Tainted Tzedekah

So the other day I observed and commented on a small situation of life in the big city. It might have been a "Seinfeld" or "Curb Your Enthusiasm" moment, except it wasn't at all funny. I was walking down the street in South Miami,stopping in front of a coffee place, debating with myself if I wanted to go in, and there was a homeless guy. At least I thought he was homeless -- he was wearing filthy, greasy clothes, and sitting on the sidewalk, propped up against the Starbucks storefront. A pretty, young woman, probably about D2's age, came out with her double, mint, triple whatever chai tea latte, or whatever expensive drink Starbuck's sells that made the working class Jewish kid from Brooklyn, Schultz, a billionaire. The young woman looked like she was headed back to an office -- probably a newly minted MBA type making her way in the corporate world. She saw the homeless guy, bent down, offered him a $5 bill, and asked if he could use it. The fellow smiled, took the money, and said he sure could. A rather zaftig 40 something woman, not at all well dressed, but looking more like she came from a Target and was somehow forced to pick something up on Sunset Drive, and, horrors -- pay for parking to do it -- approached the young girl. "You know," she said, "You really shouldn't do that. It's better to give money to the homeless charities. By giving him money, he's just going to buy booze or drugs, and keep on the streets. I have some social work college, and that's the right way to help THEM." The young, pretty woman was embarassed. I could tell she questioned whether her act of charity was really something harmful. So now I butted myself in. I told her my opinion -- charity was a beautiful thing, and one who questions its purity is the one with the problem. I looked at the large 40 year old and asked her how much money she had given away that day. Her eyes narrowed, and she blurted "None! I support kids, and I can't afford it! I do plenty when I can, but now is not the time. But I just want to help -- and you know what? You're an asshole!" The young girl and I started to laugh, as our rival walked away. I turned to the generous young girl, laughed, and told her her "teacher" was right -- I AM an asshole, and as I go through life, I'm surprised that more people don't call me on that. The girl smiled at me and said "I get the sense you're not." I assured her her act was a thing of charity, of beauty, and she should never allow anyone to begrudge her because of helping others. She walked away. I thought of a recent FaceBook post -- a picture of the Rebbe -- the Big Man to my Chabad friends, and his words: "It's more important to be kind than right." The phrase has long been one of my favorites -- and I never knew it came from Rabbi Schneerson. I thought it was the invention of a LSW Wifey and I met years ago. So there will be the charitable, the "correctors" of the charitable, and the rest of us, in between. Somehow, I'm certain, the young, pretty girl who gave the money to the homeless guy has some positive karma coming her way. As for the begrudger? She'd better home that someone's karma doesn't run over her dogma...

A Reunion and a Shocking Death

So Wifey returned yesterday from ATL and Asheville, and I met her at MIA with a delicious turkey (pavo) sandwich from Latin Cafe, and an icy Diet Coke. I still know how to bring the romance... We enjoyed some reunion time, and talked about the last 8 days, and then decided to get some sushi for dinner. While there, I got a text from my friend Todd -- Nancy Dearr died?" What??? We got the food to go, and Wifey called her friend Eileen in Atlanta -- Nancy's sister. It was true: Nancy died in her sleep, at 62. We were shocked and saddened. Just a few days ago, I was joking with Nancy on FaceBook (tm) about her praise of Jimmy Carter. Nancy is the most politically liberal person I know, and I always enjoy tweaking her about it. A few months before, she and I had a long talk about her ancient mother in law, and the best ways to deal with her. Nancy and Eileen's Dad Jim, one of my favorite people, died last year, in his 90s. We never imagined his daughter would follow so soon. Apparently Nancy died in her sleep, of, probably, an asthma attack. Her husband Ryan woke, made some coffee, and returned to bed to see if Nancy wanted some. She didn't respond. The funeral is set for Monday, which might be complicated by Tropical Storm Erica, which is apparently headed our way. Wifey is out scrambling to prepare, even though it looks to be, at most, a rain event, and our house is set up way high. After we went through devastating Andrew, and annoying Wilma and Katrina, Wifey takes these things seriously. Not me -- my only storm prep is making sure all cars have full gas tanks == so we can beat a hasty retreat if the power goes out. Nancy and Ryan always struggled financially -- by choice. They sent their son to an expensive private college and grad school. They give generously to liberal causes. After Nancy's Dad died, it seemed the money situation changed -- they went on a European extended vacation, and talked of buying a condo in NYC. This of course brings back Warren Zevon's excellent advice, given after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer: enjoy every sandwich. 62 is mighty young, though she did have the best type of death. Storm allowing, we'll go celebrate her life on Monday, I'm sure. And this am, when I returned to bed after waking, Wifey popped open her eyes and said "Still here." I'm glad.

