The Peacemake No More

There's a coming schism among a group of my friends engaged in business together, and they wish me to mediate the dispute. In years past, I would jump right in, listen to both sides, and convince them to get together over strong drink and work things out. I don't play that no more... My friend Dr. Barry has had that rold at his large medical center for years. Everyone comes to him for his calm and wise counsel. I remember when we used to take our thrice weekly morning walks, and he would tell me about the latest kindergarten-type dispute among the enormous egos who made up his work life. I pointed out that he was like the character Alex Rieger in "Taxi,"--played by Judd Hirsch. Alex was always the voice of calm and reason between the loving buy zany cabbies and their misanthrope boss, Louie DePalma, played by Danny DeVito. Alex took all the suffering upon himself. Barry still does this. The newest resident to the most senior colleague expect him to be the fixer. He accepts that role, even though the dysfunction stays with him -- bringing him more frustration and anger. I've always said Barry was the better person than I am. When the heat gets turned up, these days, I simply walk away. As I age and presumably gather more wisdom, I understand that people have their own sacred agendas, and getting them to change takes more energy than this nearly 54 year old guy has. At my office, one of the young lawyers, Michelle, has taken to calling me "the oracle," because she says I see the key issues in cases instantly, and usually know a solution that's both effective and economical. It's a nice complement, but what amazes me is how few of my peers or even senior lawyers have this simple ability. Handling PI cases is not planning routes for brain tumor removal, or calculating rocket launch speeds...What we do is so simple: converting white paper (legal files) to green paper (money for clients and ourselves). So I offer the advice, and sit back and continue to be disappointed when folks I tell should go from A to B instead choose to go from A to X to Y to C and maybe eventually to B. It could be much worse -- I could still be working for others. I was fortunate to have as my longest lived boss a senior attorney I'll call Ed, since that's his name, and he was a true genius. He would have insight into cases that would amaze me, along with a no give a crap demeanor that would force results his way. Other bosses I had, either dumber or only ego motivated, were untenable for me. D1 shares this characteristic. She LOATHES following superiors' commands she knows is stupid. And she's doing something about it more productive than showing up one day with an automatic weapon: she's starting her own practice. She'll have no guarantee of success, but she'll do it, like the Chairman sang, her way. So these disputes will continue, with both sides mired in inertia, and reluctance to confront. Eventually things will explode, but money will be involved, not human health. And I will SMH, as the kids say, but no longer judge or give advice. No one listens, really, anyway.

Politics and Human Rights and FaceBook (tm)

Among the many pledges I broke this year was getting involved in political discussions on FB. Posters are typically set in their ways, are not going to change their minds, and get offended when you challenge them. So I decided to swear off, and instead post only the random song lyrics that pop into my head, or humorous news articles, or pictures of the Ds and Wifey and me. Well, I got swept up in the recent Supreme Court gay marriage thing, and read my friend the strict Catholic's posts. This fellow, who I'll call Arnold, since that's his name, is our former neighbor and relative of the Ds grade school teachers -- a good family friend. He raised his three girls well, and is by my definition a true man -- he takes care of his family well, is a community leader, and very charitable. A few Christmases ago (we always used to get invites to their great holiday parties -- the invites stopped, I think, because of Wifey's wildly Liberal posts on FB (Wifey thinks Obama is the greatest president of all time). Anyway, Arnald told us about recruiting homeless guys, who he paid, to travel to the inner city school where his wife is a principal, to spruce the place up, after the bureucrats on the School Board couldn't get it done. So I like him and his acts. But he's also an idiot when it comes to gays. I know from prior discussions that he thinks homosexuality is an evil choice, that can be "prayed away." So his take on the Supreme Court ruling was predictable -- it discriminated against Christians, and was another mark about the end of a decent society. I challenged his Fox News style post -- about how poor Christians were once again the victims of the Liberal, gay agenda, and how the decision discriminated against them. (I love how the Right forgets that the Court is largely GOP appointed, by the way). Anyhow, most of Arnald's friends agreed with me, but he had a few church people who went on an on about how "scripture is above US law" and that since Jesus is against gay marriage, well, then we should be, too. Arnald truly believes the US is a Christian nation. Since one of his son in laws is Jewish, I wonder how that sits with his eldest daughter. It also cracks me up that Arnald is Cuban, and thinks most of his fellow political comrades (ha) would accept him. As if. They'd see him as a wetback who needed to be deported ASAP. I've only "defriended" one FB friend -- my cousin Arlene. Arlene never went to college, but married a successful computer guy who has moved the family around the country. Each time they land in a city, according to FB, they become fans of the local sports teams and colleges. I know that's their right, but a few years ago, my beloved Canes football team reached an embarrasing nadir --they lost to Duke! Arlene, who was living in the Triangle, commented "Go Duke." I immediately de friended her. A true Duke fan would have had that right -- to gloat. My Rockland County raised cousin who lived in NC for a year or two -- no way. I may have to de friend Arnald, the way he defriended Wifey. I invite debate -- some of my closest friends are Republicans. But they're intelligent -- not simply of the "Jesus says it so that's the way it must be" variety. Jesus used to be important to my life, too. Jesus Sanchez was the best mechanic I ever had, and I miss him ever since he moved to New Jersey in 1990. But I don't think he gets to decide American politics.

