The Long Ago Date

So last Saturday night, D1 asked Wifey and me to join her and a visiting NY friend for dinner. It's Miami Spice time, where most local restuarants offer prix fixe dinners -- as well as charging one price for several different entrees, apps, and desserts. It's usually a good deal -- like $39 for a trip tik that would normally be like $50 or more, and we usually take advantage of this marketing program -- designed to lure locals out during this most oppressive month of August. D1, like any good native Miamian, has a sense of local lore and history, and she knew that a "vintage" waterfront place, the Chart House, would be demolished soon. So she chose it, and we met there. They built the CH in the early 80s, and many of the first guests were multimillionaire weed and coke dealers, who hung out at the Mutiny Hotel across Bayshore Drive. Ah, those halcyon days, where Colombians killed so many of each other that the Dade County ME's office had to borrow refrigerated trucks from Burger King to handle the overflow of corpses. The Ds are fascinated about our living here then, long before they were born, and I always explain that like most things, every day folks weren't affected, with the exception of knowing a dealer here and there, and knowing not to get into arguments at traffic intersections, lest you find yourself looking at the bad end of an Uzi... Anyway, Wifey and I had a date at the CH, in December, 1983. My 1L first semester was nearly over, and I took her out to celebrate, using some of my student loan money. I excitedly told her that my friend Mike had invited me to go snow mobiling after finals -- and I had never done that before. Wifey had thought I was going to spend more time with her, and as a result may have broken up with me afterwards. After more than three decades, we no longer remember details... Well, the food and drink last weekend were fine, and there was even an unexpected treat: I ran into Nelson, my favorite waiter from Fox's, a local tavern. Nelson was there over 25 years, and a big reason for attending that venerable place. He's a gay NY Rican fellow, and always the life of the party. When Fox's was sold in 2012, he left, and the place has lacked since. He and I hugged, and caught up, and became instant FaceBook (tm) friends. He told me that since the CH is closing, he may reappear at Fox's -- the owners invited him back. I sure hope he accepts -- his laughter and banter and assurance that the nasty, pretty 30 years ago but now looking leathery barkeep, pours a decent sized martini make the place worth patronizing. During a break in the conversation Saturday, I looked out at Sailboat Bay, and the liveaboard boats. D1 was shocked to learn it's free to anchor and live there -- but you have to do so without electric, water, and septic service. Many of the old hippies still do -- you can see them rowing back and forth to land. They're a dying breed, along with the CH and neighbor Scotty's -- our other waiter told us the "big money guys" who are building high rise condos across Bayxhore, where the luxury Grand Bay Hotel was, are behind the deals. So we have the memories. And, apparently, Wifey forgave me the snowmobile trip.

Keeping It Cool

Anyone who knows the most basic Miami and South Florida history knows that most of us are living in this metropolis because of the invention of one man: Willis Carrier. Carrier invented modern a/c, without which, being here, especially from June through September, would be unpleasant. It seems this is a particularly brutal summer. It's probably just my getting older, and more sensitive to weather extremes, but whenever I walk back into my house from even a brief trip outside, I'm thankful. The other day, I checked D2's car's tire pressure before she left for Gville. Just that short task left me dripping in sweat -- and it was night! Our oversized house has 4 !! a/c units. There are three 5 ton jobs, and a small 1 ton that cools my guest house/football watch room. The three units are originals, and the house is now 17 years old, which in itself is hard to believe. It seems just yesterday we moved in, and now that was 14 years in the past. I noticed the unit we use least, that cools the living and dining rooms, was not working. So Monday I had Danny the a/c guy. Norman referred Danny -- he says he's the best he's ever had, and Norman is a thrid generation Miamian. Danny and his brother pulled the coil, and showed me how it had rotted out. They could patch the hole, and recharge it with freon, but that would cost $1000, with no guarantee of success. So it was time to replace the first unit. The existing ones are Tranes. Danny said Trane was fine, but it was hard to get parts. Rheem was cheaper, and the parts are ubiquitous. Plus, you find them everywhere. So I ordered up a new Rheem 5 ton, with a 16 SEER. The old units were 12 SEER. Every SEER makes the unit more expensive. I'm glad there aren't 30 SEERs... As I write, Danny's men are at work. One of the fellows called to me, to enter a room to get window access to the outside unit. I spoke to him, and he protested he spoke NO English. I asked in my sometimes workable Spanish where he was from, even though I suspected. Sure enough -- he answered Cuba. He came FOUR months ago! I was able to glean that he was a mechanical engineer in Cuba, and earned far less than he does now, as an installer. He has a 24 year old son who is also an engineer, and hopes to come to the US soon. Castro's failed project continues to send benefits to the US...even though the old bastard is now 88. Anyway -- hopefully we'll soon be back and cool, house wide. I'm sure the two other 5 ton units will go soon, too. Danny told me the older ones would routinely last 15- 20 years or more; the new ones you hope to have for 10. A 10 year warranty -- I'll take it. Would that there were such guarantees for the rest of life.

