The Pedicure

So D2 flew in Friday for the weekend. Her boyfriend's brother got engaged, and we're all invited to a big Parillada party tonight in Aventura -- sacred home to Latin Jews. D2 and I had a great breakfast at Bagel Emporium, and caught up about her MS studies, and Gainesville news. Friday night, D1 joined us in the Gables, and we ate sushi together in our version of Rosh Hashanah dinner. Afterwards we all went to Books and Books, and D1 bought her sister an early Chanukah gift -- a pair of vintage sunglasses which supposedly have some literary connection. Saturday, despite the still burdening heat, I asked D2 to help me clean out our garage. The floor of it is filled with stuff dating to D1's college graduation in '10, as well as D2's move back from 2 years at Yellow House, the idyllic but ill maintained house she and 3 sorority sisters shared for half of college. D2 offered a deal: if I agreed to get a pedicure, she would help, and even go with me to the hardware store or Home Depot, a place I used to drag her to when she was a little girl, in exchange for a trip to Toys R Us and Dairy Queen. I agreed. My feet, like one would expect of a non Metro 53 year old, are, well, gross. I inherited my Dad's athlete's foot condition, and since bending over isn't as easy as it was for a young man, I tend to forego clipping toenails until ALL three of my ladies loudly protest. Early in the am, as we were on the couch reading the Saturday paper, one of my feet brushed against D2, and she reacted as if it was a poisonous viper. So it was time to do something anyway... We cleaned out most of the garage -- Wifey fought back her rat pack tendencies, and acutally consented to things like flower pots with cracks from the Bush administration being allowed into the trash bin. We teased out some stuff for Goodwill, and D1 showed up after a Saturday shift at the hospital to cheer us on. We sweated and got it mostly done -- agreeing to reconvene in cooler weather when we would actually open some of the bins holding the Ds' grade school work, and further de cluttering. D1 went in for a nap, and D2 and I showered off the sweat and left. We stopped by the local transfer station, and then went to Goodwill, where we got ride of some clothes, dishes, lamps, and an unopened S'Mores making machine. Then it was off the the nail spa... The Vietnamese folks were happily working and, in their language, making huge fun of the "cows" they attended. D2 took charge -- this was clearly her bailiwick. She set me up in a massage chair, and my nail tech went to work. It was great -- I received a fine chair massage while she clipped nails, scraped off old skin, and buffed and shined. D2 got hers done, as well as a manicure to look spiffy for an employment fair coming in Gainesville on Tuesday. The techs let me stay in the chair watching college football on a flat screen while D2 was worked upon. MY feet do look terrific. We celebrated with a trip next door to the yogurt shop. Then we stopped by Ace Hardware, where I bought some water seal for my annual spraying of our primitive front door, to keep it intact. All in all, it was a lovely Saturday. The Ds went out for dinner, and I stayed home to watch the Canes anemically beat Duke. D2 made it home for the 4th quarter. Today we're setching D1 on Brickell, and hitting Miami Jewish Home to see their grandparents. Then to the Latin Jewish party, then to MIA to drop off D2 for a late flight back to Gville. She's due home again in less than a month, for the "Fall break" grad students get in October. And as for my feet" Well, they're feeling rather fly...

On, Nebraska!

