cheese Italian Friday night -- and I ate all the stuffed shells (sort of an accurate description of me) and pasta. This am, Norman and I met at LOL, and I had an omelette, oatmeal, and half an enormous bagel. Tomorrow I start a new regimen. Low carb, low fat, and more exercise. I may even call Dave's trainer -- a fellow he swears by, at the local YMCA. He assures me there is no surplus of hot ladies at the Kendall Y, so that may be the gym for me. Of course, my life has been replete lately with stories of guys in great shape who drop like flies. My father, overweight almost all of his adult life, retired to Florida and got a Diabetes II scare. He lost about 40 pounds, and vigorously walked every night. He was in the best shape of my memory --thin and energetic. And then he dropped of a massive MI. So on second thought, maybe I should just stay fat...more of me to love. Nah -- I'll at least give the thought of 36 inch waist size another shot. Time will tell...

Thursday Night at the Stadium

So after a week that started with a funeral, last night was a breath of fresh, cool air. I offered my friend Rob my extra Canes ticket, and he took the train to my office, 2 bottles of liquor in tow. We drove up to the stadium, and Norman and his good friend and client Maria were already putting out the Shorty's barbecue. His law partners were there, and soon Dr. Barry, Scott, Dr. Eric and Dana joined us. At the last tailgate, I did an awful thing to Dr. Barry. I introduced him to a lawyer I know whose son has a rare medical condition -- turning Barry's sacred tailgate time into an hour long medical consult. Last night, Rob and my friend Bruce happened by. Bruce's beautiful girl is a patient of one of Barry's former proteges, but this time there was no medical consult --just some teary eyed thanks by Bruce to Barry about the great care they get at UM Peds...Thankfully, the young lady is doing great! So we ate, and drank, and laughed in the gorgeous weather. Shorty's forgot the side dishes, and everyone gave Norman crap about that -- good naturedly, of course. The Canes won, big, in the end, though it was a competitive game until very late. We had a tremendous time, of course. I drove Rob home, and we talked about life. His oldest son is an accomplished artist, and his young one is finishing high school, and headed to a career in the arts as well. Rob and his wife divorced 4 years ago, and he's now with a lovely lady. He told me how happy he is with her. She called as we made our way home -- she clearly ached to have him back with her. He told me that NEVER happened with his wife -- she might have noticed if he went missing after a week or so. But such is romance, and marriage, and men and women. Last night was about friends and fun and laughter, and it was a banner Thursday in the glorious cool air of Miami autumn.