FDOS

The old English major in me can't avoid the symbolism -- and one of my favorite themes is new beginnings. It's why I used to love the First Day of School. FDOS is today in Miami -- the papers are full of articles about how the traffic is about to worsen, and the ads and sales are in full swing. The Ds visited the Midtown Target yesterday, and got stuck in a 1 hour line -- the new Downtown immigrants, curiously gringos, were all there with little kids, buying their supplies. I always was the one who walked the little Ds into their classes. I remember wearing my suit and tie, as I was headed to the office afterwards, and the laughter and excitement about the day. The blackboards were clean, the screw ups hadn't screwed up yet -- everyone had a perfect GPA. By October the gleam was gone, but not on the FDOS. Those days are long gone for Wifey and me. D1's last FDOS was over a year ago -- when she began her Master's final year at FIU. D2 heads back to Gville Wednesday -- her first classes for her Master's start next Monday. But I won't be there to walk her in and meet her professors... Most of our friends' kids are finished with college, or still there. The occasional straggler, like my friend Stuart, who got married late and has 11 and 8 year olds, is the outlier. His boy starts Middle School today. His wife Traci called yesterday, to track down D1 about some nutrition questions, and I wished her luck. Middle school is the worst. She wasn't worried -- she "had a blast" in junior high and expected the same for her boy. May it be so... The Ds both want to raise families close by, and I hope that's how it works out. They may each head to the Northeast for awhile, for boyfriends and careers, but promise they want Wifey and me close to help raise the kids. We take that as a tremendous compliment -- we messed them up relatively so little, they want to reprise our parental skills for their own kids. Who knows what the future holds? But if I AM blessed to have local grandkids, I fully plan to take a little hand someday, and head into that newly scrubbed building...

The Cascading Effect of Disaster

Wifey could easily catalogue a list of annoying things I do...well, actually, not really. I'm very non annoying...but this is besides the point. One of Wifey's MOST annoying habits is failing to return our upstairs phone handsets to their bases. Usually, this is no big deal, as we have an old fashioned, non cordless phone in our bathroom, but...Wifey removed the cord from that one to bring it to her Dad's nursing home room, and never replaced it. So last night, D2 left for Brickell, to see her friends and spend quality sister time with D1 on this, her last 305 weekend before returning to Gville, and Wifey and I fell asleep to some awful Casey Afleck movie where he beats the hell out of Jessica Alba, causing her to fall in love with him, and that most dreaded of all sounds broke the wee hour silence: a ringing house phone. As Wifey snored, and I jumped up, I saw it was 1:30 am. Doing my Mr. Bean impersonation, I jumped from the night stand phone (no handset) to the office phone (no handset), and finally to the bathroom old school slimline phone (no cord). I fumed. And yelled. And thought it was a good thing Wifey already loved me, or I'd have had to Casey Afleck her... I demanded she get up and go retrieve the handsets. And now my reptilian, anxiety riddled mind told me it was clearly the Miami Police calling -- trying to alert me about the disaster that befell Mary Brickell Village, and my Ds... Wifey called D1, and woke HER out of a sound sleep. She hadn't called, but no, D2 wasn't there. We texted D2, and no reply. Then Wifey called D2's boyfriend Jonathan. He answered --- yes, D2 was with him, and they were fine... So DEFCON of my paranoia was lifted...I attempted to fall asleep, but was still filled with anger, so I told Wifey "Well, then, it's probably your Dad's nursing home calling...I'm sure whatever it is will wait for the morning." So now Wifey was bolt up in bed, too, calling. The helpful night nurse said no, they hadn't called --her Dad was fine. Wifey turned off the light. I was still angry..."Well then, Pembroke Pines Police is calling about your Mom." Wifey didn't take THAT bait...and went to sleep... As of today, the mystery remains...probably just a wrong number, although having a non published number, and being on the do not call list has rendered those annoyances rare. We have called ID, but we can only get it to work when the TV is on -- the caller's identity flashes across the screen. I'm sure there's a way to get a call history, but I'm too lazy to do this. When I was a defense lawyer, and worked on some air crash cases, I recall they all had someting in common: a single mistake let to a series of bigger ones...the cascade of disaster. Fortunately, Wifey's phone malfeasance only cost a few hours of sleep -- for me and D1. And now, I have to double check the status before I turn in. As Roseanne said...it's always something.

