Booking Vacations

Wifey and I haven't been away in a long while. We're headed out of town later this week -- 3 nights in NYC, and 4 in Vermont. I just checked the foliage report, and Stowe ought to be in peak form for us. Wifey usually books the trips, as she is far more facile with computers than I am. But this time I took control -- with the helpful suggestions of Dr. Eric. For NYC, we decided on a Kimpton Hotel -- one called the Muse, in MidTown. Last October, when I went to Chicago for the Canes game, Eric, Dana, and I stayed in a Kimpton, and were way impressed. I booked using something called hotels.com, as they promised discounts. I pre paid for the room. Last week, Dana, ever the observant traveler, learned that the room price had come down $50 per night. She cancelled her reservations, and re booked -- for a $150 savings. I tried to do the same and was kindly reminded by the Kimpton folks that I used an outside service. So I called Rooms.com, and asked them for some help. "Matt" was my agent, and by his accent I knew his real name was likely Mattasarthyaramadam. He told me there was nothing to do, so I asked for his supervisor. He was "Skip," short for Skipathananananaian. Skip was very polite, and told me again that I had pre paid. I told him I knew that, but if they ever wanted me to use their company again, they would give me some kind of credit. Skip essentially told me to go Kama Sutra myself. So you live and learn, I figure. All future bookings will be directly WITH the hotel and airlines. This way at least there's a chance, if a price reduction comes along. I just checked the NYC and Vermont weather. Looks like NY has high in the 70s, and lows in the 60s. Great sleeping weather, as my Dad used to say. Vermont looks to be dipping into the 50s at night. Even better sleeping weather. Wifey reminded me that years ago, as I sat on a rooftop terrace in Montreal, I had an epiphany about my career. I had been way stressed about several cases my partner Paul and I were handling -- and for good reason. They both involved burned children -- one of the clients had also lost a child to a fire. I decided then and there to extract myself from the profession, at least partly. Paul has continued to work hard at it -- probably 60 -70 hours per week. I feel like I'm due another epiphany. Maybe this one will occur in the Vermont woods. We'll see. At least it will be cooler...

Cool Car

Since I lease my cars, and never for more than 36 months, I get to try out quite a variety of them. And it's funny -- the most expensive aren't always the best -- or at least my favorites. The WORST car I've had over the past 21 years, since I've had "luxury" cars -- was the Hyundai Genesis. The car was a total piece of crap, and worse, the company pretended to be higher end. They'd constantly call and cheerfully ask if all was ok, like they were Lexus, and when I'd tell them all the problems I was having -- they'd cheerfully ignore me. I can read 10 consecutive years of Car and Driver saying Hyundais are great, and I'll never get another one. The best car I ever leased was a BMW 740 IL. Dr. Eric, who really knows cars, drove it when we went on a trip to Daytona Beach, and still talks about it. The car had everything, and was well built. Problem is, they now cost nearly $1500 per month to lease -- too much for my tastes. The best car for the money was a Mitsubishi Diamonte. I paid $299 per month, with nothing down, and the car was SMOOTH. It was the first I had with a CD player, and when I tooled down Old Cutler, sitting in leather seats and blasting the Grateful Dead -- it was car heaven. I leased it for 3 years, but ended giving it to my partner Paul's boy Alex, so I could lease a Jaguar and show off our new firm. The Jag was a piece of junk, too -- like the Hyundai, but more expensive. Well my current ride, the man sized Buick, is in the definite win column. It's comfortable, gets great mileage, and I can start it remotely -- so it's cooled off by the time I get inside. And it comes with OnStar, which is way cool. I get monthly emails telling me all about the car, and when I need service. It's a little creepy knowing I'm being monitored, and I expect one of the emails to tell me the sensors in the seat have detected I'm a fat slob and need to loose weight, but it's extremely convenient. I was just told to put a few pounds of air in 2 of my tires, and expect to be reminded to change the oil in another 3000 miles. When a major mechanical issue crops up, they call me immediately on my cell phone. Fellow lawyers with bigger egos than mine can never drive a Buick, but I really dig mine. Roll on, Shaquille mobile.

