SoFi on a Friday

So Friday was a great day for hookey, as the weather is gorgeous, and D2 was able to fly in from Gville for the weekend. Wifey and I fetched her from MIA, and drove to Brickell where D1 was waiting, and we took off for South Beach. D2's 23rd birthday is February 3, but since we won't be together, we decided to celebrate early, and as Ds has only been to the veritable Joe's Stone Crab once, D1 suggested lunch there. On the way over, D1 allowed as to how she's NEVER been to Joe's, even though she's a Miami native and foodie. Waiting for us outside was Jonathan, D2's boyfriend, and it was his first time as well. We were there at opening, 11:30, so we were seated right away, and joked with the waiter that both Jonathan's folks and Wifey and I were guilty of a form of child abuse -- Joe's witholding. We remedied that right away, with piles of crab claws, hash browns, and an order of their famous fried chicken. As we ate, the restaurant filled to capacity, and our waiter brought a slice of key lime pie on the house with a candle for D2's birthday. He also gave his contact info to D1, after she said she avoided Joe's because of the absurd waiting times for dinner. No more, said the Rutgers and new FIU accounting grad, who probably makes three times the salary of a starting CPA by being a Joe's waiter -- now D1 had an "in." All in all, it was a fine early bday for D2. We left Joe's, and walked around SoFi, so named because it's the part of South Beach south of 5th street, and like lower Manhattan, the hippest and trendiest part of the Beach. I bored Jonathan and the Ds with tales of my family vacations there, and how, as a teen walking with my Dad along Ocean Drive and Collins Avenue, I fell in love with Miami. Back then, the area was run down, and the ancient Jews were dying off. Now, gleaming hotels are everywhere, and the old Chicken Unlimited where we are burgers and fries, across from the Pier, is next to Prime 112, arguably the most expensive (and worth it) restaurant in Florida. After a mere delay of 30 years, the city rebuilt the pier they promised to replace when they tore down the last one, and we walked onto it. If there's a more spectacular vista around, I haven't seen it. The pier runs parallel to Government Cut, and the huge ships sail right past. The gorgeous ocean is to the east, and the strip of South Beach pastel hotels extends to the north. The skyline of Miami is to the west, past the port. The pier was full of Europeans snapping photos. A ginger German girl took a shot for us, and D1 returned the favor. A huge pelican sat on the railing, drying its wings. The sun reflected off the water, and I told Jonathan and the Ds the history of Fisher Island, right across the Cut. Wifey advised she wouldn't want to live in a place you needed a ferry to get to, and I thanked her for saving me the $20 million or so a house there would cost. We walked back through South Pointe Park, where an old dog track used to be. I recalled being there with my family -- one time my brother in law Dennis came down for business, and my parents and I went there with him -- must have been about 1980 or 81. The park is now filled with dogs, and hipsters, and several Hasids there with their family. I offered a couple of "Good Shabbos" greetings, which the Ds found hilarious... We stopped in a liquor store at the base of Portofino for some cold water, and I chatted up the owner. We talked vodka, and he told me to try a bottle of Purity, a Swedish import he claimes was "scary good." I bought a bottle, and later in the evening Jonathan gave it a go. The owner was right -- smoothest I ever tasted... We stopped at D1's and fetched the spoiled Spaniel, to dog sit while D1 went to Key West for a bachelorette party. D2 and Jonathan lingered on Brickell, and later came by. We met for dinner in South Miami, and then came home to watch the Heat game, a team Jonathan and I both like. They won, and the vodka was fine... So it was a blessed and banner day for us -- a bit of history mixed with the present. The ocean breeze that blew down First Street gave Wifey and idea -- maybe she could flee there in the Summer for some relief from the heat, instead of Asheville. The breeze will be warmer in July, of course, but the memories of that strip of land and its place in my heart will always be sweet.