You Pay for This But They Give You That

About a year ago, a good friend called me with a question about referring a divorce lawyer. His friend, a wealthy layabout, was told by his formerly poor wife, that he was no longer blowing her skirt up, and she wanted out, but she wanted out with BIG money -- after all, she had become accustomed to a certain lifestyle. The friend's Dad, the immigrant who actually MADE the family money, was savvy. He kept the wealth in his and his long time wife's name -- the son had little, on paper. Still, the soon to be divorcee wasn't giving up easily -- she hired a known Miami shark woman. Who would I recommend? No one, I told my friend. I was out of the referral business -- particularly in divorce matters. I was several times bitten and now very shy. Litigants in divorces are almost always angry and bitter, no matter what their outcome. And they take a lot out on their lawyers, and if you referred that lawyer, well, you're a big part of the problem. Still, my friend persisted, and asked about a particular woman attorney I know. I said she was competent. Fast forward. The make believe rich guy hired her, to combat the onslaught. He thinks his lawyer is a drunk has been. His wife's lawyer is running circles around her. The friend blames my friend. My friend called to tell me how correct I was. I used to be referral central. If a guy cut my trees well, soon he was cutting most of our hood's trees. And it worked both ways -- I got a lot of business from referrals as well. I've cut down quite a bit. Even in the PI arena. If my firm isn't going to make a co counsel fee, and therefore have no benefit, I tell folks to call local bar associations. There are plenty of good ways to find lawyers. Speaking of referrals, yesterday we got a happy surprise. My office settled a nice sized case, and I had assumed it came from a lawyer we know, and who would be entitled to a 25% co counsel fee. Not so fast. My partner Stu checked the file again -- the case was sent to me by a banker friend -- my firm got to keep a nice chunk of change. With my continued assistance of both Ds -- well, it's a welcome bit of news. I still hear grief from Dr. Eric about patients I referred him years ago, who turned out to be some of the nastiest, demanding, and generally unappreciative old folks he sees. And in a practice where most of the patients are elderly and angry Boca and Delray folks -- well , that's saying something. So know unless someone is really close friends, and asks for a doctor referral, I tell them web sites are the way to go. And for divorce lawyers, the advice is best learned from a joke from my rabbi friend. A husband sought counsel with his rabbi -- his long time wife was trying to poison him. The rabbi was incredulous -- these things didn't happen in his congregation. The rabbi met at length with the wife, and listened to her hectoring, complaining, and misery. He met then with the husband, who anxiously awaited his advice. The rabbi said "Take the poison."

NOT Humble in Fatherhood

So the Ds and Jonathan and Wifey and I drove to the Palm, and had an exquisite dinner. Wifey and D2 shared a lobster, D1, the dietitian had salmon, and Jonathan and I each tore through some large NY Strips. We toasted FD, and the Ds, and wished Jonathan a bon voyage to the Big Apple. He gave Wifey and I a classy parting gift -- Apple TV, which Wifey has long wanted. On the way home to Brickell, D1 chastised Wifey a bit -- for sort of roping me into a visit to MJH today, a day that ought to be all mine. So we may skip the week -- the sad truth is my father in law wouldn't really know if he's visited today or next week. We'll decide later. I listened to Dan Fogelberg's "Leader in the Band," a song that makes men of a certain age always reflect on their fathers, to get in the mood. And then I decided something else: I'm self deprecating about most of my life. I downplay my accomplishments in business. I always elevate my friends' accomplishments and intelligence above my own. When I got the most expensive car I ever did, a BMW 740 IL (IL soot for It longer), I immediatley told everyone it was no Bentley... But the one thing I AM most proud about is how I am as a father. I will shout from the rooftops: there is no greater Dad in the world than I am. I adore my Ds, and have raised them with all the love in my heart, and wisdom in my head. I have imbued in them self respect, love, and kindness. Neither daughter is perfect, but they're closer to that ideal than any other people I know. And I take a lot of the credit for that. I had an awesome teacher, of course. My father came from a cold, unloving home, but one in which he was always cared for. He told me the few times he sought his father's life advice, he was answered by a smack to the head with the admonition "Don't be stupid." My father vowed to be the opposite with his kids, and he was. He raised my sisters and me with complete love, guidance, and understanding. I appreciated that each and every day of his life. Of course, he also worried himself probably to an early death about us. When my sister had her son in California, and it was clear her then husband was not going to be any sort of provider, I would come home from late nights out to see my stricken Dad pacing in the small Florida room of his condo, worried about his daughter and her baby boy. When I promised to be home at midnight, and came in 1230 or so, he had that same pained look -- he had already assumed I was lying next to a highway somewhere. I try to keep those demons at bay, and it's hard. But overall, well, I AM the best father. My Ds know it and appreciate it. Hopefully they'll choose men who will likewise take care of their families. Years ago, I read Sidney Poitier's autobiography, "The Measure of a Man." It chronicled his amazing life, from being born to poor Bahamians in Miami, to his childhood, to racism, to finally the top of Hollywood. And yet his message was simple: the measure of a man is how he takes care of his family. I measure up the highest, if I don't say so myself. Happy Father's Day to me, and, of course, to the man I think about and miss each day.