It's That Most Horrible Time of the Year

My close family and friends always make fun of how much I love Miami. Wifey always says I ought to work for the Chamber of Commerce, as I know so much about the place and savor so much about living here. Well, there is one thing I really can't stand -- and that's this time of the year -- "peak" hurricane season. First of all, getting hit by a tropical cyclone is bad. We went through Andrew 23 years ago this week, and it was one of the scariest nights of our lives. Had Wifey and I been alone, it would have been less so, but we were responsible for a 3 year old, and 6 month old, and 70 something mother, and the thought that roofs would collapse on everyone was very sobering. Katrina and Wilma were more of an annoyance. Katrina just rained a lot, and left us without electric for a few weeks, but we decamped to the Mayfair Hotel in the Grove and turned it into a vacation. Wilma's surprisingly strong winds loosened all my roof tiles -- costing me a $4000 repair bill, but was also not too bad -- Wifey and the Ds decamped to Atlanta for a Halloween time there, and I enjoyed the glorious cold front that followed Wilma. As my friend Norman's son Benji pointed out last night, as we were reminiscing about storms -- it was one of the few times you could see and enjoy the stars in a Miami night sky... But the hype is the worst. We haven't actually been hit in 10 years, and the media clearly is angered by that. When fear of these things gins up, more people buy papers and watch the news, so ratings soar and it means more money for the media. Right now, there's a storm called Erica East of Puerto Rico, and we're currenctly in the Cone of Death, as I call it in a not to the absurdity. If Erica strengthens, the lines will form at the gas stations, and the folks will flock t Home Depots. This is actually good for us, as we're substantial HD shareholders... My directive to my family is simple: during storm season, gas tanks must always remain near filled. This is in case another Andrew is truly looming -- we will high tail it out of here, and I don't want to have to wait on an hours long line to do it. But the thought of escape is daunting -- Wifey has to deal with her wildly annoying mother, although her Dad will be ok in the nursing home -- he's THEIR responsibility now. So the hype is in the air, and I really don't enjoy it, along with the high heat and humidity of a Miami August. D2 is set to leave for NYC a week from this Saturday. I told her the first time she steps off the curb into filthy ice water mixed with dog crap, she'll miss storm season. I guess I have to keep that perspective on the downside of living in the tropics as well.