River of Grass

So my sister of another mother Mirta has become quite the biker. No, no the kind with leather and piercings (at least that I know) who rides Harleys and drinks beer -- but the kind who pedals all over Miami. Yesterday we decided to ride through the northern entrance to Everglades National Park -- Shark Valley. The Shark Valley trail is 15 miles -- 7 one way, down a straight road, and 8 on the way back -- curving, through hammocks. The day was perfect -- 60 degrees when we started, with gentle warming to 70. We glided past gators and birds and turtles. At the end of the trail there's an observation deck -- built by WPA workers in the 30s, and we climbed to the top for the panoramic view. A sweet, older park volunteer was there -- from Oklahoma. She was in her late 60s and retired -- she and her husband parked their RV for free in exchange for volunteering, and she explained when the weather gets too hot, they head north. Mirta thought this a great way to spend retirement -- but then she remembered her devotion to her grandkids, and how she's happily stuck in South Florida. I've been the Shark Valley many times -- we always take visitors there. Wifey used to do the ride, too, until her back became an issue. I told Mirta the tale of a trip in the mid 80s -- before we had the Ds. Wifey and I rode the 8 miles to the tower, and were easily into the short trip 5 miles more. It was getting dark. A 10 foot gator was sprawled across the path, completely blocking it. If we turned back, we'd have a long trip, and never make it before dark. We plotted, and finally agreed I would toss a rock at the he-reptile, hoping to annoy him into the culvert next to the path. Before I could toss the rock, he got up and crawled away. Wifey and I sped past -- yelling and laughing. Ah -- we had fun when we were young. So we rode, and I shared with Mirta all I learned about the ecology of the Glades from my days as a Bio major at the U. She didn't know it was actually a river -- a slow moving one from Lake Okechobee to Florida Bay, and the billion dollars being spent to restore natural water flow. We both knew it was a gorgeous day, and shared tales of our friends and families... At the end of the road, we racked the bikes, and headed for the Pit Barbecue -- just east of Krome Avenue. The Pit has been there forever, although it used to be run by crackers, and now by Cubans. Salsa music played, and the Havana born folks drank Heinekins and made believe they were guajidos, or country folk. I brought some leftover ribs home for Wifey. If there's a better place to be in January than SoFla, I don't know where it is, and yesterday brought that sentiment home. I'm glad Marjorie Stoneman Douglas recognized the land west of Miami was worth saving...

Human Nature

I guess I'm simple minded, but along with finding surprising examples of human nature interesting, I also enjoy when people act in very predictable ways. Such was my experience this am. As background, there's great news: Wifey's bad back seems to have abated sufficiently to allow our first overseas family trip since 2006. And although she opposed a trip to Israel based on safety concerns, she's come around to the idea. D1 very badly wanted to visit Switzerland, as her mentor and older friend Stephanie is an Art Basel exec, and travelled there extensively, telling D1 tales of Swiss beauty and luxury. So D1 found that the former Swissair, now called just Swiss, flies to Zurich from Miami, and also to Tel Aviv. It seems besheret, or fated, that we go to both places. And so yesterday D1 booked our airfare, Business Class for all 4, and Amex Platinum offers "companion fares"for Business. That's the good news; the tough economic news is that you have to buy refundable, full fare Business. The end result is that the airfare alone for my ladies and me easily exceeds the cost of the first several cars we've bought. Still, I figure since we haven't taken any big trips in years, we ought to splurge. The total cost of the trip will easily exceed my yearly young lawyer's salary from back in the 80s... On the other hand, I have a couple of tax free bonds maturing this summer. Instead of reinvesting, as I typically would, I'll invest in family memories. Funny how one can justify any extravagance... If all goes as planned, D1 will graduate with her MS May 1, we'll move her back to the 305, and then leave for Israel May 10. I haven't been since my parents took me when I was a boy, in 1969. I hear the place has changed since then... Back to the human nature story: I called my broker in the Grove, and asked for a check to be prepared, so that when the Amex bill comes, I can pay it fast -- like ripping off a band aid. She told me to drop by to pick it up. I took the elevator to the 19th floor, and a receptionist was there -- late 20s, Loni Anderson look alike. She wasn't rude, but looking at me, dressed in jeans and a gray polo, was dismissive. I told her I was there to see Vanessa, who is an assistant, and Loni called her, gave me name, and directed me to have a seat. Again, not rude, but not at all gracious, no "Sir"or "Mr"-- no offers of coffee or anything. Since I was dressed plainly, and asked to see an assistant, I assume Loni thought I was some kind of deliveryman... And then the broker herself came out, gave me a huge greeting and hug, and immediately invited me to her office. She gave me the check, I gave my obligatory Walter Mitty tale of needing the funds to pay off a 20 something Colombian mistress, we chuckled, and then the broker and Vanessa walked me out. It was as if Loni the receptionist was replaced by another person. She addressed me formally, and as I admired the view, insisted on walking me into the conference room to better see Sailboat Bay. She smiled. She was charming. She was borderline flirtatious. Again -- none of this is surprising, but still to me hilarious. A middle aged gray haired guy who's a broke ass doesn't arouse interest in a certain subset of young ladies, but when she learns he has money... So I hope Loni Anderson of Oppenheimer finds her guy. I have a feeling that he'll be well dressed, wearing at least a $20K watch, and looking the part.