All Is Quiet on Father's Day

So FD comes tomorrow, and for me it will mark the 32nd year since I last had a living father. Last night I met my friend Crazy Joel at Taurus in the Grove, to catch up and talk about the future of our law careers, and he reminded me that my Dad dying in my arms when I was 20 was the singular event in my life. He's right. My last memories of celebrating FD with my Dad were going out to one of his favorite delis, and buying him some Tabac, his favorite cologne. We'd always joke about his big Tabac purchase, in the Bahamas. In 1970 we took our first cruise, from NYC, and it was to Nassau in the Bahamas. At the Straw Market, Dad found a store that sold cologne, and bought a whole case of his favored Tabac, for a fraction of the US cost. When he got home and opened it, he discovered it was a case of water in Tabac bottles. The laugh was worth the wasted money, he'd say. For years, my Father's Day meant the start of summer camp for the Ds. There'd be a big rally at the JCC gym, and the Ds would learn that year's camp song. From there, we'd usually go visit Wifey's parents, for dinner usually at Canton, one of the few "inappropriate in law" friendly restaurants. I'd order their "special steak," which came sizzling, and my father in law would dig in, commenting that "meat must be SOFT." Those summers seemed to go on a long time...the Ds rose through grade school, to middle, and then high school, and went from being campers to counselor aids -- typically in the performing arts camp run by a Jewphilic teacher named Carmen. This year, we're celebrating a night early, for me, anyway. We're headed to the Palm, in Bay Harbor, with the Ds and Jonathan, D2's boyfriend. Jonathan's leaving Tuesday for his new job in NYC, so we'll make the dinner a bon voyage party, too. The Ds and Wifey will toast me, and I will toast them. It's nice to be the Dad when the kids are absurdly awesome... Tomorrow, actual FD, we'll reconvene at MJH, to honor Wifey's Dad -- now 90, and suffering from Alzheimer's Disease. The last few weeks we visited, he seemed to be in decline, but as we learned with my Mom during the last months of life, the very old tend to porpoise -- rising and falling in and out of functionality. After MJH, we'll head to Norman and Deb's house -- they're hosting a big FD party. We're privileged to be included -- Norman's family is bustling, and loving, and hilarious. And the patriarch, Max, is one of my favorite people -- he's many people's favorite men. In his late 80s, he's still blessed with good health, and kids, grand kids, and great grandkids who daily complete for his time. The seek his wisdom about life issues -- he recently consulted heavily about the purchase of his granddaughter and her husband's first house -- and he covers his large family with some of the finest fatherly love there is. So all is quiet on Father's Day. If only they brought me slippers and a pipe --filled with, oh, never mind...