Ready For Autumn Chill

So I planned to take the weird rescue dog out for a very early morning walki, but instead coffee, cereal and yogurt, and the Herald called to me. So I left around 9 am. It had just rained, and now the sun was out. I thought it would be pleasant out. Not so fast! The rising sun and the fallen rain turned the weather into VERY hot and humid conditions. The dog and I slogged through. Despite blue skies, it was muggy --Africa muggy. I'm ready for a chnge. Luckily, thanks to the modern inventions of jet travel and the state of Vermont, relief is near. Wifey and I are leaving in 8 days -- 3 nights in NYC, and then a quick flight to Burlington. From there, a ahort drive to Stowe, and 4 days and nights of COOL... We're going with Eric, Dana, Edna, and Marc. Eric and Marc love to take photos -- we always joke about lens envy --which man has the longer telephoto. We have visits to local restaurants planned, and, hopefully, blissful walks in the woods of Stowe. Fall is the only season I miss living here in the Tropics. And it awaits -- just 8 days away. Meanwhile, a double football weekend awaits this very weekend. Saturday night the Canes play -- arguably the worst team they've faced in 34 years. They're playing Savannah State -- a small black college from Georgia, and are favored to win by 60 points. I plan to stay for a half -- long enough to sober up from the tailgate libations. Then, Sunday, my new friend from the Caned AD office has offered 2 tickets to the UM skybox for Dolphins-Falcons. that ought to be a better game. and the box is cool --cool is the word for me these days, as Fall starts in 2.

Cat Attack

My Florida sister LOVES cats. When you talk to her on the phone, you're frequently interrupted by her loving digressions about her cats visiting her, and doing cute things. She draws cats. She makes quilts featuring cats. She feeds feral cats who live in her development. She really loves cats. Alas, sometimes what you love the most hurts you the most, and last week it happened. She's already on the mend from a knee replacement, and was downstairs with one of her cat friends. She decided to clip the cat's claws, which she usually does in an upstairs room. Apparently the cat got spooked, and attacked her viciously --clawing her arm deeply. She cleaned the wounds and put on bandages, but a near CATastrophe followed. First she went to a walk in clinic, and the make believe doc there gave her some oral antibiotics and more bandages. But then a few days later, the therapist visiting for her knee looked at the arm, and directed my brother in law to the hospital. She spent 3 nights there, getting IV antibiotics. She was released today. I assume the cats claws will now be left alone. I never much cared for cats. When I was young, the next door neighbors had a black one named Jessica. I was petting Jessica, and the damn thing turned on me -- sinking a claw in to my arm. Luckily, no hospitalization followed, but since then, I give cats wide berth. It seems that when a dog is going to go after you -- you KNOW. It barks, and growls. I've never known of a dog getting petted when it attacks, suddenly. That said, animals are animals. Our sweet grand dog, the Spoiled Spaniel, once ran after a rat near our pool and would have killed it, had I not intervened. This sweet, fluffy dog is a KILLER. And sometimes, when I look into the soulful eyes of our weird looking rescue dog, it seems she's planning something. I'm not sure what, but if money goes missing, and tons of dog toys show up at my house via EBAY, I won't be surprised. Hopefully the dogs won't go for the jugular...

Virtual Jews

I rarely attend services anymore. Even at the High Holidays, I LIKE the idea of going, but somehow I don't. Services to me are like having a Fire Department -- good to know they're there, but I'm not going to tour the trucks. An exception is Kol Nidre -- the service the evening Yom Kippur begins. I love the creepy sounding music, which comedian Lewis Black said are the basis for all Hitchcock movie scores. I enjoy the fact that the prayers are recited 3 times --first softly, as if the congregation fears the King (Big Man -- not Elvis) and then crescendoing to loud, as they feel comfortable with the King. So this year I planned to go -- even telling Rabbi Yossi I would be there. But you know how it is...one thing leads to another. As the hour grew late, I found myself with D1 and 2 Joels and the senior Joel's friend, enjoying Happy Hour on Brickell. I came home and had some great pre fast Chinese takeout, from a place called, really, Takee-Outee, and then I didn't go. But wifey and I attended, online. Our local richest congregation, Beth Am, had streaming services. Wifey and I watched on the computer. The cantor, who we know, along with D2's 2 friends, her daughters, was terrific. She wrote some of her own music for YK. It was Andrew LLoyd Weber-like. "Phantom" meets Kol Nidre. And, being Reform, the words were all in English. I watched as I petted the strange rescue dog. She seemed to say she preferred I was home. I don't know. It's good to be at Chabad, and they try to make you feel at home, but since I wasn't raised religious, I always feel out of place. I'm forever zigging when the more knowledgable are zagging. Like the first time I came to Kol Nidre -- they were all wearing sandals. It turns out that you're supposed to avoid leather shoes on YK. No one made fun of me except my wise ass friend Craig, who is ALWAYS somehow making it clear he WAS raised with a lot of the Jewish religion, as opposed to my experience. Somehow watching online was cool -- and did the trick. Or DID it? Tradition says YK is when we're written in the Book of Life for another year. The Big Man may well construe our attending online as a sacrilege. If so, this blog won't be around long. I don't know. Seems HE has bigger things to deal with. Meanwhile, Wifey wants to find out if the Beth Am sessions are available on CD.

