More Than Just a Sport

So last night D2 came with me to the final Canes regular season game. The Canes got blown away by a team inferior in talent. We had an awesome time. It was the penultimate event of a banner T Day holiday. In the am, houseguest Elizabeth and I took 2/3 of our dog infestation out for a walk around Devonwood -- little man Bo sat this one out with Wifey. Then D1 fetched D2 and took her to Nicole's house, where Missy hosted her annual brunch for her kids' returning friends. D2 was dropped off, and we drove the man sized Buick to Miami Jewish, where D2 visited with her aging and declining (well, one of them, anyway) grandparents. On the way out, we stopped and greeted Mirta, who Wifey and her BFF Edna have hired to spend time with their two fathers. Mirta was leading Meyer, who turns 90 next week, into another session of singing his favorite song "Those Were the Days," which seems particularly poignant for a man his age, who has gone through so much... D2 and I then learned one can get to Joe Robbie from MJH in a very short time, so we arrived as the first in the lot. Soon after Paul drove up in his girlie sized Mercedes, step son in tow, and then Norman and Mike arrived in their tailgate bulging vehicles, and the party was in full swing. And there was the point: standing around, eating and drinking, and basking in the love of your oldest and closest friends. I met most of these people when I was still a kid -- 18 and starting college -- and now, 35 years on, the memories we share, and the laughs we've caused each other, are sacred. I really am a fan of the Canes. When they soar, I find my week is happier, and when they disappoint, as they have this season, my mood darkens. But that's NOT really the point. Earlier this year, a bunch of us traveled to Lincoln, Nebraska, to watch the team play in a true cathedral of the sport. The game was close at first, and a Husker fan in front of me was ribbing me about our formerly great and now mediocre team. And then he added, "But what's awesome is being at a game with your closest friends, and making memories over the years." He was dead on, of course. And last night was even more special, in that my friends' kids were there, now all or mostly grown up. Mike's Amanda and Chris were in from LA. 1/3 of Norman's crop of outstanding sons, Benji, was there, too. Eric and Dana's Josh and Jen, visiting from Atlanta and NYC, wore matching jerseys, and helped celebrate their parents' 28th anniversary. Paul's son Alex, like D2 a life long Cane and now a father himself, was there with his brother in law. And Barry's VLS (very large sons), were happily there, too, along with their Mom Donna, who wanted to see Scott in his element for the last time before he goes off to college next Fall... So we gathered, in the fading daylight, and ate, and drank (Mike did some college level tequila shots and was hugging and kissing everyone in sight), and reminisced, and shared our time. We were there to watch a game, of course, but we were really there to share a unique kind of love. And to have D2 there for me, was, well, as good as it gets.

That Most Wonderful Time of the Year

So the happiest part of the year is upon us. Canes are still playing football, the weather is absurdly gorgeous, and the Ds are both under our roof at the same time. Yesterday we got into the man sized Buick, because Wifey's SUV is out for repairs...don't even get me started...and headed to Key Biscayne. D2's boyfriend Jonathan, his Mom Lizbeth, and sister Elisa were already at the hotel. We gathered and went to our table -- outside and bathed in the refracted sunlight from Biscayne Bay. The staff brought us mimosas and bellinis, and we toasted: D1's 26th birthday, great health, and being together. The array of food at the buffet was something a visitor from another country might think was a made up Hollywood set. A gorgeous fresh turkey, an enormous prime rib just being sliced as we got to the carving table -- tables of seafood and smoked fish and meats, and an entire room filled with gourmet desserts. We all ate ourselves nearly into, as the Ds call it, food comas, as we sat and chatted about our childhoods in Miami, Brooklyn (Wifey), and Caracas. Wifey and Lizbeth shared Lucy Ricardo inspired tales about car mishaps. At this brunch, the two of them really bonded, and D2 and Jonathan seemed to enjoy that. Afterwards we walked to the Bay, and took photos, and then found a gazebo to sit under. That's the thing about the hotel on Key Biscayne -- they have so many different spaces you WANT to hang out. On the way inside, we plopped down on some leather sofas in the bar, and I glanced at the football game. Thanksgiving was thereby complete. The Ds headed out to some parties, of their high school friends returned to the 305 for the holidays. And then Wifey's old college pal Elizabeth came over -- she stays with us during T Day although sees a lot of her sister. She was dead tired from the long drive from Orlando, and headed up for much needed sleep. I fell into a deep sleep, too, as the cool breezes caressed our bedroom. And then I heard the happy sound of a car on our gravel driveway -- the Ds had come home. Today -- more of the same. Dinner with the Ds, and then tomorrow the last Canes tailgate and game. It's the best time of the year, and I savor it greatly.