D2 and the Lazy Summer

D2 really packed the education thing in together. Although she is humble, and hates talking about her accomplishments, she started college August of '10 and got her BS and MS in Management less than five years later, all with stellar grades. She was inducted into Phi Beta Kappa, and won a scholarship for her graduate school studies based in her college academic performance. Mighty amazing. She has a job offer waiting in NYC in the Fall, and decided to take a well deserved summer off before beginning the career world. She ran into a gaggle of "Pinecrest Moms," defined as women whose husband's earnings have given them the luxury of not working, and who, after being very involved mothers, are now enjoying the fruits of their wise life choices. This gaggle all had grown kids, and although were quite involved with them, really didn't have any more day to day responsibilites, other than getting manicures and going to the gym. They asked D2 what her summer plans were, and she told them -- really just working out, visiting friends, and preparing for her move. The Moms acted as if D2 had said she planned to become a drug addict and move under a highway bridge. "REALLY???!!!! You're not going to work or ANYTHING????" D2 and I found this hilarious. These spoiled and lucky women begrudged D2, who just packed more hard work into the past 5 years than any of these women had done in decades, from living for a few months in exactly the lifestyles they took for granted. The NOIVE of 'dem! All I know is, I'm thrilled with her choice. We're spending a lot of qulaity time together -- yesterday was a prime example. It occurred to me that plenty of justice at the firm was going on without my presence, and I decided to stay home. D2 awoke at the crack of 11 am, and we went to LOL, our favorite breakfast/lunch spot. Wifey originally begged off, and D2 asked her to reconsider. At LOL we ran into our new neighbors, Roberta and Joan, and chatted with Joan about her appearance in a great documentary about the Miami gay experience we had watched earlier in the week. Across from our table was a 2 man law team I used to do business with, but now Stuart is the receiver of their cases. One of the fellows has 2 kids who have failed to launch, sadly, and I caught up about their non accomplishments. From there we drove to Goodwill, and dropped off the 5th load of giveaways from the closets of our house -- 2 small bookcases and a huge pile of once expensive clothing. Then we stopped at Recycle Closet, a consignment shop Wifey and the Ds frequent, and dropped off some formerly VERY expensive ladies' clothes, and D2 found a like new down coat to take to NYC to guard against the first Winter of her life... Then it was a quick stop at the post office. I mailed by California sister 2 of our late Dad's sweaters -- I had kept them since he died in '82, and was going to give them to Goodwill, but then thought maybe my sister wanted them. She did. As I put them into the box, I remembered my Dad wearing them -- one green cardigan, and one red number with a black leather front. Our hope is that my sister's son, now away, will wear them this Fall when he returns. D2 made us kale salads for dinner -- unhappy that I ate the chicken and nuts and bleu cheese but not too much of the cardboard-like kale. The balance of the night was sitting with Bo and Vienna, the two resident dogs, watching the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductions, and sharing with D2 tales of Stevie Ray Vaughn... D1 made an appearance of FaceTime (tm) as well. So Viva D2! It's awesome to share this gap summer with her, as we reflect on her awesome accomplishments and talk of her future. And to hell with the begrudging Pinecrest Moms...let them go out and get jobs.

The Gays and Me

My first knowledge that there were such things as homosexuals came when I was a young boy -- probably 9 or so. I went with my Dad, a giftware salesman, so visit one of his customers -- a store, I think, in Queens. Ha. Anyway, the two owners were very effiminate men, who acted like a married couple, and I asked my Dad about them. "Oh, they're gay -- just men who love men." He may have used the Yiddish term faygeleh -- I'm not sure. But to him, it was no big deal -- the same as a fellow who preferred redheaded women, for example. And I guess that imprinted my own views on homosexuals -- who really gives a hell? In college, a guy named Vinny lived on my floor. He was an Italian from Brooklyn -- talked and acted tough. One night, in his room, he put his hand on my knee and gazed into my eyes, asking if I shared "special feelings for him." I laughed, hugged him, and told him I preferred the ladies. Afterwards, some of the other "straight" guys allowed as he had come on to them, and they wanted to kick his ass. Didn't I want to punish this pervert, too? I did not -- again -- who cared? My dear friend Barry has the worst Gaydar of anyone. After working with a colleague for months, who introduced her live in lover as her "roommate," he thought she was just a roommate. Later, when he was a faculty member, a young Jewish intern from NY came to see him, admitting he was depressed and lonely. Barry assured him he'd meet a nice girl, and that would make him happy. A colleague later told Barry that the young doc probably did want to meet someone, but not a nice girl. Barry has learned now. The problem is, too many folks DO care about others' preferences. Last night, Wifey, D2, and I watched "The Day it Snowed in Miami," a Public TV documentary about gay struggles here, dating from the late 70s when the airhead Anita Bryant spearheaded the reversal of gay rights laws in the County. We were delighted to see our new neighbor Joan as a featured interviewee, as well as our broker Damian. The film shows the journey from 1977 to 1998, when the County finally passed the human rights ordinance. Joan had the most poignant comment -- she said the tragedy was that the time and money spent combatting bigotry and ignorance could have been spent trying to cure a disease. D2 watched as one of her generation, who never thinks being gay is any big deal. She wondered how anyone could actually believe being gay is a choice -- as many of the morons in the documentary claimed it was. With so many things that need fixing in this world, worrying about another's sexual prefences seems like a colossal waste of time. My Dad taught me that in the late 60s. Hopefully we've evolved...

OH, so it's FLAG Day...