Decisions, Decisions

My partner Paul (who continues to work at the law firm at a furious pace, while I take it easier) and I always said there was only one type of really BAD decision: treatment choices when you're diagnosedd with a terminal illness. Other than that, we always said, all decisions are reasonable -- even huge ones involving multi million dollar cases, or life choices. Last year our friend Diane sold her house through a realtor, after several realtors proved incompetent. The realtor, who I'll call Joanne, since that's her real name, impressed Wifey, though Wifey never met her. So, when our budding billionaire web business friends asked Wifey for a realtor, Wifey recommended Joanne. Joanne sold their house for over $3 million in a few weeks. I told Wifey to call Joanne, to get credit for the referral. Joanne said she wanted to come over and meet us, which she did this week. She brought a very nice bottle of wine, and asked if she could make a charitable donation in our honor to the charity of our choice. We liked Joanne immediately. She ended up staying and talking with us for hours. Based on her picture and last name, I always assumed Joanne was an old "Miamuh" WASP. Turns out she's s Southern Jew -- born and raised in Virginia. She came to Miami to attend the U in the 60s (she's 65 now, but looks 50), and married another Southern Jew. Her son from that marriage is now 39 and her partner in the business. Her next husband is ALSO sort of a Southern Jew -- he grew up on the Space Coast, the son of a NASA scientist. He has 2 grown kids from his last marriage, and he and Joanne have a great, grandparent intensive life in Coconut Grove. If Wifey and I move, it'll be to the Grove. We've always loved it there, and still do. When we go out, we tend to go there. Joanne told us how, when her kids left the house, she and her husband moved to a smaller house in the Grove, too -- a neighborhood off Le Jeune where the neighbors pay a monthly fee for extra police patrol. That's the problem with living in a non gated community there -- crime is an issue. But Joanne said not in her 'hood, and she knows all her eclectic neighbors -- retired ambassadors, ship captains, artists, etc... They love walking into the Village of the Grove --breakfast at the many cafes, dinner at the cool restaurants, just walking their dogs to the Bay. Next thing I knew, Wifey and I wereasking Joanne about selling our house. She took a quick tour and said she could sell it, for probably double what we paid, in a matter of months. So Wifey and I stated to talk: maybe it's time for a life change. We love our house, but we live in the boonies. You have to drive everywhere -- basically all there is to do is eat at a strip mall restaurant. In the Grove, so much we love to do would be within walking distance -- and other stuff we love -- like visiting Wynwood for Art Walks, would be 30 minutes less of a drive. So it beckons -- a new lifestyle --new places to explore -- more of a street life. NAH! I thought about it, and once again decided I love our house too damn much. Each time I come home, it's like entering my mother's arms. I love to walk my 'hood, even though I often am the only one out. Truth is -- as I age, I want to see people less and less! So for now, we're staying in Pinecrest. We moved here for the schools for the Ds, and that's no longer a concern. So we'll continue to drive to the Grove, and enjoy the scene, but then rerire back to the quiet of where we live. My 'hood has 2 90 somethings -- IRv and Bobbe -- and they're not going anywhere. They LOVE our 'hood. So I guess this 50 something hasn't really outgrown it yet, either. I love decisions that don't really matter...

