The Very Angry Fan

Among my hopes is that, as I age, I don't become a cranky old man. Alas, despite my best efforts, it may be happening. Last Saturday my beloved Canes hosted Virginia Tech, and in a rare occurrence, Wifey accompanied me to the game. She hasn't been in years -- can't stand the heat, and doesn't really like football enough to commit hours to going, but my usual companion, Mirta, had a wedding, and Wifey decided to attend. Our usual tailgate host, Norman, begged off, as his great tailgate companions had a medical issue, but nonetheless Mike filled in nicely, and grilled hot dogs and provided margaritas. It was a nice time, and the cloudy skies kept the temperature down. I didn't partake in my usual vodka -- had a few beers instead. It was a lovely, nice time, and then... Wifey and I went to the gate, and the gate attendant gave Wifey grief for having too big of a handbag (the thing was not big at all). Wifey stepped into an adjacent line, and gained access. My attendant kept scanning my ticket over and over -- not getting the beep he wanted. My ticket is a cardboard, old school one -- with my name on it, for heaven's sakes. Nope -- five minutes went by, and the young man continued to fiddle with his machine. Kickoff was approaching, so five minutes seemed much longer. The young man called over his supervisor -- a guy in his 40s, graying hair -- looked like he might have been a cop in the past. The fellow took my ticket and fiddled with HIS machine for another several minutes, before handing me my ticket back and saying "No --there's a problem. You need to walk to the other side of the stadium and find a line where they can reprint your ticket. Nothing more to do." I took my ticket back, and simply said no -- I WAS going into the stadium, and I stepped around the turnstyle. The man stopped me by stepping in front, and asserting his authority. I asked him if he would accompany Wifey to her seat -- as she was already inside and didn't know her way around. He said no, but that I could NOT enter. I told him directly I WAS entering. He told me he would call the police, and told him to go right ahead -- if they ordered me to leave, I would, but was not listening to an idiot employed by "Elite Services." The dude was NOT backing down. Neither was I. He grabbed my ticket, and wrote down the seat location, telling me "Police will be coming to get you, and you will be escorted out and arrested." I told him that would be fine, as I quickly calculated the $50K or so I would settle for in a civil case of false arrest against "Elite Services," in exchange for being led out of my Club Section in cuffs. I also made a mental not of my friend Steve the cop's number -- knowing if Miami Dade Police really DID come, a call to him would get me sprung. Wifey and I got on the escalator to the club. She was impressed and maybe a little turned on by her man's showing of machismo -- he wasn't letting some idiot tell him what to do. Ha! As if! Wifey promptly lectured me on my anger, and how mean I sound when I speak to people who cross me, etc... Whatever. Wifey's Canes season is over, anyway -- that was her last game. She was concerned that the police were coming -- maybe we should sit in another section. Nothing doing. I took my seat, and told my friends what happened. Dr. Barry's friend John offered to give me his hat and sunglasses. A discussion of "Spartacus" ensued -- would we ALL say we were the resistor, if the police came? Dana reminisced about a similar incident back in '84 -- Eric and I came to the Canes-Gator game early, to get prime student seats, and minutes before kickoff, the Orange Bowl staff decided we really weren't in the student section -- we could go toss off. Eric and I got livid -- Eric more so -- and was led out to calm down. But we kept our seats! The Gators won, though, as I recall... Our game played on, and by the second quarter I figured I was in the clear -- though everyone laughed whenever a cop appeared in our section. The Canes won, and Wifey admitted as how it "wasn't too bad" being there. Next week, Norman is due back, and Mirta is excited to go. The game is early -- noon -- but we'll eat lox and drink at 10 am. Hopefully I'll be admitted without incident. If not, I won't press my luck -- I'll simply call for my liason in the Canes office, and see if he can get me in with my legal tickets. And if the Canes somehow upset Clemson, I won't be the grouchy old man after all -- just a happy one.