Well, that's not the Cornhusker cheer, but it's close enough. I just returned from a great visit to the most Midwestern parts of the Midwest. My fellow Canes fanatics and I try to go to an away game each year, and this year the most appealing was a trip to Lincoln, NE, to take in a classic college venue. So last Friday am I fetched Mike at 5 am, and we headed to MIA for our voyage via Atlanta. We got packed into a small jet, and Mike and I aren't tiny men, and we agreed a coach seat on a Delta MD 88 is no way for grown men to fly. Still, we made it without incident, and headed to Hertz, where Mike had reserved a van. Not so fast -- they gave us an Infiniti SUV, which meant even more squeezing in for our group. So it would be... Mike and I headed to Downtown Omaha, which is a clean, boring city. We stopped into a place called "Ingredient," where the counter guy gave us some grief about our Canes shirts. But the manager came over, said "I LOVE MIAMI," and ordered our lunch to be half price. As we chowed down, he came and sat with us. His name is Greg, and he has a daughter who went to UM and UM Law. Affable fellow, he was, and was a harbinger of the warm welcome we'd get in Nebraska. We've heard of Minnesota nice. I've been there, and can now conclude they were taught to be nice by Nebraskans. Everywhere we went, decked out in our invading colors, the people would welcome us and wish us luck. Dr. Barry and Scott, grizzled New Yorkers, even though Scott was born at South Miami Hospital, found this eerie. They're Jets fans, and expect to be shouted that their teams suck. It wasn't happening in the Heartland... We went back to the airport and fetched Barry and Scott, and then headed to the Old Market section of the city, which is converted warehouses now housing restaurants and galleries. We drank beer, and met a street sax player, who treated us to a somewhat varied version of the Canes fight song. We stopped back to the airport and fetched Chris, Mike's boy in from LA and his USC days, and headed to the hotel. There we met PAul, Alex, and Alex's bro in law Derek. From there we caravanned to the Drover Steakhouse, there since 1968, with a salad bar and steaks soaked in whiskey. We toasted our Canes, and our friendship. We left at 10, and the place was DESERTED. A waitress told us everything in Omaha closes at 10. I thought that was much better matched for me than Miami, where some places don't open until after midnight... The next am we trucked to Lincoln, past farms and more farms. We hoped for crisp weather, but it was as hot as home. We stopped into a Costco -like place, and shopped for essential tailgate supplies. Alex, now joined by his other brother in law Dean, in from NYC, went to a Home Depot and scored a grill. We found a lot near the NU softball field, and set up our tailgate. Although we missed Norman's touch, we put together a serviceable party -- grilling Brats, in homage to being in the Midwest. Even health consciuous Paul and Alex scarfed down hot dogs and burgers... From there we went to Downtown Lincoln, which was packed with Husker fans, and partied with them. Again -- only nice folks, and a wonderful atmosphere. I ran into D1's friend Irena and her boyfriend and his friend, and we took a photo to send back to Brickell. We packed into Memorial Stadium along with close to0 95,000 others, and watched our Canes stink. Badly. We still think of the powerhouse teams of the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s, but those days are long gone. We crawled back to Omaha, and everyone except Mike and I left early. Mike and I boarded our planes, and I met a nice fellow who lives in Miami, where he works for a Fortune 500 company, but was born and raised in small town Nebraska. We chatted about the game, and our kids, and next thing I knew he told me to have D2 send him a resume. You never know...it's all about connections in life. On the final leg, the flight attendant was an affable GErman lady, who usually works Delta's international routes, but was covering ATL-MIA for a friend. She took a liking to my seatmate and me -- he was a nuclear engineer who consulted for FPL and was a big Clemson fan. She gave us each some small JAck Daniels bottles for the road -- the first time I got anything extra in coach. So all in all, it was a stellar weekend. As for our team...

That's The Reason That I Gotta Get Out of Here -- NY's Not My Home

So fate and American Airlines carried me to NYC for a quick visit. I had to have some papers signed by a grateful client who agreed to meet me there rather than outside Troy, NY, which is not the easiest place to get to from Miami. I stayed for the first time at the Gramercy Park Hotel, which is surprisingly situated right next to Gramercy Park. GP is much more honest and actual than Central Park. You have to be very rich to get inside its iron gates. The park was built in the 1800s as apartment houses went up around it, and the charter said only those living in the immediate neighborhood or staying in the GP Hotel can get inside. Apparently, lost keys cost like $500, and you need them to get both into and out of the park. I asked to go, and a valet walked me over and gave me a number to call to be let out. After guests lost too many keys, the hotel decided it was easier to simply accompany them there. I felt a little like a mental patient allowed in and then out for a visit. But, the park was lovely. The plantings were gorgeous, and the stately ancient trees were awesome. I sat by a statue of someone and pondered the situation. As Springsteen sang, there are winners and losers, and don't find yourself on the wrong side of that line. This park had rich, Gossip Girl looking moms with strollers that looked like they cost more than my Buick, and some quirky older folks who also had that look of old, or at least older, money. Regular folks peered in through the wrought iron fence, as those of us who either lived there or had $500 per night to stay at the hotel sat on the benches. The hotel was romantic and historic. Babe Ruth used to go to the bar, and Blondie and Madonna stayed for long periods -- as did Steinbeck. Teddy Roosevelt was born and raised in the 'hood. I sat at the Jade Bar and had a martini. The bartender told me the hotel was owned by Ian Schrager's group, who also own the Delano in South Beach, and the waiter sometimes worked there. I told him I was born just a few miles to the East of where we were --in Queens -- and he said he was from Nebraska. Funny -- I'm headed there Friday to watch my Canes play the Huskers. He said he didn't like the Canes. Yesterday the light rain fell, and it reminded me of so many gray skied NY days of my childhood. The cab came -- a new hybrid job with a sunroof and a nice Haitian driver, and we talked about Little Haiti, where my father in law now lives. He had stayed there with relatives, and had no idea there was a huge Jewish nurising home there, painted pink to boot. So I'm back in the land of heat and humidity -- but off again in 2 days. Wow -- Northeast, Southeast, and Midwest in one week. I'm a regular Johnny Cash...or Jim Croce.