So we slog towards the meat of steamy Miami Summer. The humidity has already been about 300% each day. I'm ready for a respite already. So we finished the large home improvement projects. Our second replacement ac went in Wednesday, and yesterday the 2 man crew from Dolphin Carpet came to install the new hardwood floor in D2's room. The fellows spoke ZERO English, but we understood each other well enough that I brought them cold water and stayed the hell out of their way. Ds and her boyfriend Jonathan arrived just in time for J to translate for me the final instructions about placing books on the thresholds to keep them glued in place, overnight. We had made plans to with Paul and Patricia to meet at Christy's, and D2, Jonathan, and I planned to get our drinks on. Wifey was to drive, but as we were leaving told me her OTHER wrist hurt -- she couldn't drive. Well, after some domestic negotiation we left for the Gables, and met D1, Paul and Patricia. Diane and her man John tagged along, too, and we sat at the big front table drinking, eating, laughing, and talking. Wifey got the wherewithal to drive home, and did. Fine evening. Today we're headed to MJH to see her parents. Wifey has been an amazing case manager for her Mom lately -- hiring and firing drivers, and getting the stubborn old lady to let them take her to Mardi Gras casino where she plays the slots and passes the time. I'm not sure what old folks without devoted kids or LOTS of money do. No, I do...they become shut ins. Or, if they're lucky, they die... D2 and Jonathan slept in, and then left for a brunch with another couple. Jonathan's leaving for NYC in a few weeks -- excited to start his career. D2 will go visit for July 4, and then make her move in September. Somehow I see many trips to NYC in my future. I've learned that I start getting serious withdrawal symptoms when I go longer than a month without seeing my Ds. I also have a feeling that when she lives in her first winter, D2 will be coming home to warm up pretty frequently. I have 2 tropical girls... Christy's was fine, as usual. Paul remembers going often in the late 70s and early 80s -- meeting his law school friend, who lived in Kendall. The food was the same -- prime rib, Caesar salad, shrimp cocktail, and healthy martinis... Next week the eating continues. We're celebrating Father's Day one evening early -- Saturday night, but visiting the Palm. I think they have the best steak in Miami -- 2nd best in Florida. Number one is Bern's in Tampa, in my book, but that's a long way to go for a piece of meat... So it's about that most wonderful of inventions -- air conditioning -- and cold drinks, both adult and otherwise. Here comes the heat...

True (Upper Class) Crime

Although crime in Miami and elsewhere in most places in the US except, apparently, Detroit and Baltimore, is down, we have been experiencing a wave of it worse than it's been in the past 15 years. No fewer than 10 houses have now had their cars "broken into," and stuff ranging from headphones to change taken. I put broken into in quotes, since all of the cars had been left open -- we've come to do that here. One car, a Range Rover, was actually stolen -- it had the keys in it. It was recovered, completely intact, in Wynwood, which tells me that our local criminals are trendy -- they hang in the coolest part of town. The likely culprits are teens -- school just ended, and left open cars are an easy target for quick change and property. And, it's not too hard to defeat our crack security. We use off duty FHP troopers. They work around 40-50 hours per week, and are supposed to stagger their hours to all times of the day. Ha. As if. Other than Saturday nights, where they stay late, they're always gone by 10 pm. So any teen criminal not completely a moron can observe that, and know they have free reign during the wee small hours... The neighborhood is understandably outraged. Wifey is Crime Watch Chair, and the emails have been flooding in and out. Of course, most everyone is really angry, but no one really wants to do anything. Compounding the ire against our security patrol, we all just received notice from the County about their cost -- paid as part of the real estate bill. Since a mistake was made and too little was charged last year, this year there's a 30% increase -- to nearly $2400 per house. Multiplied by 83 houses, residents feel we ought to be getting better service. While there were near zero incidents, everyone was ok just waving at the friendly troopers who tend to park in one place and rarely move. Now everyone wants ACTION! Years ago, I asked one of my firm's consultants, a retired police chief I'll call Fred, since that's his name, what he would recommend for our 'hood. He said that since we have zero violent crimes, except the unreported ones involving wives pumelling husbands behind closed doors, Fred thinks 24 hour unarmed patrols would be best. Guys in golf carts with the little yellow lights constantly on the move are a better deterrent than better trained, armed troopers who are there only a fraction of the time. I mentioned this at a community meeting, and was immediately skewered. It turned out that some of our nice old ladies had become FRIENDS with some of the troopers -- they saw them as their sons and daughters. And one politically incorrect fellow, a retired doc, reminded me that in the 80s they had a private company which was "a bunch of Julios riding around, and stealing more stuff themselves than they were preventing." So I shut up. I have a feeling that this latest wave will die out on its own, as the kid or kids responsible move on to other 'hoods. But, there will still be a flurry of rich, mostly white folks, anger, and emails, and fighting, and recriminations, and accusations. Something must be done! Meanwhile, D2, home for the summer, has made me promise to lock my car door -- even though we have a gate at the entrance to our house. I have complied. She also wants us to start using our functional burglar alarm. We set it the other night for the first time in probably 10 years, and sure enough, a huge T storm came by and a burst of thunder set it off. So I had the joy of waking up at 5 am and allowing D2 the laughter of seeing me run around in my drawers, looking for a land line to answer to tell the dispatcher not to sent the SWAT team. I called the company -- figuring we ought to update the contact list. Sure enough, one of our contacts, a married couple, was now divorced, and all the numbers we gave were landlines no one ever uses. So I updated the info. And now, I plan to sit back, and watch the neighborhood fireworks. One fellow, a tough lawyer who runs a large firm, already sent off a tough e-missive. And then his English language challenged wife followed up with a report that she was one of the victims -- jewelry stolen from her unlocked car. So the Summer is promising to be one of excitement, and entertainment. I want to decamp to North Carolina until things cool down...