You've Got To Be Thoughtful...You've Got To Be Thankful

Well, it's been quite a week here in paradise. The Big Man has put me through quite a range of emotions in a very short time. First, my hypochondria was tweaked by another high PSA score on my annual blood test. Although my prostate biopsy 2 years ago was negative, the very careful Dr. Robert, after probing me with his longshoreman sized finger, said that a lot can happen in 2 years, and I ought to undergo a MRI. No problem -- I showed up Monday at Baptist, and was slid into the machine. The tech forgot to tell me one thing: a pelvic MRI lasts twice as long as other types -- like the head MRI I had last year. After an hour of staring at the tube inches from my face, I asked how much longer. Something about the tech's uncertainty set me off -- full blown claustrophobic panic attack. "Let me out, now!" my adrenaline shouted. She did, and I left. As Bette Midler sang, "you gotta have friends," and I'm blessed that I do. My old bud Kenny is a radiologist on staff at Baptist, and said over post panic cordaditos at the cafeteria he would get my results later that day. He texted me less than an our later: enlarged prostate, but nothing else! I was ELATED -- I had, in my anxiety addled mind, cheated death again! The elation led me to sign a check to UM Peds, to send young GI docs to a seminar about Crohns and Colitis, as I've been doing since 2007. And then I thought -- I'm leasing a new car. An email from GM said I could "Move Ahead," and end my lease 2 months early. So I took the man sized Buick in for the free oil change, and sat down with Rick, the NY Rican salesman I had 2 years ago -- best I've even encountered. The guy reminds me of my cousin Barry, who could, and has, sold beds to people who sleep standing up... Rick and I did a deal on a Cadillac -- an ATS sedan -- for only one dollar more per month than I pay for the man sized Buick. I was to pick up the car the next day -- Wednesday. And then Wifey called... At first she started talking about her Lexus having a problem, and she spun in a parking lot, and there was another car that she DIDN'T hit, but the mom had called 911 to have her daughter checked out... I raced to her location, just a mile away but at 5:30 a traffic choked 20 minutes, and by the time I arrived I saw that she had gunned the car in reverse, by accident, and made a backwards U turn into a parked VW. The paramedics had come and gone -- thanks to the Big Man, the little girl, 4 year old Zoe -- was fine. Her mother Jessica was lovely, and I went into concerned lawyer mode as the Miami Dade cop drew up the crash report. Wifey was fine, too, except nervous. She did, in fact, hit the car -- hard. The rear bumper of the victims' VW was bashed, and the trunk barely opened. I told Jessica I would pay all damages -- please don't report to my insurer, as my rates would soar -- and she agreed. I showed Zoe I was a magic man -- pulling a $20 out of her ear -- and while Wifey waited inside the thrift store her friend owned, I got to know Zoe, her mother, and grandma. Jessica called me yessterday, and I plan to meet her at the body shop in Doral, to leave my credit card. The range of the repair is $1500 to $4000 -- depending on what they find when they remove the bumper. Plus, I told her, I'd rent her a car. Back to the emotion swing...after Wifey and I returned, well, let's just say we didn't see eye to eye on my reaction to her escapade. The day after, I was despondent. I called Rick, and canceled the Caddy. I lost any desire for it -- I'll keep the man sized Buick until February. We also had dinner plans -- I had to cancel those, too. I thought seriously about sending Wifey and the Ds for Thanksgiving without me. I just planned to stew in my anger and sadness for awhile -- fixating on how that lovely Zoe could have been seriously hurt, and it would have been all our fault. But then the magic happened. I fetched D2 from Brickell, along with her adorable spaniel Bo, and D1's adorable spaniel Mads. The happiness returned -- like a decanter being filled with fine wine. The Ds and I went out last night to the Falls -- D2 had to return some boots to Macy's. We bought Teavanna tea, and sat and watched little children frolic in a big globe filled with fake snow. We talked about life, about our history, about days to come. And then, this am, I awoke to an unbeliavably gorgeous day -- cool, sunny -- bright like a movie set. And it's D1's 26th birthday! I drank coffee out front, and the three dogs reveled in the cool weather -- trotting happily all over the yard, and playing. We have reservations for our early T Day brunch on Key Biscayne -- D2's boyfriend Jonathan's mother and sister are late additions -- D2 told us their Dad is in Venezuela on business, so I called Lisbeth and insisted she join us. As I age, I believe more and more in the Big Man. It just seems this world is too awesome and intricate to have just happened to be. And I thank Him -- for the challenges, and the contrasts. Steve Miller sang "You know you've got to go through Hell before you get to Heaven," and he's dead on. I'm thankful my "Hell" was most manageable. And I'm thankful for the Heaven all around me.