A Date That Will Live in Infamy

So today is 9/11, the 13th anniversary of the terrorist attacks in NYC, D.C., and PA. A lot has happened in the past 13 years, but sadly the constant has been the threat from Islamic terrorists. Back then it was Bin Ladin and his losers, and now it's ISIS and ISIL. It was a beautiful but warm morning in Miami, and I was, as usual, commuting in traffic on US 1. Wifey called me and joked that she was glad my office was on the ground floor of my building, as some dumb pilot just crashed into the World Trade Center in NY. I continued to the office, where Paul and I had a big day: the closing of a major fire case we had settled along with our old boss Ed. The clients came in, and we went over the papers, as glimpses at the office TV told us Wifey's report was no ordinary accident. I called her and she was already on the same page: headed to Pslmetto Middle and Leewood Elementary to fetch the Ds. By early afternoon, we knew that the attacks, awful as they were, were confined to the Northeast, and our families were all home safe. So Ed, ever the pragmatist, suggested Paul and I join him at Morton's Steakhouse, where we had a martini or two to mark the conclusion of the fire case, and then ate great steaks. I felt a bit like a Roman emperor, feasting while the outside world burned, but I kept constant contact with Wifey and the Ds. Fortunately, we didn't know any of the victims. I didn't even know anyone who knew any victims. In a few weeks, things returned to normal -- the Yankees even won the World Series, and the stock market came back. About 5 years ago, I visited Ground Zero. I had visited the Towers as a teen, and the shock to the perspective, to see a huge pit where enormous buildings had been, was a shock. But NYC is NYC -- and commerce ruled. My favorite waa a cart selling halaal food right where the people lined up. So the psychos pulled a very tragic but succesful stunt. That's all it was -- a stunt, using box cutters and the naivete of Americans. My father in law, not a deep thinker, but a man who made it through the Nazi camps, and fought for Israeli independence, has a very simple take on dealing with the terrorists. He says you kill them, and scare them, and you buy yourself a few years of peace, and then they come again. I think he gets it better than much of our State Department, and surely my sweet but simple minded liberal friends, who wonder why the terrorists hate us. I just hope that in the Ds' lifetimes, there will never be another date like 9/11.

The Paranoid Dad --It's Always Something

I worry incessantly about my Ds. I'm my Dad's son in this regard -- he was ALWAYS worried about my sisters and me -- and I've pledged to try to deal with my anxiety better than he did. My mother was convinced that his short life was at least partly because of the stress that came from worry. So I try... When the Ds fly, I follow their progress on flightaware.com. When D1 left for a summer in France, her flight disappeared from the status updates. Before I learned that trans Atlantic flights can't be tracked once they're 3 hours off the US coast, and her plane did NOT nosedive into the ocean, I aged a bit. It's a bad mental sickness to have, I know. I battle it daily. So what could be better for an anxious father than a predator on the loose on and around a college campus? Not too much. So sure enough, Gainesville has one -- some creep has grabbed 4 UF students -- fortunately not raping them -- 3 escaped without injury -- one was beaten. There's the expected media circus, and a huge increase in police protection. But, I mean -- really??? We ordered D2 some mace online -- it's sold out in Gainesville stores. She's very aware and safe. She'll follow the Broadway song advice, and never walk alone. Hopefully they'll nab this animal, or he'll move on. My friends have daughters who live in NYC. There's a whole cast of creeps there, of course. My favorite is the guy who throws young women in front of oncoming subway trains. Whenever the Ds visit NYC, or Chicago, or Philly, I get to deal with this diverse array of dangers. Wifey is blessed to be without my brand of anxiety and worry. She just knows the Ds will be fine. I truly envy her attitude, and try to emulate it. Maybe it's time for our adorable Spaniel grand dog Bo to welcome a Rotweiller brother...