The Law of No Conservation of House Expenses

As homeowners of nearly three decades, Wifey and I learned that while you sometimes save on something, you have to pay somewhere else. Such is my experience of yesterday. I researched pond fountains on the internet, and learned they START at $1300. Do after a solo breakfast at LOL, I ventured deep into the Redland, where my pond guy, Paul of Angel's Hatchery, does his business of selling fish and supplies. I always enjoy visiting the place -- he has tortoises and mini horses there, and it's relaxing to wander among the acres of concrete ponds, admiring the exotic species. But yesterday was all business! I had oxygen deprived koi and cichlids and pleckos waiting for me. Paul told me I could get by with a pump and aeration stone -- the pump only uses the electricity of a 60 watt light bulb, so it stays on constantly, and installation is simply running the air hose and dumping the stone (carefully, they cost $50) into the water. He said it was cheaper and better at oxygenating, though not as pretty as the fountain. Total cost: $750. I came home and plugged the thing in, and learned that I had insufficient hose. What man hasn't faced that realization, from time to time? So I went first to Home Depot and then Ace Hardware for extra hose -- another $40. Still, I had saved nearly half of what I thought I'd spend. Then the electrician came -- a fellow referred by one of my cop friends, who did the fellow a major solid by letting his wife pick him up after a DUI stop, instead of getting "hooked up," as they say in the trade. Billy senior came over with his son, Billy junior. I told him half of my garage was dead, including the essential outlet that powers the U Verse box. He moved the garage fridge, saw the receptacle was a GFI, popped it (we had a ligtning storm the night before) and Voila! --instant repair. I felt immediately stupid, for not checking this obvious thing, but Billy told me fridges should NEVER be on GFI circuits anyway, and will return to install a proper one. He only charged me half his usual fee. So I was saving all this money, until...as if on cue, I entered the family room to hear loud banging from the ac unit. It was 18. I knew it was dying. So I called Danny, the ac guy Norman and his family use, and he sent his man over a few hours later. Sure enough, need a new 4 ton unit --and the FPL generous rebate program ended in January, so instead of an $800 rebate, I get one of $267. So -- another $4600 will be spent tomorrow, and the third major unit is due to go any time now. What are ya gonna do? I was talking with my condo living friend Paul, and he reminded me that he pays close to $2k per month just to keep the pools and guards and staff paid. So either way, you have to pay. The floor guys are coming any minute -- they're installing a new floor in my football room -- in plenty of time before the season. Gotta go find the check book -- again...