Great Hurricane of '13

The Canes have provided us so many thrills over the years. And when they play the Gators, the games are bigger and MORE thrilling. At yesterday's tailgate, we were remembering 1981, when Miami's kicker Danny Miller hit a 55 yard field goal to win the game. Barry, Eric, and I almost threw each other off the back of the Orange Bowl as we hugged and jumped with joy. So yesterday the game was set for noon. I fired up the man sized Buick as the rain was pouring, at 7:30 am. I picked up the Ds and their boyfriends on Brickell, and headed to the local Walgreens for rain ponchos. The $35 investment in 5 of them was an excellent one: it prevented any rain at all from falling at the tailgate party or game. We arrived at the stadium with little traffic, at about 8:45 am. I brough over 3 jumbo bottles of vodka, and Norman already had the party going well. I had decided before hand I would be mature, and NOT drink alcohol at that absurd hour. Ha. As if. Norman poured shots of tequila (I checked -- it was 8:50 am) and so I was COERCED into drinking. I avoided the tequila, though -- I didn't want to hallucinate during the game. The party grew, and I poured my healthy share of shots. Happily, Eric and Barry acquitted themselves well, as did Dana. The Ds and boyfriends visited other tailgates, and friends, new and old, came by. It was delightful to see the generations of fans. We made our way to the Club Section right at kickoff. The Canes jumped out to a lead, which they never gave up. The defense was awesome -- like the Canes teams of yore. At half time we made our way to Norman's firms skybox -- the Ds ended up staying there for the duration. Since I'm superstitious like many sports fans, I new I had to return to my original seat if the Canes were to hold on to the lead. It worked. They fended off a Gator comeback, and won. It was football ecstasy. The Gators dropped the Canes off their schedule after repeatedly getting beat by the non SEC team. They saw no major upside to losing to a team that competes for recruits. They are chickens. It made the victory sweeter still. We reconvened in the parking lot, and re hydrated. I stopped by McDonalds near Brickell, and the Ds got dipped ice cream cones. It made their day complete. So all in all, this was an AWESOME weekend for me. I find out I'm not dying from a dreaded disease -- at least not now. We had a great gathering Thursday, and have one planned for today as well -- a brunch for D2's boyfriend Jonathan's family -- reciprocating for a dinner thay hosted a few months ago. And the Canes beat their old rival. Things are sweet, so far, in this new year...

Game Talk

It's shaping up to be a banner long weekend in the 305. Last night, D1 and Joel, and Alyssa and Fredy came over, and we began toasting the Jewish New Year. D2 arrived with Cath and Ben, and I forced them to have a L'Chaim before heading to their own houses. We ate, drank, drank more, ate, and enjoyed each others company. All but D2 left around 11, and I slept the sleep of a happy, comforted Daddy in the USA. The Ds went out together, and then enjoyed a double sister, double dog nap. I used the same 2 dogs for my own Friday nap, earlier. There's something so primally soothing about sleeping with a dog. And the pre Canes/Gators game atmosphere is palpably exciting. The press is printing trash talk between UM and UF alumni columnists, and I got several calls today from Canes friend fans who haven't been to a game in years. Where's the tailgate? What to bring? Norman is coordinating things with military precision. My assignment is vodka -- for bloody marys, as well as anyone brave enough to drink it straight at 9 in the am. I may have to rally to the cause. Even the tailgate smack talk has started. I called Dr. Barry and found him shopping in Publix, for supplies for the breakfast wraps he will make. "I have real work to do, as opposed to you -- just buy some vodka." In tailgating, as in the rest of life, Barry sets a very high bar for himself. The only bummer about tomorrow is the game time: noon. It will be absurdly hot, and I have to leave my house at 7:30 to fetch the Ds and their men by 8, and make it to Joe Robbie before 9 --lest all the traffic ruin our day. And again -- being forced to drink before noon -- with bagels and lox. I really have to prepare myself... So 5774 is starting off swimmingly. The game is already great --regardless of who wins. I'll be surrounded by my Ds and closest friends. How the young men do on the field is secondary. Wifey was going to go, but realized it would be VERY hot. Plus, we're hosting a brunch for D2's boyfriend's family Sunday, and she wants the time to prepare. So it's Go Canes! The U is the nucleus around which so much of my wife depends... And tomorrow is going to be a great day.