Game Day

Tonight the Canes play their first home game of the year, and I'm one happy Daddy in the USA. The team looks mediocre at best, but that's fine. I get to see my crew, well -- most of them -- Dr. Barry and family are up on LI attending a friend's kid's Bar Mitzvah -- and that's the important thing. For me, Canes football was love at first trip to the old Orange Bowl. It was September of 1979, and I had never been to a college football game. A bunch of us from the 1968 dorm boarded a bus, and it deposited us into the parking lot of the creaky old stadium. There was grain alcohol punch on the way, I seem to recall. There was laughter and togetherness. That team went 5-6, but ended on a high note -- beating the hated Gators, who went 0-10-1. I was hooked. As the undergraduate years passed, my friends and I tailgated. The team got better, under Coach Schnellenberger. In 1981 they went 9-2, and almost went undefeated but for s penalties against Texas and Miss State. But they were denied a bowl because of a continuing hobgoblin -- NCAA sanctions. Still, the week before law school started, we traveled to Gainesville to watch the hated Gators beat us, and then went on to win the rest of our games. We beat Nebraska in the Orange Bowl game, for the national championship. Now I was REALLY hooked. My friend Mike's father was a fellow UM double alum, and he taught me the fine art of tailgating and hosting away game watch parties. I wanted to emulate him, and I have. And then, I joined the custom of attending away games, too. I went to Notre Dame, Rutgers, Ga Tech, and strangely, Tulsa, where I happened to be for a deposition when the Canes played their "Golden Hurricane." During that trip, my old boss Frank and I visited Oral Roberts University, which remains the most surreal place I've ever seen in my life. So this season is my 35th. The past 5, I have been lucky to be invited to my great friend Norman's tailgates. My close friends Eric, Dana, Barry, and Paul have joined me as we sort of drifted there from the parties Mike hosted, and this year Mike is joining us as well, with his core crew. Wifey's back's ugly head remains reared, so I have a substitute (not prostitute) date -- my sister of another mother, Mirta. She's due over today at 4, and we'll cruise up the Palmetto in my man sized Buick to join the party. Her high school buddy Maria is a close friend of Norman's, and that represents one of the many connections based on the love of our U. So the team may soar or stumble -- and this year it looks like the latter -- but our brotherhood and sisterhood never will.

Throw Back Thursday

My partner Paul and I founded our law firm 11/15/94. We turn 20 in a few months. When we started, we shook hands and pledged 10 years of extreme effort to each other. Somehow we're still sort of at it double time. My brother in law Dennis was there from the beginning -- as our CPA, comptroller, and over all how the hell do we run a business? go to guy. Before we started the firm, my last experience running a business was a lawn cutting service I had when I was 12. I cut 10 lawns each week with my friend Michael Monahan -- until he got bored and I had to do them myself. Fortunately, the lots in Wantagh and Levittown were tiny -- 1/5 acres -- but I learned early that I didn't want to do manual labor as a career... Back to our firm...we workded hard, and were blessed with success. We were regulars at the Capital Grille, which opened across the street the same year as our firm. The place was formerly Cye's Rivergate, and was a haunt of Richard Nixon's and his buddy Rebozo. I used to see them there surrounded by Secret Service guys in the mid 80s. But then the upscale steak place took over, and we'd bring clients and friends there for lunches and dinners. The assistant manager was a friend, until Angela moved to the Lauderdale restaurant to be with her partner. A long time bartender, Jennifer, told me Angela and her partner moved to Atlanta... Anyway, we rarely go there anymore. Paul had stopped eating meat, and drinkning less, so the Grille wasn't the best fit. But yesterday Dennis came down to assist us with an annoying issue with the State regulators, and we decided to reprise our old ways. We had a cocktail or two, and caught up. We reminisced. Between them, Dennis and Paul have 7 grandkids now, compared to zero when we started the firm. I had 2 grils aged 2 and 5 in 1994; now they're grown women themselves. We ran into a friend -- Eddie -- a criminal defense lawyer there with his old bud Art. Eddie sits behind me at Canes games, and we're looking forward to the games, even though the team looks at best mediocre. So the three of us ate great, and laughed, and talked about life. It's been a hell of a run -- 2 decades, and lots of great tales. May the days of plenty return...and the laughter multiply.