The Worst Part Of The Trip --And That's Really Saying Something

My in laws have endured so much in their lives, which is an understatement. They were both taken from their families as young teens, and imprisoned by the Nazis in concentration and slave labor camps -- emerging years later to learn that most of their families were killed. They're difficult people, also to say the least, but as Dr. Barry always reminds me, what they have gone through really gives them a life time pass for any social or other faux pas. Over the three decades I've known them, they've shared pieces of their stories, and much of the fill ins were provided by their few surviving relatives and friends. But yesterday we learned a previously untold chapter: their voyage from Germany, after the War, to Israel. Wifey and I made our weekly trip to Miami Jewish Home, taking with us the strange rescue dog. We met my mother in law in my father in law's room, and schlepped them outside -- it was a lovely, breezy afternoon. Our usual stop, the aviary, was a non starter -- the staff had placed tarps over the cages because of a coming cold front -- so we walked a bit farther to the site of the old gazebo -- my Mom's favorite spot. They removed the roof of the old gazebo a few weeks after my Mom died, but a nice circular deck remains there, with tables and chairs, and in the late afternoon it was pleasantly shady. My mother in law held forth: after a time in a Displaced Persons camp called Feldafing, she was taken to Munich, and placed on a transport ship. These trips were of course dramatized in the Paul Newman movie "Exodus," and according to my MIL, the movie was mostly accurate. Her trip took 12 long days, on a crowded Greek ship, whose name she now forgets. The water was "bad," and she came down with an awful "gastritis acute," which brought her weight below 80 lbs. She said the trip was awful -- worse than her time in the camps -- probably because she and the other refugees figured that once the War was over, and Hitler was dead, things would get better. They didn't -- at least not right away. She remembered my father in law's ship -- the Pan York, which Wifey promptly googled, and learned of its history. Anyway, after arriving at Haifa, as an "illegal" -- they took her for rehab at a hospital, where she regained her health. She said she gained 30 pounds in less than a month -- and grew strong as she got nursing training for the military. She recalls eating "ten slices of bread for breakfast." Ironically, the time set in motion a lifetime battle with zaftigness that continues even now, as she approaches 90. The day ended, as we wheeled my father in law back to his room, and Stephen, the happy Jamaican driver Wifey found for her Mom, loaded the old lady into his front seat and left for Pembroke Pines. As I drove home, Wifey read about the "Pan York" from her smartphone. I wasn't really listening, though. I was thinking about how hard my in laws had it compared to my family, whose struggles, during and after WW II, were essentially only financial. As we left the gazebo, my mother in law remarked that there was a reason the German government still paid reparations all these years later. It wasn't just a bad thing they did -- it was the ruination, or attempted ruination, of an entire people. The pain continues 7 decades later. So we all have our challenges and struggles. But I'd like to think that my Ds, grandchildren of true Survivors, in the purest sense of the word, have inherited that strength. I revel in making life easy for them, but I hope they have some inherent vitality to get them through the hard times as well.