New Year's Day

So it's the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, and what have I done? Another year older, a new one just begun... It's the Days of Awe, and I wish I was a believer. I tried for years, to go to shul, but I just never connected. I guess I'm firmly my father's son. But still, as my Rabbi Yossi friend likes to point out, SOMETHING stirs inside of me. I know this: I won't work today, tomorrow, or Yom Kippur. That comes from an acquaintance in the distant past, Wifey and my first stockbroker, Ronnie. We went out for dinner before the High Holidays. His then wife Kathy was talkiing about how she had to dazzle that year at the rich synagogue, Temple Beth Am, and she needed a new wardrobe. Ronnie asked where we went to services, and I told him we didn't. So you just sit home all day, he asked. No, I told him -- I worked -- the Holidays really didn't mean anything to me. "Don't do that, David." Not going to services is one thing, but working, and treating the Holidays like nothing special is disrespectful. Non believing Christians don't work Xmas, unless they have to, and you should at least honor the Days." I took his advice to heart, and haven't worked on the Holidays since. And when I hear of a Jew doing that, even though I have zero right to judge, I wince a little. Again -- something is stirring... D2 is due home later tonight, and we have takeout planned from Lots of Lox to greet her. D1 and her boyfriend Joel are coming, as are D1's dear friend Alyssa and her boyfriend Freddie. Alyssa's parents decided not to host a RH dinner this year. Freddie bought me a bottle of L'Chaim vodka a few months back, when we hosted a get together for our Brit friends. I figure tonight is a good night to crack it open. We used to host the whole family for Jewish new Year. Many years my sister Sue was here with her boys, and my Florida sister Trudy brought her whole family. I always sensed that would end with the passing of my Mom, and it has. No one seems to have the wherewithal to host holiday parties any more. Last year, we met at the nursing home for RH. Trudy brought a great chicken soup, and we sat in the gazebo. My in laws were there. Now Moom's gone, and my father in law is in the nursing home. My mother in law only travels, once a week, to see him. She celebrated RH with him yesterday, at the home. I guess the only constant is change. And I wish I was a believer, I really do. I'd be in services right now, connecting with the Big Man, and getting wisdom I would just KNOW was correct --about how to lead my life. As it is, I freelance. I WILL go to the water, and toss my sins in, and ask for forgiveness. I used to do it in my little pond, but then realized the sins of a lawyer are too big -- the toxicity might kill the fish. So I make my way to the sea... And I might still go to Kol Nidre, next Friday night. It's Yom Kippur Eve, and I've always enjoyed the creepy music that is chanted during the service. It's a great intorduction when, tradition says, we're most like spirits, and least like humans. That's why we're supposed to fast, and abstain from other activities of the flesh. Regardless, we'll dip some apples in honey tonight, in our small number, and wish each other a healthy and sweet new year. And I'll feel at least a little uneasy, with that stirring...