D2 In The City

So D2 is an official, working, living in a small apartment, new New Yorker. She started her job two weeks ago, and she and her man Jonathan are full fledged yuppies. Wifey moved her in over a month ago, and we're planning a big Thanksgiving family trip there, but in the interim Dr. Barry had an idea. His beloved Mets, also my childhood team, were going to be in the NL playoffs, and why don't he and I fly up to catch a game at Citi Field. His boy Scott would join us, training it up from Maryland, where he's a freshman, and we'd have a great weekend. The problem was, the schedule wasn't set, and the Mets would either start the series at home or in LA. As the flights got more expensive closer to the weekend, I pulled the trigger and bought a ticket. Barry waited, and it was a good thing. The Mets choked, and lost the home field advantage. They ended up winning, anyway, and now face the Cubs for the NL championship, starting tonight. But I was committed, and so it was off the the City alone... Wifey dropped me at MIA, and I checked out the new Centurion Lounge, which is for AMEX customers. It was awesome -- gourmet food, planned by celeb chef Michelle Bernstein, and they even offer free massages and mani/pedis. Finally -- my family will stop hassling me about getting to the airport too early -- hanging in this place is a fine start of a vacation. After getting on the crowded bus now known as a jet plane, we glided into LGA. I cabbed it to my hotel, at 34th and 3rd Avenue, and headed out for a bite. I found an Irish pub on Third, and took a seat at the bar. The red headed young lady took my order in a lovely lilt, and asked for my beer choice. I replied that based on her accent, it would surely be Guiness, and he drew me a pint. We chatted -- she said she was from a county in Ireland I'd never heard of -- Cavan. I told her not only had I heard, I had BEEN there -- with my brother in law Dennis when we took a men's trip back in '97. After my beer and snack, ok, maybe a mushroom burger is more than a snack, I walked around the 'hood. As fate had it, Eric and Dana were coming back from a Vermont trip, one Wifey decided against, as we had done one just a few years earlier, and were staying in the same hotel -- their girl Jenn lives blocks from D2. I waited in the lobby as the Affinia wine hour was ending, and, like the good friend I am, secured a few glasses of pinot for Eric and Dana who arrived late. As they checked in and drank, their girl Jen arrived, and then the doors opened up, and I heard Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" in my head, as I saw my beloved D2 -- wearing the color of new yorkers -- black -- and looking very much like the grown up junior executive she is. We had a great reunion, and then D2 and I shared an umbrella, brella, hey, hey...as we walked to her place and greeted Jonathan. The place is terrific -- small, but out of the window, a post card-like view of the Empire State Building. We met the next door neighbor, an Israeli guy who owns a bake shop and has a wild Labrador puppy. Good all around... We met Eric, Dana, Jen, and her rhyming boyfriend Ben, in a bar called the Hill. We toasted our awesome kids, though D1 and Josh were sadly not in attendance. I invited our friends to Sammy's, where we had dinner reservations, but they declined, for some finer fare. D2, Jonathan, and I ubered it to the Lower East side, to a capital of Ashkenazi culture. Since it was the City of the World, it was fitting that our driver was from Pakistan, and I chatted with him about Ahmjed, my long lost roommie from UM... Sammy's was, well, truly back to the future. The DJ, an Israeli, is a classic tummler, as good as any the Catskills produced. As we ate chopped liver, deep fried kreplach, skirt steak, and chicken, washed down with healthy amounts of frozen Stoli vodka, the DJ had us laughing and dancing. The rest of the crowd was all 20 somethings -- enjoying the best part of their great grandparents' culture -- the food, music, and laughter, without the guilt and recrimination about who they date, their jobs, etc... Saturday D2 and I met at her place, and as she came out of her door, dear friend Ali and her Mom Sharon walked literally right by. We decided to meet them for breakfast (though I already had a bagel waiting for D2), and we went to the Moonstruck Diner. Ali's fine boyfriend Blake met us, and we talked of UF years, and NY years to come. We then rejoined Jonathan, and walked to Union Square, where we visited the Strand -- best bookstore in the US. Jonathan left to meet some friends, and Ashley, another of D2's sisters of other mothers, joined us. We walked to the Village, and I bored the girls with tales of Bob Dylan, Village connections to Miami's Coconut Grove, etc... We found a lovely cafe, and drank wine, beer, and shared some fish and chips and cheese. It was delightful -- the weather was perfect, and the beautiful ladies at my table were just awesome company. We walked Ashley home to her street, and then spent time at the apartment, before heading over to Brother Jimmy's an "Canes Bar" nearby. It was PACKED with Canes fans, and we watched the Canes blow the first quarter to the Seminoles. We watched the rest of the half at D2's apartment, and then I went back to the hotel, and watched them nearly pull off the upset with Eric and Dana. Alas, they blew it... Sunday am D2 and I cabbed it again to Houston Street, and visited Russ and Daughters. I thought we could eat there, but it's just a shop -- with the best smoked fish in the world. Our nice Asian counterman spent a full 15 minutes slicing our nova and belly lox, with what looked like a diatome. We bought cream cheese, bagels, and rugelach, and returned to the apartment, where we enjoyed the best nova and lox we had ever tasted, looking out at the great Empire State Building. We then decided to walk the hood, and we did -- trying to see if we could make it to the East River by walking to the end of 30th Street. We could not -- it ends at the FDR Drive, and we saw the interesting gentlemen sitting in a garden outside of Bellevue... We walked to a small park, where we watched some young fathers playing with their little children, and D2 and I got all emotional and nostalgic. She told me she was so happy. I cried some tears of gratitude, which she didn't see. Hearing her tell me that -- well, it made the whole trip worthwhile. From there I cabbed it to Laguardia, and though I rarely talk on planes anymore, I sat next to a very nice Cuban woman, a longtime administrator from FIU, who was with her liberal Coral Gables church on a trip to watch a preview of the new Broadway musical about Gloria and Emilio Estefan -- "On Your Feet." The flight was extremely quick, with her enlightening conversation. So D2 is happy in the City, and I really think about 2-3 years there will be enough, and she'll come back to Miami, hopefully to bless Wifey and me with grandkids. Her sister, D1, is the very busy caterpillar, working a LOT on the opening of her Dietetics practice -- set for early 2016. And I am one happy, rocking Daddy in the USA.