Stuff Breaking Down

Ah, the joys of owning a big house, expecially one that's aging. So yesterday I went out to feed my pond fish, and noticed that fountain was off. I have a surface aerating fountain that keeps the small pond well oxygenated for the koi and cichlids. After Hurricane Wilma, where we lost power for several weeks, all of the larger fish died, and I realized it was because they need the aeration. So I dragged the thing to shore, messed with it, and realized it had finally broken. As it was installed in 1997, I figured it had a pretty good run. I looked up replacements on the web, and learned the damn things are EXPENSIVE -- around $1500! So this am I have to travel to Homestead to my pond guy and lay out the bucks. In turning off the power to the outside outlets, I somehow messed up something in the garage -- I can't get back power to half of that room. I went through all the breakers, and can't figure it out. So the garage fridge is now off, and, nearly tragically, the outlet supplying power to our UVerse box was out. Tragedy was avoided: I ran an extension cord to an inside outlet so Wifey and the Ds could watch "Game of Thrones" together. I am only slightly more handy than my Dad was. The joke was he could fix anything that could be fixed with Scotch tape. I can usually figure out what the problem is, but am inept at repairs. So today I have a new electrician coming over. It seemed we lived in our LI house forever, but in truth we were there 17 years. In hindsight, we probably moved before the major repairs were needed -- like a new roof. We've bought this place nearly 15 years ago, and the place was completed in '97, so as we near the 20 year mark, more is sure to break and break down. I more and more see the beauty of renting -- just call the landlord when there's a problem and say, essentially, "it sucks to be you." The Buddhists really are on to something -- when you own something, it owns you. As if on cue, this am I notice a new grinding sound in our family room A/C. D1 is sleeping over -- I imagine she noticed it, too, though after a weekend of full work followed by babysitting for some wealthy folks in town, she is so knocked out she may have slept through it. Fortunately we DO have a great A/C guy -- Danny, referred by great friend Norman. He replaced one of our FOUR !!! units last year, and I have a feeling we have a new job for him coming up. Wifey, who has ZERO understanding about these things, keeps asking "WHY is EVERYthing falling apaaart?" Hey -- the house is nearly 20, and we live in the Tropics. I'm happy stuff has lasted this long. Last night we went to see the new Brian Wilson movie with my friend Kenny. His wife, a law professor, was out of town -- she helps write Bar Exam questions for the national group charged with that most awful of jobs. I was venting to him, and he said, with his typical wisdom, that he had a great handyman, Nelson, and every month he had him over to fix stuff on the "Nelson list." Apparently Nelson can do everything. So I'll be calling him today. I have a garage entry door that needs replacing, along with some garage ceiling repairs that occurred as a result of the "mold remediation" we had done in the room above the garage. Hopefully Nelson will be a great addition to our house -- he is for Kenny and his family. Norman's Dad Max told me some time ago that any problem that can be fixed with money is not a real problem. I have told this sage advice to several friends, one of whom had a rejoinder: "Yes -- spoken by someone who HAS a lot of money." But it's true -- may these problems be as bad as it gets -- the annoyances of owning an aging house. Sometimes an electrician or plumber or handyman or lawyer or even doctor can't solve the real problems.

Contrasting Views on Crime

We're so fortunate to live in one of the lowest crime areas of South Florida. In '06, Pinecrest incorporated, largely to get their own police department, after residents realized Miami Dade wasn't too attentive to them. Wifey and I saw that first hand, when we lived in Kendall. Two cars were stolen from my driveway, and when I called Miami Dade, the dispatcher didn't even want to send out an officer. I demanded they do so. It made no difference, but after the second time, I felt I was entitled. Miami Gardens also has its own department, but the, um, demographics are a bit different. It seems there's a shooting there every few days, and they barely get press, except when a small child is the unintended victim. The cops complain that witnesses hide -- afraid of the gangs who do the shooting retaliating against them. Well things are different here! We've had our first "crime wave" in a long time. A neighbor left the keys in her Range Rover, and it was stolen -- though recovered completely undamaged in Wynwood -- even the change was still in the console. I'm guessing some kids newly out of school opened the car looking for stuff, and when they saw the keys -- well -- nice RIDE to Wynwood. Then, some new neighbors reported that someone rang their doorbell after midnight. They have a security camera, and it recorded some teens at the door. They ran off -- nothing was taken, but this has generated a STORM of emails -- especially since Wifey is Crime Watch Chair. Our off duty FHP trooper told the ring and run victims to forget it. Of course, I was thinking that my LI friends and I used to do the same stupid stuff when we were young teens -- though usually earlier in the evening. Still, the neighbors called Pinecrest Police, who DID come out, and Wifey is having our local community resource cop vist, too. This all over a ring and run. The contrast between how different socioeconomic 'hoods deal with things. Murder in the poor place gets no involvement -- while a ring and run in the rich place unleashes a major series of action. Meanwhile, the rumblings are starting again about our off duty force. Each of our 83 houses pays $2500 per year (no choice in the matter) for the service, and all the troopers do is come at odd hours, park, and do their other reports or play video games. Wifey figured out that they earn nearly $100 per hour -- well, they don't earn it, but that's what we pay. Years ago I spoke to one of my consultants about security. He told me that a neighborhood like ours would do best with 24 hour unarmed guys, who drive around with yellow lights, to provide a constant deterrence to the small property crimes. No way, said the old ladies of the 'hood. Many of them had adopted the FHP guys like their own sons, and loved the fact that the troopers would meet them at area stores or restaurants and escort them home. Another long time neighbor, a retired doc, told me that when they had the private company, it "was a bunch of Julios who stole stuff themselves." He was obviously from a pre politically correct time... So I'm guessing we're keeping the troopers, though Wifey is determined to have them become more "pro active." She thinks, at the least, they ought to follow cars that enter the 'hood after midnight, to make sure they belong. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is several of my friends, who, well, maybe have a drink more than they should at the country club before driving home, and probably wouldn't want the friendly escort by someone who has a breathylizer tester sitting right in the patrol car. DUI arrest or losing some loose change to teen aged car burglars? Either way, we're lucky to have these "rich white people problems," as the saying goes. It gives Wifey and some of her other Pinecrest Moms something to work on. They could probably use folks like them up in Miami Gardens...