Happiness on Give Miami Day

So Wifey and I keep talking about the lessons from our class "How Happiness Thinks," which is not really revelatory, but rather more common sense. Another of the precepts of happiness is charity. The class taught us about studies that show charitable people really are happier, and live longer without as many health problems. It's nice to know, but charity just feels like the right thing, deep in our hearts. So last year some local folks came up with a nice idea, "Give Miami Day." They invited a bunch of charitable foundations to come together, online, and ask for a blitz of donations in a 24 hour period. Then they got some really big foundations, like the one started by the news magnate James L Knight, to agree to reward the foundations based on how they do. In reading about it, I learned for the first time that Kerri Heiken's family had started a foundation in her memory. Kerri, who would now be in her early 30s, was killed as a UF freshman, along with some of her Miami classmates, when the driver of the car she was in ran off the Turnpike on the way back to Gville after a weekend visit home. The incident has starred in my nightmares over the past 9 years, as the Ds traverse back and forth to UF. I'll hold my breath until next May, when D2 is set to graduate with her MS degree, and those hated trips will cease. Hated to me, by the way...the drive isn't so bad for the Ds... Anyway, Kerri's parents raise money and give away a scholarship each year to a South Florida high school grad who did well academically, but really soared in community service, like their beloved daughter did. So I was proud to help that effort yesterday, during the 24 hour push. Wifey found out, and added that we HAD to also give to Paws4You, a dog rescue outfit in South Dade. As we are a dog-philic and dog infested family, I complied. And then I gave one final gift, to Junior League of Miami. D1 joined a few years ago, and now is a leader. They do service, mostly for poor and abused women, and D1 leads the therapy dog section. She calls it her "WASPy" charity, as Junior League was traditionally the charity old "Miamuh" ladies did. D1 also volunteers in a Jewish charity -- just to keep balance. I received an email last night from the chapter president, who had a Hispanic rather than WASPy name, thanking me for the donation, and singing D1's praises. Her words were very charitable. And so this giving thing really works -- a bunch of us were made most happy yesterday, and hopefully some folks were helped.

Happiness and the Bad Guest

So last night Wifey and I attended the third class on gratitude, taught by our friend and Rabbi Yossi. We've been enjoying it -- our temporary Wednesday night routine is dinner at Wagon's West, a local diner, followed by the short drive west of US 1 to the Chabad Center. The topic discussed last night was gratitude -- and how it's an essential part of happiness. We talked about studies that showed, over the years , how people who appreciate what they have do better in objective health ways, and live longer. We also discussed the falseness, or temporariness, of happiness bought by material possessions. When we yearn for something, and get it, we're happy -- but soon whatever we get becomes routine, and we take it for granted. This is why kids raised wealthy so often find it difficult to appreciate things -- they simply expect all they desire to come their way. The Rabbi shared a tale about liking fast cars -- and a few years past, a congregant lent him his Audi A7 for a few weeks. For the first week, the Rabbi loved the car, but within a few days afterwards, it was a vehicle like any other. He shared with us the Chasidic belief that gratitude is essential in Judaism. The earliest Jews following deliverance from Egypt were instructed to give the first fruits of the harvest as a sacrifice at the Temple -- to show the Big Man they appreciated everything that would follow. And there are prayers to be said all day that express thanks. Wifey loved the fact that there's a prayer to be said each time one has a succesful bathroom visit. The woman next to her said she has that prayer on her bathroom door -- to remind her that we MUST be thankful for this. And then the lesson was about the Bad Guest. The parable is that 2 guests were invited for dinner. The first thanked his host for having him, and marveled that he was given a meal and wine. The second mocked the simple and easily prepared food -- and noted the host had to prepare a meal for his own family, so it was no big deal having him over. The Rabbi shared how one of his relatives used to make fun of the fact that they brought in prepared meals for some holidays -- whereas the relative always provided "home cooked." So he had a bad guest in his own family! The point is, we must appreciate all we are given. And how appropriate this lesson was -- with T Day just around the corner. D2 is due in, and we plan to gather at the hotel where we've spent the last 7 years together -- to feast, and sit on the Bay and be together. Wifey and I share the gratitude thing...and plan to have it full blast next week. Now if I can just remember that bathroom prayer...