The Pinecrest Bachelor

So I dropped Wifey and D2 at MIA on Thursday morning, and I have been a single guy ever since. My first order of business was breakfast - read the entire issue of New Times at Bagel Emporium, across from the U. At the next table there were 4 dudes -- reminded me of Barry, Eric, and Jorge and I 30 years ago. They were talking loudly and having fun. I then returned to Villa Wifey to close the gate after the tree trimmers left -- they finished half the job, which consists of removing branches that grow over the roof -- lessening the risk of breaking tiles during a bad storm. Dave, the company owner, called to say they had a "tree emergency" and would need to finish next week. I told him none of my trees looked particularly threatening -- so it was cool with me. Friday I took care of the dogs, and then headed to the office for a few hours of frustration. Cases seem to move so damn slowly, and we don't get paid until they're over. It never seemed to be a problem in the past, but it is now. As Tony S says, what are ya gonna do? Norman invited me to dinner with his three sons and father. Max is my favorite POF (parent of friend). We all ordered parmesan -- a few veals, one chicken, and a few shrimp. It seemed the manly thing to avoid fish and healthy things as our wives were not present. Norman's clan enjoyed Salvatore D's -- our local nice Italian place. We talked of times gone by and times to come. It was terrific. Today D1 is coming by to check in on her elderly Dad, and then I'm meeting my sister of another mother Mirta at Miami Jewish. I'll check in on Wifey's REALLY elderly Dad. Wifey is taking a well deserved week long break from dealing with her parents. Her mother, healthy as a schtetl donkey, is particularly demanding. Wifey is a fine case manager -- juggling several drivers, taking care of appointments, dealing with all the minutiae of her Mom's life. But still the accusatory guilt ridden calls come -- and when they're said with a strong Yiddish accent, they seem even more plaintive... Well not for a week! Wifey and Edna, her BFF, have been living it up --dinner with the daughters Thursday, "Motown" at the Fox Theatre last night, and 3 days in an Asheville B and B coming up. Meanwhile, I'm here with the dogs, where I belong... D2 comes home tomorrow afternoon, and I plan to savor the time. She's due to leave for NYC 9 days later -- she bought the first one way ticket ever. I'm thrilled for her, and I know she's a little anxious and also thrilled. If she can make it there... Meanwhile, a hurricane spins in the Atlantic -- Danny. It looks like it won't affect us, but it's DNA worries me -- a lot like Andrew, which most certainly DID affect us. Still, storms will come, or they won't. We prepare for them and hope they miss us. It sure is quiet around here, in the mean time...

Wild Night For The Middle Aged in the 305

So we mustered at Diane and John's Grove condo -- Diane had awesome apps and her boy Garrett was in from Asheville, celebrating the purchase of his new BMW from Braman -- pouring frozen Ketel Ones...John E and his lady Cynthia joined us, and we watched the sun set over the Biltmore Hotel in the Gables -- the ladies drank champagne. At about 7:30 we met outside as the enormous limo pulled up -- with a few drinks under my belt, I made good natured fun of the fact that the driver was a woman... I turned out to be prescient, even though inebriated. As we poured more drinks, I looked out the window and realized we were headed West -- I think she thought our destination was Hialeah instead of Wynwood. Luckily John E, a former USAF fighter pilot, was able to navigate for the lady, and we somehow arrived at the Mana Event Space on 23rd Street. We came upon quite a scene. Well over 1000 people were there, and lines awaited, but our VIP badges got us right in. We saw our man Norman standing in the ring, looking positively regal in his tux. We found our table, and Stu and his boy were there -- Val feeling awesome that he was the only kid in the place. We greeted Norman's posse -- his partner Glenn, brother Martin, and old friend Maria. In my buzz, I hugged and kissed Maria's husband -- except he wasn't. Luckily he was an affable fellow, who welcomed my greeting with a laugh and smile. I texted Norman that I "kissed the wrong brown man..." The boxing went on, and we watched -- one of the matches were between 2 women. I asked Wifey if she'd fight for me -- she said she wouldn't. But what if some other woman tried to steal me away? Nope, she said, maybe poison, but no violence... The featured match got cancelled! El Maja, Norman's boxer, was overweight, and his chickenshit opponent refused to fight him, even when offered a bigger purse at the last minute. Still, as none of our group with the exception of Stu's boy is much of a fight fan, the spectacle and friendship was the draw, and around midnight we piled back into the limo, We had midnight reservations at Touche -- another packed place. We got the last table, and enjoyed a Miami Spice 4 course dinner -- most of us switched from booze to Arnold Palmers. After dinner, we rode the elevator to the first floor to use our free admission to the gentleman's club below -- and walked around, to see how the other side lives. I'm told there were cartoonishly gorgeous naked women dancing, but I really don't recall. I was watching Wifey closely -- she was nonplussed. Cynthia lamented the fact that there were no naked men. We found the thought of that repulsive... Back in the limo, we laughed the whole way home, and discussed the concept of strip clubs. Diane's son was among her number -- and I pointed out she really was a cool mom, not a regular one. I think I'd have visited a strip club with my dear, late mother maybe AFTER I drank Drano... Wifey and I walked into the house around 3:30 am, to be greeted by D2 with her hands on her hips. I was very tired, but I'm pretty sure Wifey and I were grounded for the rest of the month for staying out so absurdly late. But the main point was Diane and her fiance. Diane is one of these people who can take the good time and make it great, and last night was certainly an example of that. It took most of today for Wifey and I to recover. But the laughter and memories will linger. Just because she dances go go...