The Strange Tale of the Triple Amputee

Wifey and I were talking about some of the more bizarre client stories I had over the years, and she suggested I recount one or two. So here is the story that's true, but seems as if it can't be. I got a call from a referral lawyer about a man who was operating a construction machine, and it struck a power line, electrocuting him. He was holding a control box, and the current passed through one of his arms and both legs, requiring a triple amputation. My secretary Norma and I went to meet him in a rehab hospital. The scene was pathetic. The fellow was there, small and brown skinned, with his taped three stumps. As he recounted his history, in Spanish, I noticed Norma was acting strangely, as if stifling laughter. Sure enough, the man had a very funny way of speaking -- Norma later said he was the Cuban equivalent of Ratso Rizzo -- and despite this awful tragedy, Norma was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Then we asked him if he was married. He said he was, but when his wife, an overweight lady, was summoned to his hospital room and saw him for the first time, she collapsed of a heart attack. He tried to call for help, but the call button was on the side of the bed where he was armless, so he couldn't. That did it. Now he had ventured into the land of Monty Python, and Norma and I had to go into the hall, like junior high schools in a quiet class, to vent our laughter. To this day we feel guilty about this, but humor sometimes seizes a situation. Anyway, he got out of the hospital, and was fitted with prostheses. Worker's Comp bought him a house -- the first he ever owned. The pretty nurse who cared for him, fresh from Cuba, began giving him "extra care." We sued the company that rented the machine, under the theory that they should NOT have let a machine capable of causing electrocution to a work site near power lines. It seemed aburd, but an expert backed us up. When the client came in to be prepared for his deposition, my partner asked him to describe how awful his life was following the loss of 3 limbs. His answer shocked us: his life was BETTER NOW! He was getting around fine on his prosthetic legs, owned a house, and had the company of the hottie nurse, who he planned to marry. Despite this problem with the damages portion of the case, the company settled with us, for a lot of money. The man refused to have his money paid out over time, and took it in a lump sum. Off he went, to begin blowing the stash -- buying cars for just about everyone he knew in Hialeah. And then -- he won Lotto! Really. His take, as I recall, was the high six figures. And he married the hottie nurse, and lived happily ever after. Not so fast... He blew most of the Lotto winnings, and one day got into his Caddy to drive to Orlando to see a relative. An hour into the trip, he realized he left some papers back in Hialeah, and returned home. This was a fateful move: he found his wife in bed with his soon to be former best friend. He had a gun, and he shot -- his wife! She didn't die, but had to go to the ICU. He got arrested. He called the lawyer who referred him to us, trying to sell his one remaining Rolex to pay for bond. The referral lawyer, a sweet guy but no legal scholar, called me to see if I thought there was an ethical problem in buying a $10K watch for $1K. I told him that I was no legal scholar either, butI didn't think it was a good idea. This was over 10 years ago, and I have no idea what became of this fellow. If it turned out he won Lotto again, and got yet another young wife, I wouldn't be surprised.

DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MY VICTIMHOOD

On days like today, where I skip the office due to no appointments and inclement weather, FaceBook (tm) provides quite a source of entertainment. I have a friend who is a late 30s Jewish lawyer, born and raised in Miami. I'll call him Todd, since that's his name. Todd used to work for Mark, an old office roommie, and then became a federal public defender before landing at a very prestigious ambulance chasing firm. He's handsome, smart, and making great money. He also only likes to date black women. He got one pregant, and had a boy with her, who is now 4. I've only met the little guy on FaceBook, but he's adorable and clearly gifted. Todd's not with the mother, but seems to have the kid with him most of the time. He's always posting photos and videos of the kid -- happy, playful, and healthy. Well Todd posted today about the kid killed by a cop in suburban St. Louis -- that as the father of a black son, he fears for his son -- living in danger because of the color of his skin. It struck a nerve in me -- I DEPLORE victimhood -- especially among rich folks. I attempted to answer on FB that we can ALL be victims based upon who we are -- my in laws, Holocause Survivors, are my life's exhibit A. And I mentioned the Hasidic Rabbi killed last shabbos in North Miami Dade -- maybe a hate crime -- no one yet knows. Well the FB floodgates opened, like an afternoon Miami downpour. How DARE I try to co opt victim hood!!!! I tried telling tales of getting beaten up as a boy because I was a JEw -- it really happened -- Joe Benedetto even called me Christ killer when he did it -- but everyone loses sometimes. I tried saying we ALL profile and pre judge. Anyone looking at me says "Overweight Jewish guy -- probably from the Northeast -- not an athlete, and compensates for being a sports fan." And they'd be correct! But so what? Well, the so what was that apparently I can never know what it's like to be a black person. I agree. And Todd's wealthy black friends can never know what it's like to be a Jew in 1930 Poland, either. Again -- so what? Todd's boy will soar, as my Ds have. I would never allow my Ds to be "victims." If they said "Well, what do you expect from us -- our maternal families were murdered because of who they were, and this allows us to fail," well, things wouldn't be so pleasant around here, to say the least. So I've learned my lesson. I'll keep my privileged white mouth shut on public forums. Last time I checked, the big boss of us all was black. Here in Miami, the Police Chief is black. The former head of Miami Dade Schools was black. I prefer to see the soaring instead of the excuses for crashing. I've learned many folks feel differently.

As The Years Race By

So our long time friends Mike and Loni hosted a party last night. Mike, very much his fun loving father's son, has turned his house into a hall of curiosities, including a small scare version of his favorite kitschy restaurant, Mai Kai. He has a tiki bar in his patio, chock full of WW II memorabilia, and various drink making tools, and fans. We sat outside in the thankfully cool fan breeze, drinking planters' punch, and catching up with old friends. Becky was in town to enjoy her artist son Matt's sho in Wynwood. She's been divorced from Rob for 5 years now, and she regaled us with tales of dating in one's 50s, including an executive who told her, as they headed out, that he loves to play shirless bartender for his lady friends. Well, thankfully Mike and I kept our shirts on, and we laughed at the stories. Speaking of big bellies, the Lord gave me another message about mine: a self diagnosed planter's fascitis, which is not nearly as fun as planters' punch. My foot hurts like hell from a stretched ligament -- and it happens to athletes who run too much, or older people with too damn much weight. I've been stretching out the ligament and plunging my foot in an ice bath. I REFUSE to start the pathetic ritual of going to doctors and therapists... Anyway, it turned out that in addition to hosting Becky, Mike and Loni were also celebrating their 27th weddking anniversary. Their boy Chris was there, and when I threatened to tell him tales of his parents' romance, he high tailed it out of the party. Still, it brought back stories of the 80s, when we were young and starting out. One of Mike's friends, a member of his curious troop of gentlemen bachelors, was there. Chris married in his late 40s, and now has an adorable 18 month old daughter. They were there. The girl reminded us of out Ds, and Wifey sang "Head and Shoulders" to the little girl, who laughed in that way only little girls can. Chris is still in great shape, but still...the thought of toddlers at an age closer to grandparenting ...as my old boss Ed would say, I'd rather drink Drano. As it was, I drank a few more glasses of the rum punch, and we headed home to our quiet house. Time to put the foot up...