Welcome, Comrades, to Soviet America

OK, so forget about my being a Democrat, and in favor of government helping the poor. First of all, the poor were too damn lazy to get out and vote, so the GOP won huge anyway, both nationally and here in Florida. So if the poor don't care... And then today I had an experience with our banking system that made me want to find Rand Paul and support his campaign -- especially now that he's pandering to pro Israel groups... My mother in law got a bonus reparation payment from the German government. They didn't give out rings in the Holocaust, as we learned in "The Hangover," but if your survive and live long enough, different programs emerge through Survivors who know about these things, and my mother in law got some money. She decided to gift it to the Ds. The check from Germany was direct deposited into her account at Bank of Amerika (k is intentional -- I'm making Soviet references), and she wanted to get the funds out right away. She has to keep her balance below a certain level so that Medicaid eligibility for my father in law isn't jeopardized, so she asked Wifey to simply withdraw the money as cash, and have me gift it to the Ds. Wifey waited her usual 45 minutes at B of A, which has the worst customer service ever. Even though they know her there, for her monthly visits to do her mother's bank business, each time they examine her signature and driver's license like her name was Wifey Atta. No -- bad analogy -- Mohammed Atta had a much easier time of it navigating (bad word) our country before he led the 9/11 attacks... Anyway, I met Wifey and took the cash, lest she get jacked by one of the Norwegians who jack Pinecrest homemakers as they drive around town in their Lexus SUVs...The bank was short of $100 bills, so I walked out of B of A with an envelope stuffed comically full -- like some idiot weed dealer from a Cheech and Chong movie. So now, all I needed to do was walk down the Sunniland Center to SunTrust, where the Ds have accounts, and deposit the cash. Not so fast! First, I asked the not nice Jamaican teller for their account numbers. She told me, even though I gave her my ID and the Ds birthdates, that they "no longer give numbers." Alvaro at the Brickell branch does, I protested, but the Jamaican wasn't having none of it! Worse, hers was the only teller line open, and a group of about 10 angry folks were behind me. Jamaican lady would have just let them stew -- I said maybe I ought to take this up with a manager. I called D1, and she pulled over and gave me her account number. D2 was in a UF prof meeting. I called my "personal banker" who no longer exists, but luckily longtime assistant Rosa answered -- from Coral Gables, no longer Brickell, and she told me the new policy about not giving out account numbers. "Rosa -- you've known me for 25 years! Remember I always used to joke that if anyone wanted to DEPOSIT money in my account -- let them!!!???" She laughed and broke the high rules of SunTrust -- she gave me D2's account number. So I got back in line with the right numbers and my absurdly bulging wad. Ha. Now they had opened two other lines, and a young Latina took my deposits, and then told me it "would have to be reported." Whatever. By now the system had beaten me -- any logic about trying to be a regular citizen and being able to deposit money from a grandmother to grandkids was gone. I meekly said "I thought you reported deposits of more than $10K." Yes, she said, that was the IRS rule, but the SUNTRUST rule was that since both deposits, though to different customers, exceeded $10K COMBINED, they needed to report. So I told them what D1 does for a living, that D2 is a student, and that I deal weed. I actually said that, but she had my lawyer business card, and actually laughed. Then she asked "Do you daughters have plans for the money?" I knew she was asking because SunTrust is trolling for brokerage clients, but instead I said "Yes. They're each buying mail order husbands -- the older one is buying a Moldovan, and the younger an Indonesian. Imagine what our grandkids will look like." So it is with our fine country. Criminals steal billions, drug dealers make millions, and I'm treated like one of them simply being the conduit for a grandchild gift. It would have been easier if my mother in law simply gave the Ds rings -- though not rings from the Holocaust...