The Nice Shiva

So last night in our leafy part of Miami, Pinecrest, there were 2 shivas I knew about. One was tragic -- the reporter Steven Sotloff who was beheaded by the psycho Islamists, and the other one for my friend Marty's 94 year old mother, Ruth. Thankfully, I didn't know Sotloff or his family, but I passed the camera trucks setting up outside of their synagogue, Beth Am. If there's a worse nightmare than having your loving son beheaded on international video, well, thankfully I can't even conjure it up. Marty's mother, on the other hand, enjoyed a great, long life. I never met her, but Marty's a sweet guy, and his daughter Hillary is D1's long time friend and UF roomie. D1 came by, and she and I drove over. Wifey was otherwise engaged, and chose not to come. Marty greeted us, and I paid my respects and offered condolences. He knew I had lost my Mom, at 93, last year, and he shared in my philosophical attitude about not really grieving. A cantor led a service -- nice young Israeli woman, and after the prayers and songs, she asked who wanted to speak about the departed. Marty -- my kind of guy, said that his mother always appreciated "short shivas" -- and let's go eat. The cantor thankfully complied. D1 and I caught up with old friends and neighbors. I chatted with Dr. Eric's Boca buddy -- a nephrologist who knew Marty and his wife Amy from their shared student days in Chicago. I also met the parents of Adam and Jordan, two of the Ds' friends' parents, and we compared notes about high acheiving sons versus daughters. Marty and I reminisced about having breakfast in Gville the am D1 and Hillary were ready to start UF. Wifey wasn't there. Hillary's brother Michael, like D2, is finishing a Master's degree in Gatorville, and set to graduate next May. I told Marty we ought to have dinner together -- closing our two families' NINE years with kids at UF. He agreed that would be a fine thing to do. Compared to having a child beheaded, anything is better.

The Light of Autumn

One of the coolest things about living in Miami is the light. The writer T.D. Allman noted this years ago -- the light here is so strong and pure, that even average looking buildings can shimmer in it. And, since we have relatively little air pollution, thanks to the ocean and Everglades purifying what we produce, photography and film tend to be clearer. I enjoy the light best in the early morning and late afternoon -- when it's indirect. I always note where the sun is. This am, I was up after sunrise, fetching the paper along with the strange rescue dog, and the light was bizarre. The source of it seemed to come from the West, even though it was the morning. Sure enough, I saw what was happening: the newly risen sun was reflecting off monster cumulous clouds that were off in the direction the sun was headed -- the result was a yellow and orange, refracted onto the ground, that was eerie and beautiful. But the heat and humidity remain. Saturday night, Wifey and I went out with Norman and Deb, and I told Norman that my goal this year was to stay inside until October. Just a short walk from the car to the restaurant left us sweating. Good thing the wine and cocktails were cold. Speaking of cold, I just turned on the ac in the football watching room. Tonight is the first Canes game, and I want my dogs nice and comfortable. I'm headed out to pick up supplies (ice, beer, and chips) and will order the pizza at kickoff. The Canes are a question mark -- starting an 18 year old true freshman at quarterback. But, most importantly, the chance of enjoying the company of my guys, tonight and for the rest of the season, is 100%. So I can endure the heat. D2 is up in Gainesville, with the world's cutest spaniel, and it's hotter there. D1 is on Brickell, with the world's also cutest spaniel, and she gets the breeze coming off the bay. So another Canes season is here -- the 35th for me. It seems like yesterday I got on the bus on campus, to get dropped off at the Orange Bowl and for me, love at first sight. And now three and a half decades have passed. It's great when the light changes.