Let's Get Ready to Dale!!!!!!

So my friend Norman, his law partner, and brother have been backing a local young boxer. He's on the rise -- goes by the nickname of El Maja, which is Spanish for young boxer on the rise. The fellow has been winning, a lot -- I saw him last year at the Hard Rock in Broward -- it was a kick to watch an event where a close friend has a real connection. Tonight, El Maja is the featured boxer in a night of boxing in Wynwood -- some former movie studio, now "event space," where they apparently can pack in a few thousand seats. My law partner Paul and I bought a VIP table, which comes with an open bar, but Paul realized he had a conflicting event, and so offered the tickets to our friend Diane and her fiance John. Stu and his boy are going, as 12 year old Val is a big fight fan, and rounding out our table is office roommie John and his g/f Cynthia. Also, Diane's boy Garrett is in town, and he'll be joining us, too. Diane is one of those people who finds ways to make life more fun, and when I invited her to join us, immediately had her fiance John book a limo. So now we're set to meet at their Grove condo at 6, have cocktails, then champagne in the limo, and then make it to our table around 8 or 830 -- missing the first, minor bouts. El Maja probably won't fight until 10:30 or so, so we'll still see plenty of boxing. An added attraction is the ring announcer. Norman applied for and received a one month license from the state to be a boxing announcer, and he will do so tonight. The running joke is he now wants to come up with a catchphrase like "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" -- the creation of a Michael Buffer, who to this day gets $10,000 plus expenses just to fly to events to say it. My suggestion is "Vamos a Dale!!!" which is Spanish for, roughly, Let's go to let's go. Norman thinks that's a non starter. He's right. After dinner, Stu and his young son will leave, and the preliminary plan is to limo over to ClubEleven -- a high class restaurant that sits on top of a gentlemen's club -- a favorite of celebrities who come to the 305. I'm not sure we'll really go, but there WILL be an after midnight dinner -- the second such late night event for Wifey and me in less than one month! It's good to get out of our comfort zone every once in awhile -- we've been witnissing the end of life -- and it's not pretty. So while we still can... So Dale and Vamos El Maja! D2 left earlier to meet D1 -- they're going to an adult trampoline park together, and D2 said "Well, Dad, I guess you'll be home much later than I will tonight!" That's right, my girl. Maybe Mom and I still have it going on, once in awhile...

The Good News is, It Won't Get Any Hotter

And so we sweat nearing mid August of the Miami Summer...and although hot, as usual, it hasn't been as brutal as some past summers... Our lives in the 305 have been a microcosm of the great circle: Wifey's father fades away, as the Ds make plans to start new chapters of their young lives, and Wifey and I, as befitting the term, are sandwiched in between. After a hellish day, maybe the worst of Wifey's life, her Dad got the right pain meds and is resting quietly. D1 visited the other day, and reported he is "unarousable," and Wifey, D2, and I spent time with him yesterday and learned her decription was apt. Wifey is coming to terms with the inevitable -- stroking his arm, telling him how much she loves him, and crying...a lot. She is s rookie, thankfully, in the dying parents league. I joined the league when I was only 20 --I wish I hadn't. D1 is working at JMH, each day SMH her head about the absurd bureacracy, but learning, learning, learning. She's been scouting out locations for an office for her coming private practice, and seems to have narrowed her choices to two -- both in the Gables -- which is key for her wish to attract patients with means... I'm so proud of her -- she is truly laying serious groundwork -- corporate set up, banking, web site, and now meeting with pro marketers for cement her brand and marketing strategies. At happy hour the other night, my best law school friend asked whether she took out a SBA loan. No, I told him, she has an angel investor named Dad. Still, I made it clear to her that I wouldn't put money into this enterprise if I thought it wouldn't soar -- and I think it will... D2 bought a one way ticket to NYC. It's the first time, I think, that she has bought a one way ticket. Wifey is flying up with her, assuming she isn't needed here for her Dad, to help her organize and decorate her apartment in Murray Hill. The good news is the day they leave, September 5, is also the date of the first Canes game, so I can deal with my sorrow at a tailgate party, with the help of some vodka...I have learned one needs to dull the pain of life, somehow... So the Ds are, thankfully, in a great place, and I look forward to helping D1 in her practice, and visiting D2 in NYC. We booked a trip there for Thanksgiving -- the first time I'll be in NY for T Day since 1978, when I was a high school senior. Since D2 is going to work for Macy's, I think we'll get passes for a "background tour" of the famous parade floats. I hope D2 gets to hold the ropes for Underdog --always my favorite... Last night, we all mustered at a Brickell Italian place, Spaghatini, for a very early dinner. D1 pulled her hair back and effected a flawless Wifey imitation -- with Wifey's trademarked resting frown. I took a picture, and we all laughed deeply. I had a glass of Chianti, and I toasted these three women -- Wifey, dealing with sadness, and the Ds, dealing with it, too, but more importantly, perched to soar into their futures. Walking back to D1's apartment, the heat didn't bother me at all.