Three Deaths

My mother used to believe the old adage that bad things came in threes. When she'd hear about a death, she'd be a bit on edge until she heard of two more -- even if they were remote from our family, they'd count towards easing the curse. Two weeks ago, D2's good friend Ben lost his grandfather. He was in his 80s. I met him a few times, and he was a very nice man -- devoted to his family. His widow is a very youthful lady, who was born and raised on Miami Beach, and still says "Miamuh." Southerners and old school 305 folks use that pronunciation -- they're a dying breed. Wifey stopped by the shiva call with some cookies that D2 and her friends wanted to send. Death number two was another 80 something parent -- my friend Lew's mother. Lew is a hand surgeon, who used to live in the apartment complex where Wifey and I met. He went to Brooklyn for his residency, and we lost touch, to reunite years later when he returned to Miami to open a practice, and I had just become a plaintiff's lawyer. Our kids got schlepped to the Zoo and parks together, and now we're all empty nesters. Lew's father died last year, and he told me his Mom was declining. She died, and Lew flew her body to her native PA for burial. So that made number 2. Then last week we got the call from Wifey's close friend Linda. Her Dad Lou died, at 88. Lou was a Miami native, whose family came here from Key West -- a small but prominent group of Jewish Conchs whose numbers included a man who became a beloved federal Judge -- Sidney Aronovitz, and after whom the Key West Federal Court is named. Lou met Diane, a Philly native, and the two had a classic, post WW II suburban Miami life. They raised 2 girls, now 60 and 58, in a heavily Jewish West Miami neighborhood. Lou was a CPA -- and he worked until the end. Diane died about 3 years ago, but Lou stayed in the house. The neighborhood had become completely Cuban American, and the neighbors loved Lou and he loved them. But his daughter Karen prevailed upon him to move closer to her and Linda, and he bought a place in Aventura, with a gorgeous view of the Intracoastal and Atlantic. He bought a wheelchair, but never used it. Instead, he simply collapsed into his beloved caregivers arms and died. He had, second to Nelson Rockefeller, the best death I know of. Wifey and I went to his funeral at an old Jewish cemetery west of MIA. The president of his still surviving synagogue was there. It's off SW 8th Street, and somehow is still in existence. The president was a courtly lady who also said "Miamuh." She reminded me of the grandma in "Driving Miss Daisy." There's something uniquely charming about Southern Jews... Afterwards, we drove to Mystic Pointe for Lou's shiva. There were happy tales -- no real tears -- the sign of a man who died later after a life well lived. So that was the scary three...may their number NOT increase, for a long while...

Biblical Happiness

So my Rabbi friend Yossi puts on adult ed classes sponsored by the Chabad Home Office, and Wifey and I decided to take one together. Dr. Barry and I took one on Bioethics last year, and we both enjoyed it. This one is about happiness. Wifey jokes that I, eternally happy, due mostly to my Mom's genes, could teach the PhD level... Anyway, we met for dinner at Wagon's West, and then headed to Chabad, on SW 112th Street. My partner Paul and I gave the rabbi an interest free loan to buy the property back in 2000, and it's great to see how the center has grown and prospered over the years. Now they have a bustling Hebrew School, as well as countless programs which draw folks from all over South Miami Dade. Whenever I walk inside, I pass the mezuzah Paul and I helped nail to the doorpost, and I smile a bit... The class mixes mainstream psychology with Jewish tradition. It turns out that, according to Chasidic tradition, one MUST be joyful to properly connect with God. God mirrors the happiness of His people, we were taught. Also, true happiness comes from having neither a low self image nor arrogance. Rather, a balance must be struck between the two...and that leads to true humility. We discussed how when one is truly in a "zone" of serving others, we forget about ourselves. When we lose the self consciousness, that leads to happiness... Wifey really enjoyed the class -- scribbling notes on the handouts like the A student she is. In the parking lot, Wifey told me excitedly she had bought me a gift, and produced a nice Canes shirt. She proudly told me it cost $2.50 at the Goodwill Store. It seems that well off women like Wifey and her friends enjoy finding things there -- buying dresses that cost $500 in Nordstrom for $10.50 on the rack at Goodwill. I begged off. Something creeps me out about wearing used clothes, even if they're "like new." I have no problem buying stuff at discount stores, but I want to be the first person to wear stuff. Maybe I always see visions of my grandparents as immigrants on the Lower East Side of NY, dressed in hand me downs and making their way in the new world, but used clothes don't work for me... So despite that difference, Wifey and I look forward to our class together. It runs for 5 more weeks -- no exam. Now if only the Torah could teach me how to be better in math...