Weird City, this Miami Is

The great Dave Barry is so correct -- Miami is one weird city. I grew up on Long Island, which was boring, but not really weird. Everyone spoke English, and our Dads had normal, boring jobs. There were no invasive exotic animals. Today, as I drove home from breakfast with Dr. Kenny, I saw a sign: the County was inspecting a property for Giant African Land Snails. I read about these things -- they're slowly taking over, and they actually eat the stucco off houses. Also, if you pick them up, you can get meningitis. Apparently our climate is sufficiently tropical to make these things happy. To eradicate them, you just find them and kill them -- wearing gloves. Weird. Kenny and I grew up together on LI, and he's lived all over the country during his stint as a Navy doctor. He moved here 10 years ago because his wife got a great law school teaching job. He's come to love the place, too -- even saying for the first time that he might stay even after his second son leaves for college -- next year. It's funny how a place changes over time, too. Last night my sister of another mother, Mirta, and I took out a future business contact. We ended up in Little Havana, which is the latest hip part of the city. We went to a bar called Ball and Chain -- with great live jazz. Little Havana was originally working class Jewish, and then as the Jews did better and moved up, the 60s era Cubans moved in. As they did better and left for Hialeah and Kendall, the area became Central American == very working class. But lately, the old botanicas and markets are being turned into culturally Cuban places -- an ice cream place called Azucar is surrounded by hip cigar bars and retaurants. And Teach for America kids are renting old duplexes -- probably to be replaced by Yuppies. The baseball stadium is nearby, too. I fantasized about buying a cheap condo and being the old gringo who hangs out nightly at Ball and Chain. I could do worse. And, as far as I could tell, there were no giant African Land Snails on Calle Ocho, so it has that going for it, too.

Busy Fun Week in the 305

So we've shaken off the last of the jet lag and have gotten back into the swim of things in the 305. I actually put in a few solid work days -- with my partner Paul, I'm trying to get cases in my office moving with greater alacrity. But, alas, some habits die hard or not at all... Monday, Norman had a great idea -- we ought to go watch the Canes baseball team try to advance out of the Regional playoffs. I love Canes baseball but due to sheer laziness, haven't seen a game live in 3 years. So after battling the traffic caused by UM's renting out the basketball arena for MANY high school graduations, I cruised into the ZBT House lot, and met up with my good friend. We walked over to Titanic, where Mike met us -- and the three double Canes drank and ate well, talking, of course, about days gone by. We walked to the stadium as the strong sun was setting, and watched the Canes take on Columbia -- a team that surprisingly made it out of the Ivy League championship and shut out the Canes the night before. As I watched their pitcher warm up, my years of playing and watching baseball told me he had the stuff of a high school kid, and this would be a long night for Columbia. Happily, I was correct -- the Canes shelled them, and won 20-3. With that, they host a semi final this weekend against Virginia Commonwealth. I'd go, but the games are at noon, and my laziness and aversion to sitting in the heat might well keep me tuned in instead of attending. Last night, we met old friends Dave and Maureen and Dave's LI buddy Richard in the Gables. We ate salads at the only resturant the penurious Maureen likes -- California Pizza Kitchen, and heard Richard's tales of his lobbying -- guns and marijuana. Unusual guy... We then went to Books and Books for a talk by an author who anaylzed Nobel Prizes in medicine, physica, and chemistry, and how an absurdly high proportion went to Jews. The talk was attended by mostly...wait for it...Jews, but one fellow there was the former president of FIU, Mitch Madique, apparently a buddy of the writer's. I got to meet him afterwards, and found him brilliant anc charming. He's the only college president in US history to have his school start a med school, law school, and college football program all under his watch. He told me he's writing a new book tentatively titled "Cubans -- the Jews of the Caribbean," and we chatted about that Cuban-Jewish connection in Miami. He loved it when I told him that my dear friend Jorge, a Catholic Cuban, is by far the strongest Zionist of anyone I know -- my orthodox rabbi friend included... So the slow times of the Miami year are upon us, and yet there's plenty to do...I still think I might need a cooling off respite come July or August.