Cousins Cousins

I have little contact with my cousins these days. I guess we're busy in our lives, and live far apart. Nah. That's not true -- most of the cousins on my Mom's side live here in Florida, and the truth is people who say they're busy just choose to do other things. Even when I was at my busiest -- being a Dad to little Ds, starting and running a law firm, tending to aging parents and in laws, I always made time for stuff I wanted to do -- like being with friends and going to Canes games. Anyway, my cousin Eddie called my office a few weeks ago and got a lunch appointment with me. I was going to cancel, as last time he came to my office he merely used it as an excuse to solicit business for his office supply sales job, which led to some minor embarrasment, but I went ahead with the meeting. His mother Florence died some months ago, and she was the last of my Mom's siblings. Eddie looked great. He's 65, and could pass for 50. We went to Deli Lane, near my office, and he told me all about his life. Basically, he sold office copiers in Maryland, Texas, and Florida. He started his own company, and it grew to nearly $ 1 million in annual sales. He even showed me a picture of him taking his staff of 12 to Bern's in Tampa. But, alas, on account of the economy, as Bruce sings, he lost the business and had to go back to work for a former competitor. He told me about his kids, and his wife, and his 3 sisters, one of whom lives close by but is a gambling addict. What are ya gonna do? I noticed he never once asked questions about my career, life, or kids, other than to "send his love to the family." Whatever. While we were at lunch, my cousin Jeff called him. Eddie, Jeff, and Barry were all close growing up, as they were just a few years apart in age (I was the baby of the cousin group) and have stayed in touch. Eddie suggested we "re establish the cousins' circle," but Jeff immediately said if his younger sister was invited, he wouldn't come. The two had a falling out after their Dad died, and remain estranged. I predict they'll remain estranged until death. But I dig Jeff, and would happily get together, But somehow, it was "Let's do this" without anyone actually agreeing to set it up. I know I won't. I like them, but the sad truth is I don't care enough to be the one who makes the plans. Wifey pointed out to me years ago, she never says "We should meet for lunch..." Either she doesn't make the hollow promise, or she says "Let's meet next Tuesday." I wish Ed well. It can't be much fun to be broke at 65, and having to start over again, earning enough to hopefully retire by 80. That will probably be it for me in the cousin department for awhile. The oldest of our first cousins, Arlene, died at 70 something. I'm the youngest, at 53. Eddie pointed out that there are only 5 men out of 19 first cousins...now 18. Modern America -- the extended family is meaningless.

Art For a Friend's Sake

My friend Rob's boy Mathew is a full time artist -- the real deal. He doesn't just play at it, he lives the life: loft in Wynwwood, bikes all around the city, and waiters at night for rent money. He dropped out of college, UCF, to live his dream, and he's doing it well. Last night was an opening of an exhibit of only his works, at a well known Wynwood gallery -- Greg Sheinbaum. At least I'm told it's a well known gallery; I know as much about modern art as I do about, well, I no very little. I love the "Art Walks" in Wynwood and the Design District for the food, drink, and people watching. As Wifey always points out: "We're not in Pinecrest any more." But last night was an apparently big deal in the art world, and the Ds and I went. Wifey met us there, courtesy of Mike and Loni's SUV. Matt's paintings and drawings all show mixtures of stuff: lions head on military tank tracks, half birds/ half cranes (the mechanical kinds, not the bird kind), bulls mounted on SUVs getting ready to crash into each other. I don't get the stuff, but I admire it. Matt's parents were there -- divorced several years ago, and separately beaming over their son. I saw old acquaintances from days at Orange Bowl tailgate parties in the 80s. Afterward, the Ds, Wifey, Mike, Loni, Chris and his girlfriend and I decamped to City Hall, a great restaurant on Biscayne. Miami is really no city for old men and women -- EVERYONE out is young, and vibrant, and on the move and make. We toasted Matt, and our kids, and had a terrific time. I'm not sure whether Matt sold works or not. We own an early painting of his -- Frank Sinatra and Marvin Gaye, together. I look at it proudly. It'll be great to say we knew Matt when...