Going Into Business

So D1 has passed the two year point of employment at our public hospital, and is going forward with plans to start her own Dietetics practice. I'm proud she's lasted as long as she has, and am still in wonder that my brother Dr. Barry has been able to. The docs and many of the nurses there are top drawer -- but the bureaucracy is as pathologic as any of the rare diseases they treat. Despite having better financial years than they have in a long while, the staffing is short, and D1 has been asked to do the work of three. It's been a tremendous learning experience, though. Last week she asked me to go with her to check out potential office space. We met with her friend Eli, the husband of a fellow dietitian who does health care consulting. I liked him right away. He's from Canada, and attended medical school to placate his parents, but when it came time to do a residency, he escaped to the world of health care consulting. He's helping D2 get started, and not charging, because he thinks his fiance and D1 might well end up in business together. The space is an examining room in the office of a concierge family doctor in Coral Gables. We were going to meet for a half hour -- and the meeting stretched to an hour and a half. We had many Miami people in common, and all of us bonded immediately. The doc will refer D1 some of his patients, and that much more than makes up for the larger than market square foot price he's asking for the space. I think D1 will fit right in -- the two will be complementary. D1 is putting in, and has put in, a tremendous amount of preparation work, even as she's kept her full time job. She's written patient materials, and forms, and has spread sheets done by her friends who do them for multi million dollar companies. She's negotiating to hire a web marketing team -- apparently these days, you get your clients that way, instead of the old fashioned word of mouth my partner Paul and I used 21 years ago. I reminded her that the majority of small businesses fail in the first few years, and she ought to count that as a possibility. She won't hear of it -- she has big plans for her fledgling company -- branding, tie ins with healthy food, tie ins with corporate training, etc... She has, fortunately, an angel investor, and the guy already loaned seed money, and is now getting ready to provide the second round of funding. When it comes to venture capital, the terms are usually best when you're dealing with the Bank of Dad. So now things are running at full speed. After she signs her lease (the doc had originally wanted only month to month, but after meeting D1 is willing to go to a full year), she'll have our fine handyman, Nestor, do the small construction the space needs -- removing a medical sink, and replacing some floor tiles. She'll paint, and get some modest office furniture, and then have a soft opening, and a real one after the year turns. She figures post holidays is a great time for people to want to try to get healthier. I'm already immensely proud of D1 for the person she is -- a loving and loyal daughter and friend and dog mommy. She is always charitable, and is the connector -- puts people together, and they do better than they did before. Everyone I know at her job always sings her praises. And now she's focusing that all into her own career... So Wifey and I look forward to helping her, as she asks us. When my partner and I started, 21 years ago, we pledged to do whatever it takes to succeed. We were so blessed. I see the same in D1, and wish her the same, but maybe with a bit less alcohol...