The Big Gordo Venezuelan Wedding

So D2's boyfriend Jonathan's brother Dan was set to get married, and I truly thought we'd miss the big wedding. My father in law was in awful crisis after returning from the hospital to the nursing home, and I figured his time had come. If I've learned anything, it's that people don't die or get born according to the schedules of the rest of us. Thankfully, he recovered a bit, and our sister of another mother Mirta was available to visit him Saturday, so off we went -- all the way to Aventura -- for our attendance. We had a fine lunch at Mo's, the great deli there, complete with a visit from the co owner Paul, like the wedding family a Venezuelan Jew. Sure enough, he knew the families of the party, but wasn't going. The Ds were a bit surprised -- they thought EVERY Jew from South America living in Miami would be attending. We checked into the packed Turnberry Hotel, or tried to. The place was over run, and so we waited in the bar. A rich, white girl problem arose -- the Ds needed to shower before heading to the mall for their makeup sessions. The very nice, EXTREMELY out manager came over -- the Ds could shower in the luxury spa, all of our drinks while waiting were free, and a bottle of red would be sent to our room. The preparations went well, and I was able to squeeze into my tux last worn 5 years ago for a wedding in NYC. Wifey and the Ds looked gorgeous -- even though the Ds hassled their Mom for looking "modern orthodox" with her arms covered by her dress. The valet line was packed, so we Ubered over to the synagogue -- a $4, 5 minute drive. Sure enough the wedding was a big one. Surprisingly, the service was in English, mostly, though in homage to the couple's "Latin roots" the rabbi put in a bit of Spanish. The band played non stop for hours. We ate dinner at 1 am, and stayed until 3 am. Miami being the small town, big city it is, I had one degree of separation with some folks at our table. One fellow, from Montreal, was a CPA who did receivership work, and was close business friends with Jorge, my old college roommie and retired judge. He sent Jorge a selfie of us, in our tuxes, and Jorge, a great Conservative, replied that it appeared we were testing out the new Supreme Court ruling by getting married to each other. The Canadian's wife, also an exotic Canadian Jew, headed the local Holocaust Remembrance group, and knew Wifey's parents' friends very well. Another lady at the table was the sister of a local doc I know, who used to be a professor at the U, and now runs a concierge practice in the Gables... The newly married couple and their families beamed. Dan is getting a grad degree in Neuroscience, and his new wife Melanie is in PR. They met in the 5th grade. The bride's older brother took quite a shine to D1, and invited her to move to Cancun, where he has a jewelry business, to allow him to "cover her with jewels." He was a nice fellow, but D1 isn't rushing off to Mexico just yet... After a big breakfast and walk around the "Aventura Circle," featuring a very nice array of cosmetic surgery results, we headed back to our tough reality -- the nursing home. D2 straggled -- she spent the final hours with Jonathan before he headed back to NYC. She's excited to join him in September. My mother in law met us there, and provided a LOT of unintended comic relief, as she always does. But Wifey finds it less and less funny... So another nice couple is sent out to make their own family -- after a party of about 250 people. People age and die, people are born and get married. It was lovely to be part of the nice portion of the cycle of life.