The Wild Couple

So Wifey and I have been less than exciting socially, lately, mostly due to her bad back. We don't go out much, and when we do, it's local, and early. We're in our 50s and we behave like we're in our 70s. But not last Saturday! Some friends from Atlanta were landing at MIA, and asked to meet for a drink Saturday night, at some place between the airport and Aventura, where they were staying before leaving Sunday on a cruise out of Port Everglades. The plane would land at 8:30 p.m. -- we'd have to meet AFTER NINE! Wifey was skittish. That was SOOOOOO late. And I didn't care enough to do what I usually do: go alone -- especially since it was a couple and 3/4 of their kids. I would not be playing the creepy uncle role with kids I barely knew. But Wifey rallied, and saw an opportunity to visit her Dad at Miami Jewish to boot, so she laid down in the back of her luxury SUV, and off we went. My father in law was happily surprised to get late evening visitors, and we wheeled him outside in the cooling evening. No -- not cooling, but with the sun down, at least just muggy, and not oppressive heat. It's funny -- this is the first summer the Miami heat is really bothering me. I hunger for some cool nights. Maybe I'll make that happen later this month... But anyway, we returned my father in law to his room. I told him where the Ds were 6 times -- damn Alzheimer's! But he was in good spirits, and we left less than sad. We arrived in the Design District, just a half mile south, and parked. We walked to the Oak Tavern, a place D1 suggested might be hipster-less enough for older folks and younger kids. It was PACKED. We squeezed in to two seats at a table near the bar. It was after 9. The patrons were all in their later 20s and 30s, and beautiful -- professional types, dressed casually, but with expensive casual stuff. One woman looked Wifey's age -- but she was bald and wearing hipster 50s era big glasses -- clearly an artist or art gallery owner. Lauren came in, from the taxi. She's a take charge kind of lady -- Southern Jewess, who runs her own law firm and is the mother to 4 and does more in a single typical morning than most ladies do in a month. She saw there were outside tables, and it had stopped raining, but it WAS muggy. Not a problem, she announced -- this is the tropics. Her husband Tom came in -- one of the nicest guys I know. He's a LI Italian, who met Lauren at Duke. They were celebrating his 50th , and Lauren's Mom's 80th, with a cruise on the Allure -- an enormous ship we had taken years ago. We sat around the big table with 3/4 of their kids -- a college junior, high school junior, and entering high school freshman. Son number 2 was in California attending film school. We chatted happily -- the kids are all polite and interesting. Tom had local beer and Lauren and I toasted with martinis. A lovely evening. Wifey and I left -- it was 11 pm. On a Saturday night! I guess this is what the wild couples do. But we weren't done yet. As Wifey lay in the back, I surprised her with a move right out of the days when we had met. I deftly pulled in to a parking lot where there's a 24 hour IHOP -- and we had breakfast near midnight! OK -- so she ordered the whole wheat pancakes -- but still! The waitress was the same one I remembered from my last late night visit to IHOP -- a Jewish gurl from Tampa. The omelette and pancakes were awesome -- especially at that witching hour. I guess there's still life in us yet...

42 Year Old Spinster-Type Woman

When Dr. Barry attended UF Med School in the 80s, on of his academic heros was Dr. Smiley Hill, a Southern gentleman OB/GYN. Barry adored him, and his direct, non politically correct ways. Instead of describing a history of a woman who never had kids, which is relevant when looking at slides of her woman part cells, he'd call her a "spinster-type woman" to convey it. Wifey HATES the word spinster -- she finds it somehow anti feminist -- as if being married were a goal a woman SHOULD achieve, and failing to do so made her less so. Wifey also dislikes "barren" to describe a non fertile woman. So of course I use Spinster and barren often... Anyway, the wonder of FaceBook (tm) allows me to keep up with old high school mates, without having to have actual relationships with them. A major benefit of this is that I have zero desire to attend class reunions (our 35th is planned for October). Those I care to keep in touch with I do, and those I just have passing curiosity about -- well FaceBook satisfies that. One of my classmates is a woman who never married. She's a Cornell grad, and lawyer in NYC. I'll call her Lynn, as that's her name. Today she posted on FB that yesterday was the "14 year anniversary of the closing on my apartment." Now, owning an apartment in Manhattan IS a nice accomplishment, but it struck me that anyone with a fuller, non individual centered life, would probably never single that out as a life event significant enough to post on FaceBook. I don't know Lynn that well, and for all I know she has an awesome career and friendships or other family connections that mean a lot to others. But I felt sad -- noting the closing on a condo is, to me, a sign that one is living the kind of life I cringe about. Maybe I'm just becoming more curmudgeonly as I age, but I really love the connections in my life, with my Ds and my friends. I guess a spinster-type woman, or bachelor-type man avoids a lot of the worry and anxiety I have. My Ds are 22 and 25, and I still worry after them -- a lot. I've also noticed someting interesting about pets and people. Now, I dig our dogs -- I really do. But I've never equated them with people. We have friends who come over, and fawn over (ha) our dogs, without ever asking about our Ds. These folks have been married 8 years, and never had kids. They have cats, who they TREAT like kids. They really don't GET the concept of love for children -- they wonder why, for example, parents of young kids don't simply travel the world while leaving their kids with sitters... Dr. Smiley Hill died several years ago. I actually saw the obit in a UF newsletter I get because the Ds attended the college. Barry was sad to hear the news. He's on service this week, caring for critically ill kids. He obsesses, like I do, over his own kids. He hasn't had a closing on any apartments in NYC, and if he did, wouldn't post about it.