I'm In The Wrong Business

Having good Jewish style deli restuarants nearby is, to me, an essential part of a good lifestyle. We have fewer than we used to, but fortunately there are still four in pretty close driving distance. My favorite is Lots of Lox, which is owned by Greeks, but does an excellent job with deli, at a reasonably good price. For years, the local go-to place was Roasters and Toasters. But, alas, their prices have gotten absurd. Today, D1 texted that she was sick with the virus going around (I caught it from a banker friend, and then Wifey fought it off a week later). I told D1 I would bring her rescue chicken soup -- the gold standard treatment for a bad cold. I was lazy and didn't want to drive south to LOL, and thought parking might be tough at Bagel Emporium, my 2nd choice. I always forget about Mitch's Westside, even though they've very close -- so I chose Roasters. They messed up Wifey's phone order, which was ok, as Wifey called R and T -- their Roasters' owned sandwich shop next store, which doesn't open until 11. So I went to Roasters and ordered a quart of chicken soup, a tuna sandwich, and some rugelach to keep D1's energy up and sweet tooth happy. The bill came -- nearly $34! I leaned in to the counter lady, and asked how people pay those prices. She said she couldn't afford to eat there, but then gestured to the nearly full dining room. I guess the combination of being in upscale Pinecrest and proximity to the Dadeland office district is a winner . That did it for me. A got a call from a very large lawyer I'll call Glenn, since that's his name. He was hitting me up for money for the Crist campaign -- I told him I had already given too much. He checked the records and saw I had. But Glenn, a Roasters regular, said we ought to meet for breakfast. I told him I went to a different shul -- Roasters was too dear for me. He agreed -- he said it occurred to him he was spending nearly $20 for breakfast each day -- and he switched to the Emporium. Well, I said, he was welcome to meet Norman and me at LOL, where we were regulars. He said he would, after election day. So that's it for me at Roasters -- they toppled my tipping point. The soup was good -- D1 texted to tell me how much she appreciated it. But next pickups will come from LOL, the Emporium, or Mitch's Westside. Roasters -- you priced yourself out of my comfort zone, even for great comfort food.

A Banner Homecoming

So this is the U's homecoming weekend, which, for me, is silly, as I never went away. Still, it was fun to see the Iron Arrow members wearing their silly Indian jackets at the game, including their newest initiate, Dr. Barry. Iron Arrow is the highest service society at the U, and inducts, typically, student leaders. Dr. Eric was tapped in college, and in act showing his moral strength, declined to join, as the group excluded women. They voted to end that prohibition, and Dr. Eric joined. Well, years later, they got Barry -- to recognize his years of service to the med school. His closest colleague, Dr. Patti, got him in, and last week some somber folks banging a drum accosted him and smacked him with a fake iron arrow, and then paraded him around the med school. Barry greatly dislikes this type of attention, but being a good sport, went along. Next weekend he has to go do some secret ritual in the Everglades. The whole thing reminded us about how much we made fun of stuff like this back in the day -- but he'll go along with it. Anyway, so my sister of another mother Mirta and I cruised the man Buick up to Joe Robbie, and savored a gorgeous day tailgating. It was nice to see some old friends -- those other than the usual Canes game crowd. Then the Canes played like they did in days of yore, and beat up UNC. After all these years, I still don't know what the hell a tar heel is... Afterwards, Wifey and I went to Norman's firm's Halloween party, at his partner Glenn's house. It was something to see -- awesomely decorated and catered -- probably over 250 folks were there. We hung with Norm and Deb, and Wifey and I dressed as Bill and Hillary. My costume was a reguular blue suit and red tie, with a Clinto campaign button. Wifey did a wig, fake pearls, and an ancient pants suit she fished out of the bowels of her closet. Most people got it -- althoug typically only people of color think I look like Dollar Bill... Today the chill is in the air -- along with a semi annual annoyance -- Daylight Savings Time. I got all ready to head to Home Depot at their opening, to fetch some light bulbs, and then realized it was only 6 am, not 7. Whatever. It really is the most wonderful time of the year in the 305. Football is in full swing, and the weather is perfect. There's an art festival in South Miami, but Wifey now inherited my last week's cold, so we may skip. IF we do, the strange rescue dog and I will take some long walks around the 'hood, and then see if the Dolphins can win, making for a perfect Joe Robbie weekend.