College Football

So last night was the College Championship, and after meeting a new client in Broward County, I drove the sporty Caddy to Palmetto Bay to watch the game at the Hole. The Hole is terrific -- literally a hole in the wall of a strip center, with awesome wings and beer and wine. Most of the denizens know each other, and though I go only a few times per year, I always feel like I'm welcome, too. Norman is off in Africa drinking wine, eating zebra and orangutan, and taking pictures of penguins, so he was notably absent. My neighbor and friend Pat the Broker was there, holding a table, and soon we were joined by his boy Pat the high school senior, Mike, and Pat's Gator friend, Rich Jeff. I call him Rich Jeff because he is -- sold a major truck leasing company named after his alma mater a few years back, and now giving his full time to youth groups and such. Mike and I drank soda, since neither of us was feeling too celebratory, what with our Canes stinking lately. Pat and Jeff drank beer, as they're all excited about the new coach at UF, and somehow still think they get credit for Urban Meyer -- the Ohio State coach. I questioned this, as Urban left the Gators like they were a once gorgeous wife who rapidly became fat and old, but they still like the guy. Go figure... Anyway, the game started off exciting, with Oregon marching down and scoring lightning fast, but then the Ohio State big boys took over and dominated. Still, the game was close until the 4th quarter, and we 5, all serious college football fans, happily reminisced about our programs and their glory days. Somehow, the Gator guys always talked about beating Tennessee, when they had Peytom Manning. Mike and I, after reminding everyone of our 5 !! rings, turned the reminiscing to great wins over the Gators, and the fact that the Gators dropped us. Young Patrick, his father's son and heading off to college depending on his choices the next few months, took a cerebral approach, but clearly is a Gator by birthright. Most of the crowd at the Hole was pro Oregon, or at least anti OSU, as we're still huring from a championship robbed of our Canes in 2002. There were a few enthusiastic Buckeyes there, though, including a young Latin guy, who was about 5 8 and well over 350 lbs, and kept dancing wonderfully each time OSU stopped the Ducks. Patrick the younger left at half time, to get ready for an Ivy League interview this am. Jeff the rich crowed about how both of his kids went to state schools -- one to UF and one to UCF, and how happy he was when private high school tuition ended. I guess he's rich for several reasons... Mike decamped for home in the 3rd quarter, and I left near midnight, with the game nearly over. So it was a happy night, with tinges of sadness -- sadness for how our once mighty Canes have fallen, and those glory days we all shared. Still, the Hole was a clean, well lighted place, as Hemingway would have said, and it was a fine place to be on a rainy Miami Monday night.

Bad News on the Door Step

So it's been less than a happy beginning to 2015, as radical members of the religion of peace tore up Paris. Apparently there's an Onion on steroids type of magazine there called Charlie Hebdo, and they published cartoons of Mohammed, so a couple of monkeys shot up the place, killing 12. Then, for good measure, some confederates stormed a kosher market and killed 4 more people, before the Inspector Clousseaus caught up with the terrorists and killed them. But one femme fatale, literally, got away, and today there's a womanhunt going on for her. It brings home the wisdom of my late mother, who cut off her newspaper subscription, and never watched the news, other than for the weather. She understood that she couldn't do anything about all the tragedy, other than let it sadden her, so she simply shut it out. Not me -- I'm a full blown news junkie -- checking local and national and international news all day. And the news is usually very sad and tragic. Hemingway taught that all we can do in this crazy, dangerous world is to build ourselves sanctuaries -- "clean, well lighted places" where we can escape the madness. And so I have -- Villa Wifey, and hopefully safe places for the Ds... But modern life reminds us that no place is safe -- movie theatres in Colorado attract nutcases who massacre, and surely college campuses see their share of shootings. Wifey is spooked about going to her native land -- Israel. The Ds and I started planning our first big family trip since the 10 year Wifey Back Intifadeh has shut them down, but Wifey put the kibbosh on it. She understands her fears are largely irrational, but she pointed out that my fears of the Ds traversing Florida on the Turnpike alone are irrational, too, and yet I tag along when they drive and fly home the next day. So Israel is out for the trip, and we're exploring options. Switzerland may be the answwer -- a country of amoral neutrality, who has graced the world with watches, chocolate, and cuckoo clocks. We thought about Iceland, but learned that, even in May, surprisingly, it's still pretty cold there. So Europe it probably shall be. Meanwhile, life here in paradise is pretty good. D2 is back at UF, in her final gradual school semester. Actually, it was gradual school for D1 -- it took her 3 years to get her MS, while D2 is doing it in a single year. D1 is busy as usual, treating the poor kids at JMH, and having the necessary humor to deal with the Bon Qui Qui-like parents she encounters. Things are stirring in my law business -- I've been putting in serious hours in cases and marketing. Just Thursday, we took out a new young ortho doc and his staff who want to treat our injured clients. Wifey is hard at couch -- figuring out stuff for her parents and the upcoming trip. I just hope the nutcases stay out of our lives...