They Examined My Head and Found Nothing

I have a strange form of hypochondria. I rarely think I'm sick, but when I do get even subtle symptoms, I assume it's catastrophic. Last year my PSA was high, and I was sure I'd be joining Frank Zappa and Dan Fogelberg in the club of men who die in their 50s from prostate cancer. Later on, I had unusual indigestion, and was sure I was following Steve Jobs into the abyss of pancreatic cancer. So last month, I started getting headaches. They were mild, and I mentioned them to Dr. Dave. He listened to their pattern, and wasn't too concerned. If they persisted, he said, he would follow up. Well, they did, so I emailed my neighbor Jose, who is the head stroke neurologist at UM. I asked him for a good general neuro at the U. Jose is a prince. He took a history, and agreed with Dr. Dave the headaches didn't sound serious. Still, he said, maybe he'd come over and give me a look. He did, on a Sunday evening. D2 watched. The exam showed I was neurologically intact. I thanked him with a Billy Joel gift of wine: bottle of red, and a bottle of white. Jose also said if they didn't go away, he suggested a follow up. Well, they persisted, and I emailed Jose. He set me up for a MRI and MRA, which is an angiogram of the vessels. I had to make sure my liver and kidneys were ok for the contrast, and they were. I went in last night for my first ever exam of that type. I popped a xanax to ward off the claustrophobia, and the lovley young tech offered me some headphones, asking my music preference. I said "Rock, I guess." As she slid me into the metal tube, Lou Reed sang "Sweet Jane." Wow. Who knew the Applebaum MRE Center had such progressive music tastes? The test lasted an hour, and the thing makes almost comically industrial banging noises. They de tubed me, and injected the contrast solution. More banging and humming, with some Pretenders playing when the noise allowed. The xanax made the whole time bearable -- even kind of surreal. They handed me a CD of the studies, and I went home. Jose had emailed me telling me to drop off the CD at his house, but I missed the message. So I popped the disc in my computer, and looked, and started to panic. It seemed there were all kinds of scary marks, and shadows. I knew I was a goner. I just wasn't sure if it was a tumor or an aneurysm. I called my friend Kenny, a radiologist. He didn't answer. I called Dr. Barry and tried to email the films to him. It wouldn't work. I started doing my mental checklist of life insurance, estate papers, etc...All were in order. I called Jose, and he was on his way to UM. He said he'd check the films when he got to his office. I sat with the strange rescue dog, and gave her instructions about taking care of the family when I was gone. She nodded in acknoledgment. And then Jose called. The films were normal. Since he's an academic doc, he typically sees BAD stuff. He said mine were a nice change -- normal studies. He said I'd have another 50 years. We wished each other a happy Rosh Hashanah (he's a Mexican Jew). I thanked him profusely, and rushed out to send his family a fruit arrangement for a sweet new year. We're screwed up -- all of us. My friend Joel, of sharp intellect and keen sense of human nature, said "Your Dad dropped dead in your arms when you were 20, and you're afraid you're going to do the same to your girls, who you love more than you love life itself." He's right. I called Barry and Eric and Paul. Barry was kind enough to show me the perspective I USUALLY have --via a 10 year old patient of his who DOES have a terminal brain tumor. Well, as the year ends and a new one begins, I have my demons to work out. Anxiety is the worst. I envy people who isolate themselves from good friends and family -- who stay only on the surface, and never love so deeply that these fears don't arise. Nah! Not really. With living and loving comes pain. I'm just thrilled, and blessed, that my pain is psychic, and not organic. Thanks, Big Man.

Childless Labor Day

As my law partner Paul pointed out, Wifey and I spend a LOT of time with our kids --even though we're empty nesters. We're lucky to have D1 living 30 minutes away, and D2 is here a lot, when she's not globe trotting to Spain or Canada. But not this weekend. D1 is on a cruise with her boyfriend, and D2 is up in Gville. So it's just Wifey and me -- the way it was for the first 5 years of our relationship. That's right -- we met 30 years ago this month. I was a naive 22 year old starting law school, and Wifey was 26. At the time the age difference wasn't a big deal. In fact, the summer before I met Wifey I dated a pharmacist at the hospital where I had a summer job -- and she was 11 years my senior. So compared to her --Wifey was a child. But now, when I ask D1 or D2 if they'd go out with a guy who was 21 or 17, respectively, they look at me like I'm nuts. Wifey is much closer to 60 than 50. I'm not sure how I'll handle it when she gets to that milestone. Probably by drinking heavily... Anyway, we went out last night with our friends Steve and Susan, to our new local favorite, Salvatore. The food and company were excellent. Their boy Spencer is D2's friend -- and now a senior at the U. He has an older brother, Ryan, who is working at the U after graduating last year, and a 3rd auxilliary child, Erin, who is a high school senior. We compared notes as helicopter parents, and then went over to their dog infested house, where their enormous sheep dog mix sat on my lap. Erin was there, and we chatted about her college plans. I have a feeling she'll attend the U, too, like her parents and older brothers. Today Wifey and I are headed out to visit her Dad at the nursing home, and from there up to Boca to see a movie with Dr. Eric and Dana, at Mizner Park. I haven't been there in 15 years. Apparently now they have a theatre where you recline, and they bring you blankets and popcorn -- like a Business Class transcontinental flight. I figure if the movie is boring, as I find most of them these days, it'll be a fine nap. I AM getting old. Tomorrow the Labor Day movie thon continues -- we're going with Ken and Joelle to see a British "Big Chill" flick in the Grove, after a dinner. Ken suggested Indian, which is the one food both Wifey and I dislike. So it'll be sandwiches instead. So the point is, we CAN have fun in the Ds absence. But D1 is due in port tomorrow, and D2 is coming Thursday night, for the Jewish New Year AND Canes/Gators. It's hot as hell, but Fall with the family is the best time...